Einsdee, the 1st of Falling, 768 A.E.

  Captain Genero resisted a shudder of revulsion as he looked about the damage they’d wreaked on the Kerathi village of Harsbrukke. Half of the homes had been reduced to burnt-out shells in the initial attack, and most of the rest had been used as funeral pyres for the dead. There were no survivors. They could not allow there to be any, or news of their attack would spread prematurely. That would hinder their task.

  While he certainly didn’t relish the task set before him, or its attached complexities and complications, he was able to push away the thoughts of all wrongdoing because he would see his wife again. The image of her face in his mind was all that kept him from protesting what they did here. Now though, when he tried to remember her face, he began to see the imposed faces of the dead Kerathi from this village.

  He would not regret leaving this village one bit. Leaving it and burning it to the ground would help cover his sins. They had what they’d come for. They had news of where Anthea had gone with her friends. Illias had tortured corroborating stories out of no fewer than a half dozen people, and he had done so with a ruthless efficiency that sickened Genero. For the second time in the space of a few Mynettes, Genero shuddered.

  A knock at the door of his quarters in the Flier startled him. He took a calming breath before opening the door.

  Illias waited on the other side of the door for him, his un-Aurean strong features glistening with sweat and anticipation danced in his eyes. “We’re ready sir.”

  “Alright. I’ll be just a Mynettes.” Genero said dismissively.

  “I know I don’t need to remind you of the urgency in our mission, sir, but may I remind you that every moment lost is a moment for the girl to seek passage off this island?”

  Genero scowled at his subordinate. Illias had the good nature to back down and look rebuffed. Of anyone here, he had thought longest on how the girl would try to elude them. No, he did not need Corydon’s toy to tell him what would happen if they delayed. “Then we’ll have to prevent passage from the island. My attack plans on Norsjalde, where these people said she was going, reflect that.”

  Illias nodded. “Yes. Excellent. Shall I give the order then?”

  Genero considered for a moment and felt a fresh wave of nausea roll over him. “Yes. Why don’t you? I’ll stay here and finalize our attack plans. Of course, seeing the layout of Norsjalde in something more than maps drawn by Farsight Outlooks will help, but I’d like to have a solid plan before we arrive.”

  “Of course, sir. I will leave you to that then and handle the last details here so that you can be free to plan.”

  Illias didn’t have to mention that the details would be the total eradication of all that remained in Harsbrukke. Where once there had been a dot on a map, now there would be only ashes. Not even grass would grow here until the next Yarre.

  Mynettes later, Genero was still staring at his maps, trying to lose himself in something other than what was happening, when the flickering light of flames in the darkness drew his attention. The flames danced just beyond the portal window in his quarters, leaping up from the Stammheim as arc-lances torched building after building. Wood and stone alike melted, leaving puddles of glass and cinder.

  What had taken Yarres to build was engulfed in flames in Mynettes. In an Ouer, there would be nothing left. The fires were a beacon to Nelius in the night, and Genero was sure the souls of the dead cried out for vengeance. The fire that was Harsbrukke was visible many Kilomes away, a glowing halo on the early morning horizon that preceded the sun. Even as they approached Norsjalde to continue their path of destruction it was still visible.

  “What have we begun? What is Corydon’s game?” Genero wondered aloud, adding almost silently, “Forgive me, Cerelia. I do all this to come back to you.”

  He dared not let the Guardians see the tears in his eyes as he readied the attack on Norsjalde. When he made ready to leave his cabin and give his orders, his eyes were dry and his face was hard, showing only duty and grim determination to do what must be done. When Illias and his men searched for signs of hesitation, he gave them nothing to find.

  Rolf glanced over at Makan, who was doing his best to convince a stodgy Kerathi ship captain that it would behoove him to leave port that night just before it happened. He had been working on a deal with another captain, but that had been to no avail. It was still in the earliest portion of morning no less, but then sailors kept what hours they must. For the last two Ouers the two of them had explored means of leaving the city, both conventional and unconventional, but even the most promising chances seemed to vanish into thin air when the two passengers of undisclosed nature were mentioned. Captains were just not willing to take a chance on the unknown. The seas are dangerous enough without added dangers.

  Night had already fallen some time ago, and the port was lit only by the light of ships’ lanterns, waterfront taverns, and a few flickering oil-fueled streetlamps. The waning moon was well hidden behind a thick cloud cover. The night had been a pleasant one, one not too loud with the ruckus of fighting, and the cool air from the hills to the north had pressed the most of stink of the city out to sea when it sifted down through the streets and alleyways.

  Abruptly, there was a great flash of orange light to the south, out toward sea, but still within the breakwater arms of the harbor. Rolf, Makan, and the captain all turned to see what it was. The noise of the explosion rumbled across the harbor toward them, slower than the indicative light. As the angry rumble became a loud boom, Rolf realized what it was they were seeing.

  “Gunpowder… that was a Kerathi warship.” Rolf mumbled in surprise.

