Chương 221: Chapter 294 - The War of the Time Travelers

Another explosion echoed across Fort Aegrimere.

"And what did she say to do about this!?" Commander Hirte shouted over the noise, gesturing towards the Rift Sea. Some ten Akanan battleships were moving back and forth a few kilometers off shore, guarded by several escorts. The shelling had begun early in the morning, only a few hours after they'd gotten their warning from the Prophet. Fortunately, it was just enough time to move their airships from the hangars. The hangars had been the first target. Their navy had been the second.

Those ships were now at the bottom of the harbor. At least most of the crews had made it off the ships first. General Hanaran was hunched over a map of Cairnmouth and the surrounding area.

"Buckle down for a siege. Keep their ships under fire. She said they're trying to degrade our military capabilities and destroy industrial production, and she's already got people packing up the factories to move. The more pressure we keep those ships under, the more we get out of the evacuation of the city." Commander Hirte was pacing back and forth, glancing through the tiny stone-slit windows. In the corner, a spell engine was humming softly, powering the defensive spells around the bunker.

"The whole city! We can't evacuate a city. The people will riot!"

"There will always be people who refuse to budge, but she assures me that most people will move. Something about 'cities can be rebuilt, but lives are far more precious' and 'galvanizing the population.' Apparently, we've fought together before." Hirte paused his pacing and peered out the window again.

"Yes, only saw her for about a minute before she flew off, but she knew my name. Any landing craft spotted?"

"No. And she says the Akanans won't commit ground troops at this stage. The key is to watch for airship sorties. Their raids will come only if they know the Prophet is out of range. They won't risk their archmage companies or the Sorcerer Elite until they have an overwhelming advantage, but we're also not likely a primary target." More echoing booms came from the city proper as something was hit.

"Not the primary target!?" Hirte hissed under his breath. A lieutenant came up to Hanaran.

"Here's the requested list, sir. About a hundred batteries are mobile enough for your operation." The general nodded.

"Good. Tonight, start spreading them across the city. Pair shield engines with long range shells. Geomancer teams should use the rubble to construct fortifications. Commander Hirte, you'll stay here and direct the fort's artillery. Keep those batteries rotating, and make sure we have illusionists covering which doors are open. Captain Solomon, I need assessors scouting out those places to park artillery.

Compare it with the maps of the factories and fossilized myrvite warehouses and make sure no batteries are put close to them. We want to force them to spread out their fire as much as possible. Lieutenant Nazem, have your sappers plant ignition charges in every fossilized myrvite warehouse in the fort and the city. We detonate them on retreat or if it looks like they might be captured." To the room, she said, "Don't hoard shells, and don't hoard fuel. We won't be able to take either with us. Fire early and often.

Exhaust those ships and exhaust their supplies." Hanaran glanced down at a scrap of paper she'd been given. It was the world's worst map of Cairnmouth. Had she covered everything? No, not quite. There was an arrow pointing north that said, "decoys." The general didn't remember Prophet Mirian saying anything about that.

"Ah, and perhaps we can get some illusion spell engines north to… hmm… make it look like that's where we moved the airships and we're preparing for a raid." That sounded like a reasonable deception. There was a chorus of acknowledgments and the officers began scrambling to implement the plan. * ** This time, the explosion was close enough that Lecne was breathing pulverized stone a moment later.

"Balls!" Arenthia said, before having another fit of coughing. Lecne still couldn't believe it: just before Arenthia's execution, a holy pardon had come from the literal sky when a zephyr falcon arrived at the Temple of the Four. Apparently the Cult of Zomalator had taught this Prophet? It was hard to believe. Neither of them had ever felt anything like the presence she exuded. Her spells were so far beyond anything anyone could do.

And yet, when she'd come to the door of their hidden temple and address them, her terrifying silver eyes had softened, like she was greeting old friends. The way she'd spoken of forgiveness, he knew that she understood their God. Right now, though, Lecne wasn't feeling very forgiving. Those damn Akanans! This was his city, dammit!

"This way," he said, leading the crowd down an alley. A motley crew of priests, criminals, street urchins, older ladies and gentleman from a nearby teahouse, and merchants were all helping move the boxes of supplies and sacred artifacts they were transporting. Some of them were carrying things by pack, others by hand-cart, while still others just had what they could carry. One of the older ladies was just carrying a brick of tea in each hand.

It wasn't quite what had come to Lecne's mind when he'd been told he'd be gathering a group that would help save Enteria. They rounded a corner, slowly moving through side streets that weren't so crowded. One building had been utterly demolished by Akanan artillery, and the rubble made the street impassable.

