Spreading Shadows
The power of love is a curious thing
Make a one man weep, make another man sing
~ Huey Lewis
Chapter 2
While you are meditating revenge, the devil is meditating a recruit. ~ Francois de Malherbe
While Duke Ades had left the academy with his tail between his legs, and numerous contusions by way of Scarlet’s fists, the possibility that he might obtain some sort of royal order to Katarina had encouraged the duke’s daughter to head off the ministry right away.
Olivia had volunteered to take care of Keith’s paperwork at the student council and catch up later. No one had mentioned her yet as a possible recruit. One part was the duke and his officers assuming that noble-born light mages would be inherently preferable and one part some hasty removal of her name from some records, according to Leon.
The boy hadn’t told her which records she’d been removed from or how. There were some questions that were probably best not asked.
The girl had watched Leon leave, Clarice holding onto him until the last minute and then sending him on the way with a kiss. Deirdre Fou Roseblade had been there too, and the older girl had teased her. “Don’t you want to take a chance and give him a kiss for luck? I did that once, and I don’t regret it.”
Noble girls were strange. Some of them were good people, but… Olivia flushed. She could imagine herself kissing Leon, maybe. But she wanted to have more than that with someone, and she couldn’t see that with the son of Countess Bartford. He was too driven - always seeing another quest, another goal to set himself. It clearly didn’t bother Clarice, but Olivia wanted someone she could settle down with, not someone she’d always be worried about.
Speaking of worrying…
“Prince Julius,” she called, trotting towards where the young man was packing bags onto a carriage next to Jilk and Greg.
He glanced around. “Campbell. What do you want?” There was a dullness to his voice, as if something had been sapped out of him.
She held out the documents she’d brought. “The petition you filed for a memorial for Lord Field.”
He gave her a blank look and then blinked. “Oh. Yes.”
“Is something wrong?”
Greg snorted. “He’s dead. Isn’t that wrong enough?”
“Err…”
Julius took the paper and looked at it. “Dieke approved.” Then he handed it back.
“Um, aren’t you going to…?”
The young man picked up the last of the bags. “Put it in my drawer, Campbell. We’ll avenge Brad first, then we’ll put up a memorial to him.”
“What are you talking about!?” Marie Fou Lafan sounded appalled as she arrived on Chris Fia Arclight’s arm. “Julius, you can’t be serious!”
Jilk strode over to Marie. “It is our resolution, Marie. We’ll take revenge upon the man who killed Brad. Only then can we say goodbye to him in our hearts.” The words should have sounded inspiring, but to Olivia they seemed lifeless… almost rote.
“B-but isn’t that the Black Knight? Hasn’t he killed scores, hundreds of knights?”
The green-haired young man put his hands on the small blonde’s shoulders. “I know it hurts, Marie. Losing Brad is a wound on you, as much as it is to all of us.”
Marie swallowed, tears forming at the corners of her eyes. “Don’t do this, Jilk. Don’t any of you. I lost Brad, I can’t lose you as well.”
“I promise, we’ll always be together.” Chris looked serious. “We should never have left you behind, Marie. But now we’ll face Fanoss the way we always should have. The five of us together… no, the six. Because Brad is with us in spirit.”
Olivia took a half-step back. Did Leon know they were acting like this? Weren’t the four of them only going to be Marie’s guards this time? Two of them didn’t even have knight-armours anymore! (Although she wasn’t sure which ones, off hand).
“Promise me.” Marie grabbed Jilk and Chris’ hands. “Promise me that you’re not going to do anything reckless.”
“I promise,” Chris told her. But his eyes seemed to be on something else, something distant.
“It’s time to go.” Greg jumped up into the driver’s seat of the carriage. It was a battered one, Olivia wondered how they had come by it - not an academy carriage and obviously not from their families. “All aboard.”
“Marie!” Olivia called, on impulse.
The girl jerked around. “Campbell.” She looked as if she had tasted something sour.
“Just… be careful. Dark magic… it’s real. It’s dangerous.”
