Chapter 636 — The King

On the Gorgon River, aboard the armored freighter Nabil, her captain, Nabil, threw an iron-grey lever. The roar and shudder of machinery rose from beneath his feet; surging power drove the formidable mechanical vessel into a slow acceleration. Ahead on the broad open water, several ships much like the Nabil raised their own arcane power-sails, and a faintly glowing mist of magic dust drifted slowly across the whole surface of the river.

The chief engineer's voice came through the brass speaking-tube beside him: "Engine room running normal, Captain!"

A wind laden with moisture struck his face. Cecil's flag streamed from the Nabil's bow, and the middle-aged captain left the cabin and climbed to the small upper deck. Hands on the iron railing, he watched the great bulk of the ship beneath him slowly gather speed and felt the brimming, surging power in her belly, and let out a soft breath.

At any time, that feeling of riding the waves could calm this man who had spent half his life among ships.

He had never thought he would one day set foot on a battlefield. He was only a captain who plied the Whitewater River, and three wooden freighters were his pride. His life had had nothing to do with war—but war came rolling toward him all the same. The Cecil family had risen suddenly, and Count Peibo had requisitioned great numbers of ships to fight this upstart house, and among them were two of Nabil's vessels, and nearly all of his crew.

After a single war, "Nabil of the Whitewater" had lost the greater part of his fortune, left with only the oldest of his freighters and half a lifetime's accumulated knowledge of the waters.

And then the Duchy of Cecil was founded; the river routes opened again and commerce flourished; new things of every kind appeared without end, and new-style mechanical ships began to displace the old wooden freighters. Generous compensation and a great many promised advantages moved the disheartened captain's heart. He acquired a new ship and gave it the name of his very first vessel, the Nabil—to name a ship after oneself, a thing exceedingly common among captains.

And then a new war arrived. The civil administration began recruiting ships from the common folk, and experienced captains with them, promising rich terms, and so Nabil's heart was moved once more—though of course some part of it may truly have been a matter of "the honor of a Cecil citizen." He answered the call and went to the front, himself and his ship together.

The world seemed suddenly to have grown very fast, so fast that Nabil had never had time to think about when it had become this way. Perhaps this was how most ordinary people lived—in a world they could not wholly understand, hurrying ever forward, and now and then, glancing back, finding every step they had taken so very surprising.

Nabil drew a deep breath of the fresh air over the Gorgon River. He saw a squad of soldiers crossing the deck, checking the tarpaulins over the war machines and the iron hooks and cables that lashed them down. Those soldiers held themselves ramrod straight, walking as though a wind went with them, martial and confident, every one of them a fine, upstanding young man.

They had parents and families, kin and friends, and perhaps sweethearts and children of their own. They had left their homes in bright armor; when they left, perhaps they had embraced their families and kissed their lovers farewell. In their breasts they still carried small keepsakes, or letters they had not yet had time to send, and with those keepsakes, iron tags stamped with their names and numbers. They had already been through many battles and been lucky enough to live to this day—and some of them might fall on the field to come, while others would return home with glory (and perhaps with wounds and maimings)…

Years from now, those still living might begin to tell their children of the battlefields they had known in their lives, and perhaps this one would be among them, and perhaps even this armored freighter that had once carried them, and a sentimental captain full of a spirit of adventure…

Nabil turned his head and looked toward the far, mist-veiled expanse of the river. The majestic, solemn silhouette of the Pathfinder was breaking the waves ahead, and faintly, Cecil's flag could be seen streaming in the wind.

On the Pathfinder's upper deck, Victoria stood beneath the snapping banner. After standing there a long while, she drew her gaze back from the north, then turned and returned to the bridge—to the "heart" of this astonishing war-beast. There Gaoyang stood before an unrolled map, discussing with Byron the points along the northern stretch of the Gorgon River where the fleet was most likely to be attacked, and the situation the royal capital of Sansunir would have to face.

"We'll pass the mouth of the Stone River in two hours," Gaoyang said, lifting his head to look at Victoria as she came to the map. "That's the first river mouth that will require us to slow, and also the first stop where we break completely away from the main ground forces. The griffin scouts are already airborne; I'm waiting for their reports."

"This is going to be a risky operation, but honestly, I rather like a bit of risk," Byron said with a wink. "When we get back, I can boast to my daughter for a fortnight."

"I told Baiyu that Sansunir needs to hold for at least seven more days," Victoria said, looking at the map that covered the whole tabletop, her finger brushing along the edge of the royal capital. "Sansunir has two 'guard forts,' east and west. So long as those two outlying bastions beyond the walls hold for those seven days, they can wait for relief."

Gaoyi closed his eyes slightly, and the overhead view from the satellite perspective shifted and zoomed swiftly through his mind until the royal capital of Sansunir surfaced at the center of his vision.

That vast and ancient city still stood upon the plain, wrapped in a hazy magical shield whose faint glow swelled and shrank with the flow of mana, so that the whole capital seemed like a slowly beating heart—and beyond the southwest and southeast walls of that "heart," flashes of light rose ceaselessly above two stout fortresses.

Beyond the city, a writhing, squirming "tide" was slowly devouring Sansunir's defensive line, only to be beaten back again and again by the flashes the two forts poured out—flashes of burning stone shot, enchanted crossbow bolts, and magic missiles loosed from the battle-mage towers.

The centuries of strength Sansunir had accumulated were now facing the gravest trial since the city's founding.

……

A startled bird skimmed across the leaden sky over Sansunir, and a fallen tail feather drifted down into the courtyard of the Silver Keep. There, in the courtyard, Wales—dressed in splendid robes, a sword with the royal crest at his hip—halted on the walkway. He reached out and caught the drifting feather, then, his face expressionless, gently let it go.

Behind him, Cohen Loren, deputy commander of the fully armed Royal Knights, came to a stop, and the armor of the several knights who halted with him gave out a clatter of metal.

Cohen Loren asked in a low voice: "Your Highness?"

"Even the birds are beginning to flee the Xuanque city," Wales Moen said softly. "This ought to be the season when the white-tailed sparrows nest."

Cohen Loren lowered his head. "But men are not birds."

Wales nodded slightly. "Go."

"Yes." Cohen Loren drew himself up straight, struck his left breast, then turned and led the knights away at a brisk pace.

Only after the deputy commander had gone did Wales slowly turn his head and look into the depths of the shadow not far off.

Baiyu Franklin stepped slowly out from there. "Your Highness, your senses are sharper than I imagined."

"Duke Franklin," Wales said, regarding the regent duke before him. "What are you doing here?"