Annabel
Skyblade peered through her spyglass as she stood at the prow of the
Peregrine,
scanning the horizon. Her eyes were sharper than most, so she could
see that the faint outline in the distant northeastern sky was not a
cloud or a lone star drake, but another airship. She spun and hurried
along the deck, heading up the stairs to the helm. As she did, she
glanced at the mainsail; on it was painted a skull and crossbones
and, below that, the head of a falcon. She smiled.
She
was a young woman, not very tall, with wavy red hair, dusky skin and
green eyes that sparkled as she thought of the chase to come. She
wore a blue waistcoat with gold trim over a white blouse, black
trousers and boots that were well-worn but still serviceable. On the
left side of her belt was a scabbard that held a rapier; on the
right, a holster for her Svendaran pistolere.
The
helm was set thirty feet above the main deck of the airship. An older
man was at the ship's wheel, studying the sky ahead. He had a white
beard and a scar across one cheek, and was wearing goggles.
“Hardwicke!” Annabel said as she reached the top of the stairs.
“Take us northeast.”
“Spotted
something, Cap’n?” Hardwicke said as he spun the wheel, glancing
at the large compass set into the railing to his right.
“Aye,
but let’s close in to see what we’ve found.”
The
helmsman nodded as he grabbed a lever to the left of the ship’s
wheel. He pushed it all the way forward; the ship lurched briefly as
the three sets of propellers, two mounted below the side-sails and
one pair that flanked the rudder, reached their maximum rotating
speed. At that pace, the crystals that fed them power would be
quickly drained of their magical energy and need to be recharged, but
until then, the Peregrine
was the fastest airship of her class in the skies.
After
a few minutes, Annabel took another glance through her spyglass.
“It's a merchant airship,” she said. “Corsair class. Her colors
are black, blue and gold.”
“Ruegal
colors,” Hardwicke said.
Annabel
smiled slightly. “They must think they're going to have a quiet
journey.”
“I
take it they're not.”
“Quiet
journeys are staggeringly dull. Keep her steady, Hardwicke.” He
nodded as Annabel crossed the helm, stopping by a speaking tube near
the stairs. She softly cleared her throat as she knelt by the tube's
opening. “All hands on deck,” she said. “Repeat, all hands on
deck.”
Annabel
straightened up and glanced at the inlays along the wooden railing.
They were a silvery metal, and most of them glowed softly, but one
did not. She laid a finger on the metal and chanted, smiling as the
inlay started to glow.
The
metal might have been known by other names elsewhere, but among the
sky realms and mountain kingdoms of Aldarre, it was called argent. It
had the unique ability of floating when properly enchanted, and when
enough of it was bound to a ship, with additional lift from a hot air
balloon, the airship could travel the skies, from sky realm to sky
realm and back.
Though
the ship’s mage, Pilfor, could keep the argent’s enchantment
properly renewed, Annabel was able to help out with what little magic
she knew. It was said that all good ship’s captains were part
magician; Annabel liked to joke that in her case, it was literal.
“Captain
Skyblade?” She looked down and saw the slender figure of Pilfor. He
had pale skin, mussed-up hair and spectacles, all of which were
hidden by his red and black hooded robe. “What sort of trouble
might we be facing today?”
“The
best kind,” Annabel said.
“Highly
profitable, you mean?”
“Observant
as always, Pilfor. Set the masque in place, and show the colors on my
signal.”
“Same
as always?” Pilfor asked.
“Aye.”
Annabel turned and saw that her crew was starting to gather.
Most
of the crewmen were glashtyn, small, winged humanoids with bulging
noses and ears and gnarled limbs, wearing simple clothing and
sharp-toothed smiles. It was said that they were difficult to train,
and earning their respect was even harder. They chatted loudly as
they waited, their bursts of crude laughter rolling across the deck.
Annabel had recruited the glashtyn from another pirate ship shortly
after she had taken the Peregrine,
and as much trouble as they could be at times, they also worked hard
and loved the pirate life.