“I know that. I know what I’m doing.” Marie squared her shoulders and then climbed up in the carriage. The other three boys stepped up one at a time, joining them. The shadows of the interior seemed to engulf them, only Marie clearly visible inside.
Greg flicked the reins and the horses set out, pulling the carriage behind them. From the back, the usually vibrant redhead seemed to blend into the faded carriage as it pulled away.
Olivia shivered and then looked at the paperwork she was holding.
It was a slow walk back to the student council offices, giving her time to think about the boys. It wasn’t as if seeing the war hadn’t affected Leon, but however much he regretted the deaths, it was different. He seemed… sharper. As if the experience had scraped away some of the sarcastic confidence he’d shown the world, revealing resolve beneath it.
Being around Clarice had softened that, but even then… he wasn’t the same as he had been.
Marie’s young men had all been closer to Brad, of course. That might explain it, Olivia admitted. She wasn’t particularly close to the young mage - some jostling for grades, or for access to a given textbook in the library. Not that she could really refuse if he wanted to take a book she was working from, or ask him to hand one over. But she knew he’d basically grown up as a friend of Julius and Jilk.
Losing him must hurt them as much as her own father’s departure.
Touching that wound, no longer raw but still not entirely healed, slowed Olivia’s pace. She remembered her mother’s words or actions that had assumed that her husband was there, the pain every time he was not. The way that the instances had reduced in number… but that the pain had not.
Not until recently, at least.
Somehow, the visit over the summer had eased things. Olivia wasn’t sure how - she wasn’t even sure if it was Keith, Lady Katarina or Angelica who had worked the change. But by the end of the summer, her mother had been taking more of an interest in keeping the house presentable. And over the winter they had worked in the kitchen again, making family meals for the two of them with more ambition and energy than either had been able to bring to any family activity since… since he left them.
Julius, Jilk, Greg, Chris. They didn’t seem the same way about Brad. It hurt them, but it was less of an empty space in their lives and more something that… The girl shook her head. She didn’t have a word for it. Like a fire, perhaps… but one that drained rather than burned.
They’d spoken of resolution, but it had seemed more like resignation. As if they couldn’t step off the path of revenge?
Marie wasn’t like that. She was hurting, Olivia didn’t doubt it, but she was worried for the living first. Them, she could help. Or wanted to, at least. There was a practicality to her, under the ambition and the sharp tongue. Brad was dead, and she’d mourn him but she’d also move on.
But the boys… no, it was as if they were bound by the death. Chained by it.
Chained…
Olivia stumbled at the entrance to the student council rooms, remembering another binding. One of shadows.
This…
“Miss Campbell, are you alright?”
Startled, she looked up and saw the lord president of the student council standing in the hallway. He looked pale, rust-red hair and gray eyes standing out more than usual against his naturally light skin.
“Ah, yes. I was… lost in thought.” She looked at the paper in her hand. “Prince Julius told me to put the paperwork for Lord Field’s memorial in his drawer until he comes back.”
“Ah, by all means.” He ushered her towards the appropriate room. “We are seeing the council depleted all of a sudden. Half the first years gone, one way or…”
“Sir, did you see anything… odd about Prince Julius? Or Lord Marmoria?”
“Odd?” the older boy gave her a curious look. “How do you mean?”
“I don’t know if you’ve ever lost anyone, the way they have…”
“In a manner of speaking, yes,” Sirius said quietly, reverently. He produced a ring of small keys from his jacket and opened the lock on Prince Julius’ drawer with it. The Lord President and his Vice-President had duplicates of every council member’s drawers.
Olivia nodded apologetically. “My father is… missing.”
“Oh!” He blinked, then reached over and patted her arm. Sympathetically. “That’s very hard. I’m sorry.”
“Yes, but the way they’re acting. It’s not the way I did. Nor my mother. It’s more as if…”
“People do grieve in different ways.”
“Yes. Yes, I know!” She was speaking faster. “But the way it feels around them! It’s not right. It’s as if their emotions are being drained to feed something. It looks entirely different, but the way it feels is familiar. It’s like the time we found Keith!”