"We go around," he called. Between the panicked crowds and the fires burning throughout the city, it took them another two hours before they made it to the train station. There, he ran into, of all people, members of the Westfellow Syndicate. He recognized a few of the older folks, though not the newest members. They were… helping direct the crowd? A young arcanist who sounded supremely bored by everything happening was in front of a barrier, flanked by four muscular looking men carrying truncheons.

"You… too fit. You're walking. You. Walk. You. Walk. You… okay, go ahead." An older gentleman gave his thanks as he was allowed on the train platform. He glanced at Arenthia. Arenthia shrugged.

"We've got holy artifacts for the Prophet here!" Arenthia shouted.

"And old cripples!" The man looked their way.

"Let them through," he said, but the crowd hadn't heard him. He turned to an older woman behind him who had a steel both in her hair and her gaze.

"Ravatha?"

"LET THEM THROUGH!" she shouted. That got their attention. One of the brutes came wading through the crowd.

"Let's go," he grunted. The syndicate woman—Ravatha, apparently—glanced through their supplies.

"Leave that. Leave that. You don't need that. Someone else will take it. Leave the carts, the foot traffic will need it. The rest can go with you. Alright, go. The train leaves in a few minutes, and it's very likely the tracks will be in ruins after that."

"The Prophet talked to you too? She told you that?" Lecne wondered.

"No, common sense told me that. But she knew you, too? Bloody hells, she knows everyone." If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Another explosion echoed across the city. The thundering retort of their own guns came next. A thick haze of smoke was beginning to veil the city, which the firefighting sorcerers refused to put out because the army had told them it was "good cover." Lecne sat down on the floor of the train with a sigh.

Someone gave up their seat for Arenthia, but there simply weren't going to be enough seats. The train was already packed. Well, he certainly hoped the Prophet had a plan. He certainly had no idea what was going on. They were supposed to help with runecrafting somehow. Apparently, there was some complicated project that needed to be built in the desert. Just hope someone who does know what's happening talks to us soon, he thought. It was going to be a long train ride.

* ** Elic looked up from his work and watched the coastline pass through the porthole. With the cutter's spell engines cranked to full, they were speeding along. They'd passed Urubandar a few hours ago. After Baracuel's horrible attacks, their orders had been relayed by a chain of remote whisper spell engines that Akana maintained, their locations a closely guarded secret. Elic had been the one to receive them.

Somehow, Baracuel had assassinated dozens of government officials, including their families, as well as Prime Minister Kinsman. When they'd heard the news, half of them had been sick. The other half had been furious. The part he didn't understand was how Zhighua or Tlaxhuaco were involved. Akana had ships and bases at every major city in Zhighua, but their orders implied that Saising, at least, had been lost. To who? It seemed impossible. And Tlaxhuaco had declared war after massacring people in a surprise raid?

It didn't sound real. Of course, with their orders had also come word of the rise of a new Prophet, proclaimed by the Church of the Ominian. But how did that play into the attacks so far south? It seemed like all of Akana's enemies had attacked them at once, but a wide-ranging conspiracy had no such historical counterpart. Though, Elic kept that thought to himself.

His fellow sailors didn't want to hear about historical analysis, just like they didn't want to hear him excitedly talk about the most recent innovations in long-distance sound detection engines or studies on sound-wave refraction. Either way, their orders were clear, and as a navy man, Elic knew better than to question orders. It wasn't his job to know the whole picture. That was for the captains and the admirals. He looked back down at his spell engine.

The various detect sound spells weren't picking up the usual trade ships along the coast. One of the other cutters moving with them had sunk a Zhighuan flagged vessel. They'd help redirect several Persaman ships to travel back north. Now, their little fleet was getting nothing. Watchers up topside with their layered lens spells weren't seeing anything either. They were, however, starting to get a new sound. Jeran, the newest man on the unit, turned to Elic.

"Is that a vessel? It's inconsistent. Choppy waters, maybe?" Elic shook his head.

"No. That's leviathans. Look there, when that glyph is lit up, it means the sound is being run through the transformer to go from low frequency to something you can hear. There's a cadence to the leviathan noises."

"Leviathans!?" Jeran said, alarmed.

"Yes, but probably a few hundred kilometers away. Could be as far as the Tlaxhuacan coast. They usually stick to the deep waters." Which is where our orders have us going next, he didn't add. The conversation lapsed as they both returned to their devices. Elic started hitting glyphs to adjust the frequencies the listening spells were picking up. Perhaps ocean conditions were strange? Occasionally, different bands of temperatures in the water could screw things up.

If they ever got told to deploy the anchor, they could lower a hydrophone down. The captain wasn't going to go for that, though. They had orders to make sure nothing was moving from Saising to Urubandar. Jeran cleared his throat.