  Makan looked at him in surprise but was offered no chance to reply before a second, similar burst of light bloomed up at the far end of the harbor. This time, a dark shape swept in front of the mushroom of fire and smoke, disappearing into the night beyond it. The second blast was greater than the first, shaking rigging on ships in port and crates on the docks.

  Some of the taverns began to empty out, as sailors, workers, and entertainers out for a night’s revelry came to see what was rattling the glass in windows of business and causing such commotion. Many of them didn’t recognize the smaller flashes of light and the clapping echoes for what they were – gunfire.

  “We’ve got to go.” Rolf said to Makan, grasping the other man’s forearm.

  “It’s the Aureans.” Makan whispered.

  Rolf nodded and inclined his head back toward the inn where they were staying. The captain Makan was talking to didn’t even notice as they slipped away, their negotiations forgotten amidst the clamor. After they cleared the gathering crowds, they ran full tilt. They had to reach Anthea in time.

  Genero found that during the heat of battle, for surely that’s what he was in now, what with dozens of slugs whizzing around as the Kerathi feebly tried to fend off the Aurean Flier, that he had forgotten his previous transgressions. He was too busy thinking about his mission to bother with what he had done. His regrets would likely come back after battle, but for now he could let himself sink into his task and deal with matters at hand without the distraction a conscience would offer.

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  Already they had destroyed the two largest ships in port, which were the Kerathi patrol vessels at the mouth of the harbor. A few smaller ships sent to the bottom near them had all but plugged the water route out of the harbor. There would be no escape through the harbor, not in any vessel of size, and Anthea would need something sizeable if she wanted to travel between islands. Trying with too small of a vessel was a death sentence.

  The constant pings of ineffective Kerathi firearm slugs off the metal skin of the Flier was annoying at best, so Genero pushed his way past Illias’ readying men, each of them gearing up for a ground raid; for them it wasn’t much different than what they’d done in Harsbrukke, but Genero was all too aware of the odds they faced here.

  He barged into the forward cabin, where the pilot and navigator were manipulating the complex system of levers and switches that maneuvered the Flier. Through the thin crystal forewindow, the light of arc-lances firing flashed brightly. Another ship – a fat merchant vessel – went up in flames.

  “Set us down just north of the harbor tower. Then I want you to engage the harbor tower. Once that is burning, burn the docks. We rendezvous where you set us down in a quarter Ouer. If we miss that window, pick us up east of town in a half Ouer.”

  The pilot glanced back for a moment, only long enough to nod. “Understood.”

  “North and west three hundred Mayters, there’s an opening.” The navigator said to the pilot, who nodded.

  What followed was a series of shorthand talk and pilot vernacular that Captain Genero would only understand if he, too, had gone through Flier pilot training. Levers were pushed and pulled, pedals were pushed, and switches flipped with the confidence of a man who felt the Flier as an extension of his own body. Rather than distract them from doing their job, Genero went back into the troop chamber of the Flier to ready himself to lead the assault.

  To his surprise, Illias and his men were covering themselves with the cloaks and coats of the men of Harsbrukke, something he had not noticed in his hurry to get to the pilot’s cabin. Some still had torn patches or bloodstains on them, but they were dark and would not show in the dark of night unless one was to look closely.

  “What are you doing?” Genero demanded, feeling a bit sick at what he saw.

  Illias grunted impatiently. “In an extraction of this sort, concealment is necessary. If we went in with our Guardian uniforms, we would be noticed immediately for what we are.”

  “I see. That makes sense.”

  “It does.” Illias replied, tugging on a coat himself.

  “I will need such an outfit then, too.” Genero announced.

  Illias, who had hardly bothered to look at him when answering before, now looked him straight in the eyes with a look that demanded an explanation of him.

  “I’m leading this sortie.” Genero asserted.

  “Sir? You’re not trained or prepared.” Illias said, grabbing the handrail along the ceiling to steady himself when the Flier shuddered as it prepared to land.

  “Regardless, I am going. This is my command, and you will obey.” Genero said firmly.

  Illias shrugged. “It’s your command, but my squad. Do what you will. I’m taking my squad along the waterfront. Leander and his team will accompany you.”

  “Fair enough. We’ll sweep a few streets behind the waterfront.”

  Both of them knew that Anthea was likely to have taken up residence close to the waterfront, where they could seek passage out of the city, and where foreigners were likely to draw less attention. They had learned that much from the men and women they’d tortured in Harsbrukke.

  Illias considered his words for a long moment and then nodded. With that nod came acceptance from his men, who were rigidly regarding him, Genero realized. Their loyalties were clearly and fully with Illias, and not him. It was a sobering thought, that he would be running around an enemy village with men he could not trust, men who could betray him at any instant.

  A bundle of clothes and a hat were thrown into his arms. He nearly stumbled when he caught them right as the Flier made one last shifting adjustment upon coming into contact with the ground. Genero hurriedly pulled the loose, roughly fabricked clothes on over his own Guardian uniform. The doors to either side of the Flier’s chassis opened, and both teams of men ran out into the night, carrying nothing to light their way.