“The way you found… Lord Claes…” Sirius turned to her, face intent. “You mean, on Baron Sullivan’s island.” He turned back to the door and closed it firmly. “I don’t believe that this is a topic that should be shared with everyone, Miss Campbell. Not if you mean what I think you do.”
Her breath left her body in a sudden gasp. “Lord Dieke, I think that the prince and his friends are being controlled by dark magic.”
“Yes?” He was frozen at the door, still gripping the handle.
“Yes!” She exclaimed. “I know it sounds unbelievable, but… I have to tell Director Smith!”
Sirius Fou Dieke turned around, and the quiet shadows of the room shivered as he locked eyes with her. “I believe you, Miss Campbell. But I don’t think you should talk to Director Smith.”
Olivia took a half-step back. Sirius took one full, measured step closer. And the shadows moved with him.
“I’ll scream,” she gasped. Light magic flickered around her.
“No.” The shadows swept up around her, snuffing out the light. Chilling her bones, leaving her feeling strangled and hardly able to breath. His voice wasn’t angry, if anything, the young man sounded more sad. “You won’t.”
-
Alan pushed open the door leading up to the attic of his dorm. “I really doubt she’s up here. Does anyone go in here except to store trunks?”
“Occasionally,” Mary said coyly. “These attics do have other uses.”
“Such as?”
His still-technically-fiancee winked. “A young man and young woman might want privacy.”
“...right. Well, I’ll keep that in mind.”
“More practically,” Violette added as she followed them up the stairs, “Trunks are large enough to hide someone inside. If Olivia didn’t leave the campus, she’d be imprisoned or…”
The girl didn’t continue with the obvious alternative.
“You know most of these are locked, right?” Alan pointed out, gesturing to the stacked trunks that filled much of the roof space.
“There’s a difference in weight between a full trunk and an empty one.” Mary pulled on one and it moved. “So she’s not in that one - I doubt I could move it if someone was in it.”
Alan nodded. “Try the top ones - they’re mostly stacked three high. Violette, you get the middle one and I’ll try the bottom one. If we can move them easily, they’re empty. If not then we can fiddle around checking if there’s anything in them.”
“If only we knew where her bear is,” Mary muttered.
Alan nodded. “We’re definitely getting some work out of that. Maybe we should see if the Magical Tools department can get us another. Jeffrey’s got some sort of connection there.”
“His name is Alexander,” Violette reminded them, following Mary along the line of trunks and working each middle trunk systematically. “He’s technically another missing person.”
“If she isn’t on campus, she could be anywhere,” Alan said morosely. “But who’d abduct Olivia Campbell. There’s no ransom and she’s the most inoffensive girl I know - no offense.”
“None taken, a certain amount of offensiveness is required at our level of society,” Mary replied.
“I hate to say it, but there are only two reasons I can think of.”
He looked over at Violette, felt his heart jump at her bent over to pull at the trunks and jammed that feeling down. She’s engaged, he reminded himself. “Those being?”
“The kinder is that whatever dark mage had enchanted Sophia to run off to war has captured her. She’s a light mage, after all.”
“How is that kinder!” Mary exclaimed, reaching the end of one row of trunks. “Light mages and dark mages are natural enemies, he could do almost anything to her!”
Violette sighed and straightened as she caught up with Mary and paused to let the other girl start the return journey down the long attic’s other side and its row of stacked trunks. “Because the other option is that she was taken because she’s a rather pretty girl. And that leads to a much more specific number of things that could be done to her.”
Alan paled. “That’s sick.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Not you, but the fact there are people who act like that.” He shuddered. “I know it happens, but it shouldn’t.”
“It can happen to young men as well,” Mary muttered. “You don’t think all those tales of evil marchionesses chaining handsome men up in their dungeons are completely made up, do you.”
“It doesn’t matter if it’s men or women, it’s still wrong.”
“A young woman on her own may be seen as vulnerable,” Violette told them. “I had to take extra precautions between my mother’s death and father returning to the capital.”