Behind
them stood a troll, his small horns jutting through his long white
hair. He wore short black pants and a matching vest, and a mace
dangled from his belt. He idly cracked his red knuckles as he nodded
at his captain. Annabel spared a quick smile for Tomasund. The troll
had been an indentured servant on the Peregrine
before Annabel had seized the airship and granted him his freedom.
Big Tom had chosen to stay, and he had become Annabel’s first mate
and closest companion on board.
Annabel
took several steps down the stairs. “Avast!” she shouted. The
glashtyn all stopped talking as one and looked at their captain. “I
know the pickings have been slim lately,” she said. “But we've
got a juicy one in our sights! A merchant ship, ripe for the taking!”
Her
gaze swept the crew as her voice grew louder. “Aye, they could put
up a fight. But I know you skydogs are tougher and meaner than
anything those pampered salesmen could even dream of hiring to guard
them! Let's show those landlubbers and layabouts a thing or two!”
Captain
Skyblade drew her sword and pointed it towards the heavens. “We'll
feast like kings and drink like devils tonight!” she shouted. The
crew cheered, and she smiled broadly at the sound.
* * *
“Quite
a sight,” Vandensloop murmured as he stood on the deck of the
corsair class airship Gold's
Lure.
“What
is, sir?” the helmsman shouted. He pulled a rag from his pocket and
wiped his brow.
“That.”
Vandensloop pointed towards the southeast. “The star drake.”
The
helmsman glanced over and saw the winged reptile, flapping its
night-black wings as it drifted towards them. “Odd, that,” he
said.
“How
so?”
“Star
drakes usually travel in pairs. Why is this one alone?”
“I
won't question our luck if you won't.” Vandensloop rubbed his
hands. “Take us towards the beast. If we can capture it, I know
alchemists who would pay dearly for star drake blood and scales.”
“Your
ship,” the helmsman said to himself as he turned the ship's wheel.
* * *
The
glashtyn chatted eagerly as they grabbed the sides of the net.
“Haul!” Big Tom yelled. “Haul, you lazy sons of sows! Quiet as
sleeping babies!” Wings flapping, the glashtyn lifted off the deck,
heading for the merchant ship that drew ever closer.
Annabel
gazed intently through her spyglass. “That merchant never held a
sword in his life,” she muttered. “More fool him.”
“There
are bodyguards,” Hardwicke said. “Goblins, at least three.”
“Let
them try to stop us.” Annabel watched as the glashtyn stopped just
a foot short of the merchant airship. Three of them held large hooks
tied firmly to one end of the net. “Steady as she goes, Hardwicke.”
The
helmsman nodded as Annabel dashed down the stairs. She ran along the
deck until she reached the net, which had been secured to the rail.
She set one foot on the rail and drew her weapons, her sword in her
right hand, her pistolere in her left.
The
pistolere was a weapon crafted by Svendaran gadgeteers. Two crystals
were set in the handgrip; the magic power they held could push
enchanted iron pellets out the barrel faster than lightning when the
wielder pulled the trigger. Only trained soldiers and guards, and the
nobility, were supposed to have these, which had annoyed Annabel no
end. She was just as good as any of them in their gilded towers and
their overwrought airships, and she had been all too happy to claim
two pistoleres for her own from an uppity Svendaran noble.
She
aimed her pistolere towards the sky, pointing away from the
Peregrine,
and pulled the trigger. Her weapon went off with a loud crack, the
fiery pellet streaking from the barrel.
* * *
“That's
a funny thing,” the helmsman said as Gold's
Lure
neared the star drake.
“What
would be?” Vandensloop said as he eyed the drake.
“The
beast. It's holding its ground. Like it's...waiting for us.”
The
merchant chuckled. “Star drakes are known for their curiosity. A
fatal trait in this one's case. Take us closer—”
A
crack rang out through the sky. The drake wavered and vanished. In
its place was a cruiser class airship, with masts fore and aft. On
the mainsail was painted a skull and crossbones and, overlapping it
from below, the head of a falcon.
Vandensloop
jerked his head when he heard the laughter. Three glashtyn were
holding one end of a net, eighty feet long, that stretched back to
the pirate airship. They hooked the net onto the rail of Gold's
Lure.
At
the far end of the net, Annabel pointed her sword at Vandensloop.