"Are the leviathans usually this noisy?"

"No," Elic said.

"You know, there was an interesting study that came out a few months ago. It posits that leviathans actually have their own language. The researchers—""That's ridiculous," Jeran said.

"It doesn't sound anything like words." Elic opened his mouth to reply, then closed it. No point, he told himself.

"Do sea serpents also make noises?" Jeran asked.

"Well—" Elic started, but then they were both interrupted as a load roar came through the device. Elic went pale.

"God's blood!" Jeran swore.

"That was practically right on top of us," Elic whispered. He hit the glyph to talk to the bridge.

"Priority urgent! We just heard a leviathan call extremely close by. Advise deploying countermeasures. Sending over positioning and timing data now to pass on to the Vadrian's Triumph for triangulation. Repeat, priority urgent—""Acknowledged, monitoring, but we see them!" came the reply. Then across the whole ship, he heard the alarm spell's wail and the ship-wide call for stations. Elic couldn't help himself. He scrambled over to the porthole and peered out.

He could make out the Vadrian's Triumph moving parallel their course. Then he saw them: not one, not two, but three leviathan spines pierced the surface, moving in formation. Two of them split off to flank the military cutter, while the third one dove. Immediately, he heard the sounds of depth charges and electric shells launching from their own ship, while he could see the Vadrian's Triumph's guns flashing out. There was a pulse of arcane force powerful enough Elic could feel it, followed by three more.

He watched in horror as the hull of the other cutter was ripped apart by blasting spells. Then tentacles descended on the ship, tearing open whatever was left. His heart was pounding. Leviathans didn't do that! Then he saw the spines of a fourth leviathan surfacing just a few hundred meters away from their ship. Then a fifth. Oh fuck, Elic thought. Then there was the sound of tearing steel.

* ** As the spell barge from Alkazaria slowly made its way up the Ibaihan River, Dhelia Castrella was watching her son squirming about in his seat and wondering if they'd have to tie Zayd down so he didn't run around and fall overboard. Fortunately, her husband was an expert in keeping children entertained.

"Look, a fish!" Jeron said, pointing out the window.

"WHERE!?" Zayd said, leaning way too far out the window. Dhelia automatically grabbed his belt to sturdy him.

"I don't see it! Where's the fish?"

"It dove down. But keep your eyes peeled and you might see some fun animals!" Jeron was using that chipper voice he sometimes used with his students. Dhelia sighed. Perhaps it had been a mistake to do this trip. Zayd was a few years younger than Mirian had been when they'd taken a similar one, and it showed. Still, it was nice to leave Arriroba. And she couldn't wait to see the expression on Mirian's face when the whole family surprised her for graduation. As she imagined it, she smiled.

The cool river breeze was a nice relief from the heat. As Jeron continued to keep Zayd occupied, she found her eyes drifting along the coast. There was an old ruined fortress near one of the villages. The way one of the archways had crumbled gave her an idea for a sculpture… Shouting on the other end of the barge snapped her attention back to the present. The words were in Adamic. Jeron knew a little of the language, but she didn't. She looked down the central aisle. She could just see out on the open foredeck.

A boat had pulled up alongside them. And… were those soldiers? They didn't look like Baracueli soldiers. Their rifles were all mismatched and they weren't wearing uniforms, just green and white armbands. Her heart started pounding. She looked at Jeron, who was now holding Zayd tight. The captain had come over. One of the armed irregulars said something to him. He put his hands up and stepped back, trembling. Three of the boarders started walking down the aisle. One woman spoke in heavily accented Cuelsin.

"No one is to be harmed, as long as all cooperate. We are looking for the Castrella family. The Castrellas. No one is to be harmed. Ah—you must be them," she said, looking straight at Dhelia.

"What is going on?" she demanded. The woman grinned at one of the other soldiers.

"They must not have heard. Lucky. Keep someone with foresight busy enough…" The man replied in Adamic. The woman stepped forward, hand casually resting on a wand at her side.

"The Chosen Ibrahim has kindly requested your presence. You are to be honored guests."

"What!?" Jeron exclaimed.

"There must be some mistake! You're looking for a different Castrella family, surely."

"No mistake. Your daughter is a newly arisen Chosen," the woman said.

"But she's busy, and our Chosen needs to make sure she doesn't do anything stupid. Simple arrangement. Honored guests. You'll be treated well, but this is not optional." Dhelia swallowed. Her hands were trembling. What nonsense were these people talking about? They were taken off the barge and taken further west, towards a strange cloud of dust. Only another mile of travel later did Dhelia realize there was an army marching along the shore. A Persaman army, in Baracuel.

Gods above, she thought and clutched a terrified Zayd tighter.