“Then Olivia could have been just… randomly picked up between here and the Ministry.” Alan smacked his hand against the beam at the end of the attic, watching the girls move up until he could get in to check the lowest trunks. “Just random chance?”
“While she wears her uniform, it would be assumed that she was a student and therefore a noble,” Violette mused. “Do either of you know if anyone's checked which of her clothes are missing?”
“Clarice and Dierdre checked her room. A bag is missing,” Mary told them. “But they’re not sure how many clothes she has. Katarina or Angelica might, but she doesn’t really have close friends. The President says he saw her handing in papers in her uniform, yesterday evening.”
“And no one expected her to be here overnight.” He almost rubbed his face with one hand but saw how dusty it was and reconsidered. “If Katarina hadn’t sent Anne back to look for her, it could have been days before we found out she wasn’t at the Ministry with them.”
“We really don’t pay enough attention to Olivia,” Violette confessed.
Mary shook her head. “She likes it that way - too much of her first term was people picking on her. If we forced our way into her time, she’d feel pressured. She’s opening up at her own pace.”
“Yes, but right now she’s the strongest light mage we know. Leon was right about telling her to go to the Ministry.”
“I thought you said…”
“I said the worst case was someone targeted for her looks,” Violette told him. “But it’s not the most likely. The timing is suspicious. Sophia goes missing right as Duke Redgrave’s fleet leaves, now Olivia vanishes right as my father’s departs?”
“You don’t think she’s snuck aboard the fleet for some reason?”
The silver-blonde girl reached the end of the row. “If she was confused by dark magic, she might believe it was her duty to do so as a light mage. My father tried to convince Katarina that it was her patriotic duty to join the fleet. I don’t think Olivia would fall for that normally.”
“Would dark magic even affect her?” he asked.
“Good question. I imagine that that’s one of the things Director Smith wants to test.” Mary pulled out a handkerchief and dusted off her hands as Alan finished checking. “No suspicious trunks?”
“Nothing weighing enough to have a body in it - living or dead.”
She nodded. “Well, we’ve checked this room. Where to next?”
“The academic buildings have been checked, and the staff buildings. That leaves student facilities.” Alan brushed his hands as best he could on his handkerchief and then scratched the side of his head where it was itching. Violette was examining her own hands critically, so he offered her the handkerchief - her own was too lacy to be practical for actual dirt.
“Thank you.” She wiped her hands down. “Do you mind if I ask a question?”
“You just did, so you’d better hope not,” Mary joked.
“Very funny. It’s about your engagement.”
The couple-by-technicality glanced at each other and then Alan shrugged. “Okay. I don’t think you’d ask anything too personal.”
Violette exhaled. “Gerald’s clearly crazy about Katarina. Julius and his friends are all stupidly protective of Marie, except against each other… You two just seem comfortable with each other though. My only experience is Chris - and at least Sirius doesn’t actively avoid me. But I think I’d prefer something more like the two of you…”
“Ah…” Alan gave Mary a nervous look.
Mary put an arm around Violette. “The truth is, Alan and I are friends.”
“Well, that’s good? I think?”
“And only friends.”
Violette blinked. “But… you're engaged.”
“We just don’t feel that way about each other,” Alan admitted. “I don’t think marrying Mary would be dreadful or anything.”
“Thanks, the same to you!”
“You’re welcome.” Alan told his fiancee. “If we broke it off, we’d be engaged to other people, possibly people we don’t get along with. It’s… not perfect.”
“I never guessed,” Violette admitted. “It’s sad… I hope you don’t mind me knowing. I won’t tell anyone.”
“I trust you,” he told her.
Mary also nodded. “We look out for each other. It’s not as if we’re going to end up like Jilk and Clarice.”
“But what if one of you falls in love with someone?”
Both of them looked away sharply. Betrayed themselves.
“Oh. Oh…” Violette gasped. “Both of you?”
Mary blushed. “Yes. Well, we’ve agreed that if one of us has the chance to be with the one they love then we’ll break it off. We’re friends - I want Alan to be happy.”
“Same here.”