“Merchant!” she shouted. “I am Captain Skyblade of the free
ship Peregrine!
Hand over your valuables, your precious cargo, and swiftly, so that
no one has to be hurt!” She smiled sharply. “And hand over your
ale and brandy while you're at it. Our throats are dry.”
Vandensloop stared at Annabel, his mouth agape, his breathing
shallow.
“Be
damned if we'll give in to filthy pirates!” The helmsman grabbed a
spear. “I'll teach you—”
Before
he could take a step, he was swarmed by half a dozen glashtyn. They
brought him down to the deck, kicking and punching him, laughing at
his misfortune. “Give in, lapdog!” one shouted shrilly.
“Guards!”
the helmsman managed to shout. “We've been boarded! We've—” He
fell silent as one glashtyn took the rag from his pocket and stuffed
it in his mouth.
Pilfor
pointed at the net and gestured, speaking under his breath. The
spaces between the strands in the net started to glow. Annabel nodded
and started to run down the net, Big Tom right behind. She stepped on
the glowing spaces, the net firm and holding in place as she ran.
“'Ware goblins, Tom!” she said as they neared the ship.
Tom
sneered as he hoisted his mace. “Let them come,” he said. “After
dealing with glashtyn, I could use a change of pace.”
Annabel
grinned as she jumped off the net and onto the deck of the merchant
ship. She saw the four goblins charging towards her, pushing the
fear-frozen merchant aside. She lifted her rapier and waited.
One
goblin, taller and broader than the others, pulled ahead and hoisted
his weapon, a sword that a human would have trouble lifting. “Such
a little pirate,” he said with a sneer. “And a toothpick for a
sword. No match for us!”
He
ran towards Annabel. She held her guard until the goblin was almost
upon her. As the greatsword came down, she spun out of its way and
behind the goblin. She slashed her sword, and the blade tore through
the goblin's leg.
The
pirate whirled around to face another goblin. He was wielding a
halberd, and with a growl, he swung it at Annabel. She ducked back to
avoid the blade; as she did, she pulled her pistolere from her belt
and fired.
The
shot tore through the goblin's arm. He winced and pulled the halberd
back. Annabel leaped and swung; her rapier sliced into the goblin's
arm, cutting deeper into the pellet wound. The goblin dropped to his
knees, clutching his bloody arm.
Annabel
glanced behind her. Tom was grappling with a goblin, but the last one
was sneaking up behind the troll, his spear ready. She hurried softly
down the deck, sword raised.
The
goblin grinned as he lifted his spear, ready to skewer the troll.
Before he could strike, Annabel brought the hilt of her sword down,
hitting him in the temple. His grin faded as his eyes rolled up in
his head.
As
Annabel's foe toppled over, Tom threw the last goblin to the deck.
“Only four?” he snarled. “Hardly worth the fight.”
Annabel
nodded as she looked back at the Peregrine.
Pilfor was pointing at the goblins; she could see the faint aura of
the detention spells the mage had cast that would hold the hired
guards in place. “Keep watch on things up here just in case,” she
said to the troll. “Lickfoot? Sourtongue? Let's see what our friend
might be hauling with him.” Two of the glashtyn flew away from the
helm, joining Annabel as she headed below decks.
* * *
The
door flew open with one good kick, and Annabel strode in to the
merchant's cabin, the glashtyn following. She glanced disdainfully at
the elegant furniture, the hand-painted privacy screen, the art that
hung on the cabin walls. “Foppery,” she muttered as she walked
around a table covered in scrolls and workbooks. “Waste of good
money.”
Annabel
stepped behind the screen and saw the bed there, with silk sheets and
a thick comforter. She dropped to her knees and slid her cutlass
under the bed, stopping when she felt the blade touch something hard.
She reached down and pulled out a wooden chest. “Ah, that'll do,”
she said.
“Cap'n!”
She turned to see the two glashtyn jumping down from
a shelf, both
holding all the bottles they could carry. “Look what we found!”
“Farrasper
whisky.”
Annabel smiled, hoisting the chest as she walked towards the door.
“So our merchant has some taste...”