  He caught sight of Illias and his team sprinting off into the night, but Leander and his men waited with poorly concealed contempt for his delays. Genero grabbed an arc sword that he tucked under his coat, and ran out into the near darkness, ignoring his instincts’ protestations to avoid the dark. Only the fires of their destruction and the faint city lights lit their path as they ran toward the city.

  Behind them, the Flier lifted into the air to continue their mission. Genero looked back once, when they were just shy of the city to see a series of small flashes of light and with them the report of firearms from the harbor tower. Streaks of light raked the escarpments and walls of the harbor fortress. In a short time, that was ablaze just like the ships in the harbor mouth, a tower of dancing light half a Kilome distant.

  “Anthea!” Rolf gasped, opening the door to their shared room with a savage kick.

  He almost earned a mallet through the chest for his eagerness too; Bedros’ arms were cocked and ready to deliver the deathblow that would have likely separated his upper body from his lower. It was a blow that never fell though. Clearly, he had heard Rolf and Makan’s hurried steps up the stairs and down the hall, and he had taken precaution against it being a less than friendly party approaching.

  Anthea, who looked startled at his rapid entry, took a calming breath before responding. “What is it?”

  “The Aureans. They’re here.” Rolf said, just now noticing that she was in her sleep clothes. He hadn’t realized how late, or early the Ouer was.

  “Aureans? That’s improbable. How could they know we were here?” Anthea replied.

  “But not impossible.” Makan replied. “They’ve started burning the harbor. Ships are burning. Who knows what else they will do.”

  There was such a sense of urgency and seriousness in the Mueran’s voice that she almost dared not deny the truth in what he said, but part of her still voiced doubt. “How do you know its Aureans?” As of yet, she had not told either Rolf or Makan that there may be some people following her, though they both may have guessed it on their own.

  “Because they’re using a flying ship like the one I found outside my village!” Rolf exclaimed, shouting in anger. His people were being killed and still she wanted a lengthy explanation as he tried to help her. “They’re burning everything. They must be coming for you. There is no other reason.”

  Anthea nodded. “Then we must flee now.”

  “How? Where? Overland?” Rolf asked in rapid succession. “There is no ship that can make it past them or the burning ships they’re stacking up at the entry to the harbor. They’d burn anything that tried to make it out anyway.”

  “We steal a ship. A small one.” Makan announced.

  “Steal?” Anthea repeated the word with a sour expression, as if the mere taste of the word in her mouth was bad.

  “It is a matter of life and death. The longer you stay here, the more people die. The theft of a boat is nothing compared to the loss of lives your staying here will cause.” Makan explained, crossing his arms in front of him.

  “Then you’re saying we have to let them know we’ve left town?” Anthea asked, confounded by this idea.

  “Yes.” Makan replied with a resolute nod.

  “That’s crazy.” Rolf criticized. “They’ll just come sink our ship then if they know we’ve left.”

  Makan shrugged. “Then we must mislead them as well as make our escape, and we must do it under cover of darkness.”

  “I can’t go without light. I’ll get sick.” Anthea protested.

  “Then we’ll send a very well-lit ship out to sea, the fastest we can find. It will be our decoy. You will have to survive with as little light as possible for as long as possible, or it will not work.” Makan insisted.

  Anthea grimaced but recognized that what Makan said was right. “Perhaps I can summon a wind to push the decoy along faster and give it a head start, but we’d still need someone on it to steer, right?”

  “I’ll do it.” Makan said without hesitation.

  “Wait.” Rolf said, holding up his hand. “We’re stealing two ships now, and one is going to draw the Flier after it?”

  “Yes.” Makan replied.

  “But then you’ll get killed. This is a Gandahar-damned thing to do. Even he can’t save you if you choose this course.” Rolf said, trying to convince the man out of going ahead with such an irrational plan.

  Bedros grunted in agreement. His bovine face assumed a displeased cast that echoed Rolf’s sentiments. Makan smiled then, an expression Anthea thought was strange for such serious circumstances. It was a confident smile, but also one of a man resigned to do his part as fate required.

  “Perhaps it could cost me my life, but that would be assuming that I am still on the ship when they get to it. Fallu has brought me here, if it is his plan for me to die here, then I will, regardless of what I try. I think his purpose for me is much greater though, and he won’t let me perish this night.” Makan said.

  “That’s a lot of ifs.” Rolf said, tugging nervously at his beard.

  “Have you got a better plan?” Makan demanded of Rolf. His mind was made up, and he would not be steered away from doing this.

  Rolf shrunk away and shook his head reluctantly. “No, but that doesn’t make yours a good one.”

  “Let’s do it then. Let us be done with it, and away from this island, before we bring more death to people who have done nothing to deserve it.” Anthea said solemnly.

  Bedros huffed, agreeing to do what he must, though his eyes showed great concern for Makan’s safety. He had not known the man for more than part of a Dee, but Anthea’s trust in him meant that he trusted him and wished for his safety. Her friends were his.