Violette shook her head and gestured towards the door. “We should get going, but before we’re out somewhere public - I’m not sure if I should be sorrier for you two pretending or for myself that my own engagement is apparently so cursory that a fake engagement is more loving.”
“Well, you’ve only been engaged to Sirius for a couple of months,” Mary pointed out gently. “Alan and I were engaged years ago. You may get closer.”
Alan grit his teeth and looked away.
“Perhaps,” Violette said dubiously. “But would you be really happy together if you wind up keeping this up until you get married? Both of you loving other people? I… I had to pretend to be a boy until I was too old for it to be convincing. Mother insisted.”
“Why was that?” Mary asked. “Since we’re exchanging secrets.”
The pale girl shrugged. “She missed father, and I looked much like he did as a child. She’d have clothes made based on portraits of him when he was six or seven. I don’t think I had a dress of my own until I started to… well.” She made a delicate gesture towards her chest. “It wasn’t really possible for even my mother to fool herself eventually. She couldn’t lie to herself about who I was. As it turns out, I’m rather happy to dress like a lady. It’s not always as practical, but at least now I’m not pretending to be someone else.”
“It suits you,” Alan said and felt his cheeks flush.
Mary kicked his ankle lightly. “Anyway, confidences exchanged, let's get on with the search.”
“Right,” he said. “Let’s go.”
Down the stairs, he ushered the girls out and then closed the door. “Where first?”
“Let’s get some boots on and check the back of the gardens,” Mary suggested. “Lady Katarina isn’t the only one with a shed for her gardening tools. Other students have little buildings or plots for their own hobbies, Olivia might be in one.”
They’d almost reached the dorm entrance when Keith burst in through the door, face set. “Alan, just the man. Write a letter to your brother, would you?”
“What?” Alan asked. “Right now? We’re looking for Olivia. Aren’t you? And which brother?”
“I was,” Keith told him, “But a letter arrived for Katarina.”
“And you opened it?” asked Mary sharply.
“What if someone’s tracking it?” the flaxen-haired boy asked. “If I just forward it to her, she could be traced.”
“Um. Fair point.”
He nodded. “The bloody temple’s only gone and given her bracelet away.”
“What?” Mary half-shouted. “How dare they!?”
Violette shook her head. “The silver one from the dungeon?”
“That’s it,” Keith asked. “They want Katarina to sign off on it, to get out from under the contract that mother and father insisted on.”
“I take it you don’t plan to advise her on doing so.”
The boy snorted. “I’m going to write to my parents right away. The temple can’t get away with this.”
“Wait until after we’re done searching for the day and write once we’ve calmed down,” Mary suggested. “I’ll contact my father - and Violette, you know the queen, don’t you?”
The girl nodded. “Mother took me to the royal court fairly often.”
“Who did the temple give the bracelet to?” asked Alan. He was fairly sure Jeffrey would be inclined to back the Claes. Letting the temple just steal from nobles was hardly going to be popular.
Keith folded his arms. “They dressed Lady Lafan up like the Saintess with all the regalia and put her on display to raise morale for Duke Ades’ fleet.”
“...I should have held him down for Scarlet to punch him,” Violette declared.
-
Christophe Vor Garrett looked at the Holfort fleet and smirked. The expression was about half-truth and half-facade to keep the sailors confident.
The count didn’t claim to be a great military tactician, but he could count and this fleet was smaller than the last one and it had less order to it. The banners of Ades, Frampton and Dieke were all in the central body, along with two of the three admiral’s flags.
And a smaller skyship in the lead was carrying a truce flag.
“Well, it seems the Holfort dogs want to talk,” he declared. “Send a ship to meet them. Offer to bring the flagships alongside each other between the two fleets.”
He wasn’t going to invite Frampton or his allies aboard one of his ships, not after that bomb they’d conned the princess into bringing home with her. And nor would he risk his precious self aboard one of theirs, for that same reason. But skyship-alongside-skyship, using speaking trumpets. That would be good enough to talk.
It was possible they’d have something worth listening to. And if not, well, he’d have some of the leadership next to him.
“They might send a decoy ship,” warned Viscount Darian from next to him.