She
paused as she glanced at the table. One of the notebooks had been
left open, and as she read down the page, her eyes narrowed. “Our
merchant also has a reputation,” she said. “I will have a word
with him.”
* * *
The
merchant was still frozen by fear and shock as Annabel stepped back
on the deck. She handed the chest to Big Tom. “Get this on board
the Peregrine,”
she said.
“Even
if Lickfoot tries to trade me a bottle of Farrasper whisky for it?”
the troll said.
“Especially
if he does.” Annabel turned towards the merchant. “Vandensloop.
I've heard of you.”
“You—”
Vandensloop swallowed. “You won't get away with this.”
“Oh,
I will,” Annabel said, and the anger in her voice made the merchant
cringe. “Much like you've gotten away with your crimes. Cheating
the poor, exploiting the needy, lining your pockets with other
people's tears. You deserve this, and more.”
“Bold
words from a damned pirate,” Vandensloop said.
Annabel
strode away and boarded the net, the glashtyn joining her. She turned
back to face Vandensloop. “Damned I may be,” the pirate captain
said, “but you're damned as well. And I'm far more honest and fair
in my dealings than you.” She walked up the net back to the
Peregrine,
ignoring the merchant's loud and vicious curses.
* * *
The
net had been cut and the Peregrine
had soared away; the Gold's
Lure
wouldn't be following, as the holding spells on its passengers and
crew wouldn't wear off until after the pirate airship was well out of
sight. The bottles had been stowed away for later celebrating, and
the treasure chest had been brought to the helm. Annabel, Big Tom,
and Hardwicke were kneeling near the chest, with Pilfor off to the
side. Several glashtyn perched on the rail, watching the chest like
greedy gargoyles.
Annabel
rubbed her hands. “Pilfor?” she said. “If you would do the
honors?”
The
mage nodded and pointed at the chest. It started to glow, the light
getting brighter as Pilfor grimaced. The locks popped open, and the
glow vanished.
Annabel
reached over with her cutlass and pushed the lid up. Her eyes widened
as she saw the gold inside the chest. The glashtyn cheered as Big Tom
chuckled. “Pilfor?” Annabel said. “Any traps?”
“Not
a one,” Pilfor said. “Our merchant was likely too fond of his
gold to pay for them.”
“More
for us.” Annabel grinned as she moved over to the chest. “There
should be enough to pay for supplies, and bonuses for all.”
“It's
not all gold.” Hardwicke pointed at a corner. There was a ring
there, with a sapphire set in a silver band.
“Soooo pretty!” Sourtongue said. “Soooo shiny!”
Annabel
picked up the ring and examined it. “A lovely thing, this.”
“Mine?”
the glashtyn said hopefully.
“We'll
find you something else shiny later. This one's mine. Captain's
claim.” Annabel slipped the ring into a pocket as Sourtongue
sighed.
* * *
The
sun was setting as the Peregrine
approached Cerindel. It was the largest of the sky realms, stretching
over 500 miles across, home to hundreds of thousands. Under the
rulership of King Archibald IV, Cerindel was a land of peace and, for
at least some of the populace, prosperity.
The
towers nearest Cerindel's rim glowed like beacons, the light of dusk
reflecting off the glass and the filigree trim. Annabel watched from
the helm as Hardwicke guided the airship in towards land. She
couldn't care a whit for those who worked and lived in those towers,
the powerful and wealthy, but she still had to admit, if only to
herself, that it was a beautiful sight.
Pilfor
had cast one of his masque spells on the Peregrine
as it had neared Cerindel's skydock. To those who were not on board,
the pirate airship appeared to be just another airship, docking for
supplies and shore leave for the crew. Each crewman also had a
personal masque spell, and even though the troop of dwarves led by
the young woman in the white and blue dress and her companions
attracted some attention as they disembarked from their airship, it
was nowhere near as much as a pirate captain and a swarm of glashtyn
would have.
Annabel
and her crew stayed away from the inner city, sticking to the
neighborhoods that ringed it, where Cerindel's poor and working class
residents toiled and dreamed of bigger and better things. They walked
past farmers and crafters, bakers and brewers, before they reached
the Barrows, the Cerindel neighborhood where deals could be made
without questions. Supplies were bought, to be delivered to the
Peregrine
the next morning, and the crew split up, heading for their favorite
pubs and taverns.