Garrett shrugged. “Possibly. We’ll see who is on deck when they’re closer.” He saw one of the courier ships serving as scouts for the fleet moving forwards, their own truce flag flying. “What do you make of their numbers, Vidal?”
Darian liked to think himself a credible military man. The equal of Lord Kosigan, at least in his own mind. Garrett was of two minds whether it was a good thing that Kosigan’s more cautious father was proving long-lived and keeping the lord out of a viscountcy, or whether inheriting would take up more of the man’s time and energy. He wasn’t really in doubt which of the two leaders was the sharper military mind and that was why Darian was serving as his tactical deputy while Kosigan was left at home to watch their other borders with slightly fewer ships and knights than he’d requested.
The viscount pursed his lips. “A hundred and seventy ships up front but a slightly better guard detachment for their transports. If we had the numbers we had last time then I’d say we could take them without any need for your witch.”
“But you don’t think that we can now?” They were thirty ships down, the impromptu squadron that was still out chasing the ships that fled north out of Redgrave’s fleet.
“Close enough to be costly either way,” Darian admitted. “Maybe a little in our favour but we’d lose a lot of our own ships - enough that we’d be doing well to hold what’s been taken so far. And Holfort might be able to get another fleet together.”
“He could,” Garrett said confidently. “If this was the last throw of the dice then he’d be here himself. As it is, he’s sending out more troublesome vassals to do his fighting for him. If they win, he shares the credit. If they lose, there’ll be fewer to make trouble for him once he brings his own fleet into play. That’s what he’s thinking, anyway.”
“What if they have a counter for the witch?”
Garrett considered that seriously. “Frampton won’t. He doesn’t believe in anything he doesn’t control - or not that it’s important. He knows that dark magic and light magic exist, but he doesn’t have either so to his mind they’re not really useful.”
“It’s Ades in command though.”
Ades is a puppet, the count thought. “True, and while the man’s nine-tenths facade - he spent more than a decade hiding on his estates from his own wife! - he could have been persuaded by someone else that Redgrave’s defeat should be considered. However, any countermeasure would have to be either tactical or magical - do you agree?”
“Of course. And if it was tactical, they’d not be repeating Redgrave’s approach,” Darian conceded. “But they do have some light mages.”
“That, I’ll grant you. But because they love their famous Saintess, their Temple would want their hands on any such project. And do you see a single Temple sky-ship in their main fleet?”
Darian took out a spyglass and checked. “No,” he admitted. “There’s three with their supply ships though - two more than last time. And they still have that big bastard of a ship with them too.”
Garrett sighed. “I’ve told you, we know about that one. It’s a lost item, and for all its size, it’s most notable for its speed. Good for running away, which is exactly what their vaunted Lord Bartford managed in the last battle. It only has four guns.”
“Four guns that may have been what cost us half our losses last time.”
“Vidal, Vidal!” Garrett put his arm around the viscount’s shoulder. “Where are these nerves coming from? You know they’d have been doing well to hit something the size of an island at the range our ships were at. There might have been one or two hits but the bulk of that damage had to come from Roseblade and Seberg’s ships.”
Viscount Darian shook his head. “Our guns have better range than the kingdom’s, there’s no saying that a lost item might have not cannon with even more range. And it doesn’t matter how many more guns we have than that ship if its cannon can reach us while we can’t hit them back. That speed would let it stay at range too.”
“Calmly, my friend. Don’t worry the crew.”
The two ships serving as heralds had met and flags were rising. Garrett scanned them. It seemed that Ades was accepting the proposed terms.
The count pointed at the lost item in question. “Firstly, that ship won’t escape our ritual this time. And if they do have some counter-magic, it also has to play guard for an entire convoy of much slower freighters and transports. That ties it down, does it not?”
“...a fair point.” Darian folded his arms. “Though I trust you’ll have no complaint if I tell Sir Vandel that he has a free hand to go after it?”