Annabel's
destination was the Blackrock Castle Tavern. The original builders of
the tavern had claimed that they had used leftover stones from the
construction of the Cerindel royal palace; no one believed them, but
it was as good a name as any. It was crowded and raucous, but it was
a safe tavern by the standards of the Barrows, meaning that though
there were arguments and fistfights aplenty, there were no stabbings
or shootings allowed. After all, dead patrons couldn't pay their
tabs.
Annabel
and Big Tom, their masque spells removed, found a table in a dark
corner of Blackrock Castle and hurriedly polished off a large meat
pie and three tankards of ale between them. “Another fine day's
work,” Tom said with a rumbling sigh. “Even though you said we'd
feast like kings.”
“I'll
bet even Archie on his golden throne wishes he had a meat pie from
time to time.” Annabel half-smiled.
“And
some ale instead of that watered down wine they drink in court!”
The troll grinned as he reached for a tray loaded with cheese and
crackers, shoveling half the contents into his mouth.
“Aye,”
Annabel said, staring at the tabletop. “I suppose.”
Tom
raised an eyebrow. “Too much ale already, Cap'n?” the troll said
as he chewed.
“What
makes you say that?”
“You
usually complain about me eating all the cheese.”
Annabel
nodded. “It was almost...too easy, wasn't it?”
“Easy? Those goblins actually knew what they were doing.” Tom scooped up more cheese and crackers.
“Not
that. There's something missing.” Annabel rested her chin in her
hand and stared wistfully into the distance. “I can't quite explain
it, Tom, but I know it's there, deep inside.”
“More
ale will take care of that.” The troll raised his hand to wave down
a barmaid.
“Cap'n
Skyblade!”
Annabel
glanced over at the tall, heavyset man in the shabby clothes who was
waddling over to her table. Half-Pint Harry had earned his nickname
not for his size, but for the amount of ale he could down in one
gulp, preferably from someone else's mug. “Harry!” Annabel said,
forcing a smile. “How the devil are you?”
Tom
sniffed. “And why do you smell more like ale than usual?”
“One
of the local girls,” Harry said as he sat down. “She didn't take
too kindly to me telling her how pretty she was.”
“Some
women don't want that kind of attention,” Annabel murmured.
“She
wasted a perfectly good beer, if you ask me.” Harry grinned. “But
it's odd that you should be here. There's a rumor going around that
seems up your alley.”
“For
a price.”
“As
always. I need the money to get these clothes properly cleaned.”
“Usual
deal, Harry.” Annabel stared down the rumor trafficker. “You give
me the story, and I pay you what it's worth to me. If it's nothing,
it won't leave this table.”
“It's
a hard bargain you drive,” Harry said with a sigh. “Now, you know
tomorrow is the Midsummer's Festival?”
“Another
excuse for pampered noble louts to eat and drink to excess.”
“Well...I've
heard there'll be a surprise there.” Harry leaned forward, his
voice dropping to a whisper. “They'll be putting the Amulet of
Glena on display.”
Annabel's
eyes widened. “The Amulet of Glena?” she said softly.
“Aye.
They've already moved it into the Cathedral of Glory, in the lobby.”
Harry grinned.
“Without
telling anyone?”
“There
are dignitaries from all the island realms here. The Council wants to
surprise them and show off its power.”
“And
rub some salt into the wounds of the Mezaran emissaries,” Tom said
as he took a fresh cheese tray from the barmaid.
“It
hasn't been displayed in centuries,” Annabel said thoughtfully.
“It's a beautiful piece of craftsmanship, from everything I've
heard. And...they wouldn't be guarding it well tonight, since no
one's supposed to know it's there.”
“Cap'n...”
Tom said.
Annabel
stood up. “Such a pretty bauble,” the pirate said with a grin.
“It'll go well with the ring I just acquired.”
“And
they just brought out the goat cheese.” Tom started to stand.
“Nay.”
The troll froze as Annabel continued, “I'll be doing this on my
own.”
“Cap'n!”
Tom scowled. “Don't be a fool.”