“Hoho. We’d be hard pressed to stop him from doing so,” Garrett admitted. “He’s smarting after having to leave that knight alive last time so we may as well order him to do what he already wants to. Now do me a favour and go back to your flagship would you? I’m about to go meet Marquis Frampton and his pet talking monkey… duke, I mean. In the unlikely event that it’s a trap, you’ll be in complete command of the fleet.”
“I hope it doesn’t come to that, Christophe… but if it does, I’ll see the matter through.”
Garrett watched Darian and shook his head fondly. Ah, Vidal. Do you think I’d be doing this if I thought that there was a chance in hell of them ruining my plans?
Fanoss was dancing to his tune and when the war was done, Holfort would be a broken wreck. While the princess could remain as a figurehead, her loyal lords who had bled so hard for her victory should of course be rewarded with rich lands from the conquests… that of any lord that didn’t bow fast enough to them.
The southern duchies of Holfort might manage to band together, but the heartlands and the north would belong to the empire of Fanoss. He was not a greedy man, Garrett thought. A duchy and hereditary post as chancellor would be sufficient for him. Crowns were heavy things and pointed out who should take the blame, while the man behind the throne could steer things in the proper direction.
Perhaps his sons or grandsons would wed Fanoss princesses and take the throne openly, but that was for them to decide when he was dead. Until then, he would lead his house, his principality and shortly his empire in the direction he saw as best.
The battleship that came forwards to meet Garrett was a proud sight, sails armed with the arms of House Frampton but the banners of three noble houses and two admirals flying. Long gun decks with enough guns at close range to make his own ship suffer.
But at the same time it had the high flat sides of old-fashioned ships, rather than the angled sides of deck casemates that Fanoss used on their newer skyships. And if the batteries of mid-sized guns would hammer away at close range, the larger guns mounted on Garrett’s own ship would be murderous as well. Neither side could afford to break the truce for a gun fight, particularly with both fleets looking on.
And using his own spyglass, Garrett saw the cluster of nobles on the quarterdeck of the oncoming battleship. Marquis Frampton’s scrawny frame and weasel-like face. The handsome but vacant face of Duke Ades. And a woman, not someone he knew, but who would bring a woman into battle if they had a choice?
No, no. He was quite happy with this. After all, his plans would only involve his guns if things went badly wrong. And it was his job to ensure they didn’t.
Garrett checked the flags on the mast mounted for signal purposes on the island behind him. Yes, everything was ready there.
“Bring us alongside the enemy battleship,” he ordered. “Quarterdeck to quarterdeck.”
“That will mean crossing their broadside,” warned the captain, though he was already reaching for his speaking trumpet to give the orders.
“I’m aware of that, captain. They won’t risk a gun fight with us with their leaders aboard. But be ready to steer us clear if you must, and have sharpshooters ready at my signal.”
He was right of course. The two battleships moved past each other, a few yards apart, slowing the entire time so that it took an excruciatingly long time for them to come to rest relative to each other. Both ships had the bulk of their guns pointed away from each other, which was another relief.
Garrett sauntered over to the side, accepting the speaking trumpet from the captain. “It would seem that I am honoured by the presence of a Duke, a Marquis and a lady…” he glanced up at the banners. “Marchioness Dieke, perhaps?”
The woman curtsied towards him. Because of course the formalities must be observed. He didn’t bow in return.
Ades had his own speaking trumpet. “Is Princess Hertrude Sera Fanoss aboard to negotiate?”
What a fool. “Unless your king is aboard and hiding his banner, this is not a parlay between sovereigns, Duke Auld. I am her first minister and leader of her council. If you find that insufficient rank then…” He shrugged his shoulders, exaggerating the move to be visible to them. “We can end this parlay and move to settling this with the guns of our fleets.”
Both Frampton and Dieke restrained the Duke, which said interesting things about the pecking order. Not that it would matter shortly.
“You have to know you can’t win this war,” Frampton called back. “Your fleet won the last battle, but you’re outnumbered this time and even if you succeed somehow, the kingdom’s numbers will push you back. But the cost would be high enough that the Duke is willing to offer you terms.”
“How very generous!” Garrett called. “It costs me nothing to hear you out, I suppose.”
One of Frampton’s men carried a weighted bag over and threw it across and over the boarding nets hung along the side of each ship. It made it conveniently easy to catch such messages. Garrett waited for a sailor to recover it and hand over the message that was within.
It was a scroll of parchment, not just a draft but a fully written up treaty. Ready to be signed - as if all that remained was a formality. Honestly, did Frampton think him so foolish as to think the deal was still on. After the bomb - that might have killed him! That could have killed Count Christophe Vor Garrett! And this puffed up stoat who boasted of being a marquis thought he could do that without facing revenge?
The parchment crumpled in his hand slightly and he straightened it, reading the terms carefully. Would there be some hidden message? Some concession meant to buy him off?
No. There was nothing.
Nothing but what had been promised before. “So you’re proposing an acceptance of the current status,” Garrett called back, as if this was new to him. “We keep the islands we’ve taken but no more. And in exchange we must open our skyways to your merchants so they can trade within the Principality? Do I understand that correctly?”
“And beyond!” Frampton corrected fussily.
“Oh yes. Your merchants can cross us entirely, making it easier for you to trade and communicate with our other neighbours.” Garrett chuckled and lowered the speaking trumpet to take the document in both hands.
Then he tore the parchment in two.
Frampton’s face was a treasure. “W-what are you doing?” he shouted through his trumpet.
“Captain, lower the truce flag,” Garret ordered quietly. “Raise the black flag and get us clear, sharpshooters can open fire.” He walked to the side of the ship, held up the two halves of the proposed treaty and ignited them with his magic. Fire, a terror on ships, but he held the parchment out, sending the ashes scattering out on the wind away from either of the wooden ships. Then he cupped his hands around his mouth. “That for your treaty, you treacherous scum! I know how little your word is worth!”
There was a squeal of rope through blocks and the truce flag came down, a second and more vital signal ascending the mast on a second halyard.
Duke Ades still looked uncomprehending when a rifle shot from Garrett’s ship caught him high in the chest. He spun. Fell to the floor. The man forced himself to hands and knees before a second shot pierced his back, probably severing his spine.
Frampton’s head simply exploded. He’d been scrambling back - Garrett made a note to find out who made that shot. Whether it was skill or luck, it should be rewarded. What little brains the man had splashed over the captain of the Ades battleship, the man still scrambling his own wits to realise what was going on.
The black banner should have been message enough. It was well known in warfare what that flag meant: no quarter.
And there was another meaning, special to today.
Marchioness Dieke had proven cannier than any of the men. She flung herself behind a bulkhead, vanishing from sight and probably safe for now.
The two ships were pulling apart as Garrett’s flagship engaged the manoeuvring engines. More troublesome and expensive than sails, but for fine handling they were good.
“We can come across their stern and rake them!” offered his captain.
Garrett shook his head. “No, get us back to our fleet.” He crossed the deck, turning his back on the enemy and looked towards the island. “Come on, girl. You said you could do this…”
He was rewarded by a dimming of light as the ritual circle he’d seen in tests and once in battle spread out from the island. Oily shadows reached out, spreading faster and faster as fear and anger fuelled them.
His own fleet was surrounded by them, but they were unaffected. They knew what to expect and the witch had been told what her minders would do if she targeted Garrett’s ships. But she and Garrett had learned from last time. Focusing on just one area had allowed Duke Redgrave’s fleet to scatter and many ships to escape.
But this time the dark magic swept across the entire Holfort fleet and Garrett smiled wolfishly as he heard the first screams.
He wasn’t sure the monster - shark-headed, ape-limbed and with razor spines along its back - that burst into view on deck aboard the enemy flagship was Marchioness Dieke, but the ragged clothes that remained to it could have been her gown. And it wasn’t the only such abomination aboard, if the way a cannon was visibly yanked askew was any sign.
On and on the blackness spread, until it seemed to engulf everything beneath the cloud sky.
And this time the transports and their escorts were also caught, he saw. So much for that lost item that Vidal Vor Darian had feared. Perhaps Garrett would make it his own flagship if it wasn’t too badly damaged...