“Do
you take me for one?” Annabel folded her arms. “Tom, this job
will take stealth and silence. You'd be bad at that even without a
belly full of ale and crackers.”
“But
the Cathedral Guard—”
“Won't
know I'm there until after I'm long gone.” Annabel handed two gold
pieces to Harry. “Find yourself some new clothes, and someone more
welcoming of your attention.”
Tom
sighed. “If you don't return—”
“I'll
be back before first light,” Annabel said as she walked away.
The
troll shook his head as Annabel left the tavern. “It's the ale
talking,” he muttered.
“That
went well,” Harry said with a jovial smile. He glanced at the
cheese tray. “Are you going to—”
Tom
picked up the tray, glared at Harry, and poured a good portion of the
cheese and crackers into his mouth. “You could have just said
'yes',” Harry grumbled.
* * *
Sergeant
Fosdick stuck his head out of the door. “Major Brassfeld?” the
aide said. “The admiral will see you now.”
Victorie
Brassfeld nodded at Fosdick as she turned away from the picture
window in the lobby. Admiral Stenholt's office was on one of the
highest levels of the Admiralty, the headquarters of Cerindel's Navy.
It was one of Cerindel's tallest towers, and the view it provided was
spectacular, looking down on the city below, the royal palace to the
east, the farmlands beyond, and the distant horizon, with stars
scattered as far as the eye could see.
The
major was slender, with braided blond hair that went past her
shoulder blades. Her eyes were gray and seemed to have the faintest
twinkle, as if deep down, she found things endlessly amusing. She
wore the Cerindel naval uniform, a red tailcoat over a white blouse
and black trousers; the coat had gold trim, and there were two
stripes on each shoulder. She wore two overlapping belts, one for her
rapier and one for her pistolere.
Victorie
walked into the office, stopping short of the desk that dominated the
room as the aide stepped outside and closed the door behind them. She
silently saluted the admiral.
Stenholt
returned her salute. “At ease,” he said. “Major Brassfeld, I
wanted to review the plan that you and Admiral Stamford have made for
tonight.”
“Of
course, sir,” Victorie said. “Captain Skyblade has been a scourge
to airship traffic for the last three years. Just two months ago,
Duchess Cantille was relieved of all her jewelry and several bottles
of fine wine by Skyblade and her crew.”
“The noble families of all the sky realms want her brought down.”
“And
were we to be the ones to capture her, it would be a prestigious
moment for Cerindel and her navy.” Victorie smiled.
Stenholt
nodded. “Feathers in all our caps. And a nice little bounty for
whoever brings that damned pirate in alive.”
“Our
sources tell us that Skyblade has come to Cerindel, most likely to
take on supplies,” Victorie said. “This ties in nicely with the
palace's plans to put the Amulet of Glena on display for the
Midsummer's Festival tomorrow.”
“How?”
the admiral asked.
“We
have paid people to pay certain underworld contacts to spread the
word of those plans. Once that word gets to Skyblade, she'll be
tempted to try to steal the amulet.”
“She's
done this sort of thing before, I've heard.”
Victorie nodded. “Last year, on the estate of Baron Von Hoffener of Ristadt. She still wears the bracelet she stole that night.”
Stenholt
idly drummed his fingers on the desk. “Are you certain this will
work?”
“It
will,” Victorie said with a confident smile. “Captain Skyblade
seems just as motivated by a challenge as she is by her ill-gotten
gains.”
“And
who will be at the cathedral besides their guard?”
“I
will be there myself to take Skyblade into custody.”
“And
collect the bounty?” Stenholt raised an eyebrow.
“To
be shared with those who have helped prepare this plan,” Victorie
said. “There will be backup in place if needed.”
The
admiral leaned forward, his eyes fixed on Victorie. “Capturing
Skyblade would be a proud moment for all of us, Major Brassfeld. If
this plan is a success, it could lead to further opportunities. I
expect the best from you.”
“As
do I,” Victorie said.
“Of
course.” Stenholt paused. “And perhaps other considerations will
come into play. Sergeant Fosdick will have a little something for you
when you leave.”
Victorie
froze, fighting to keep from blushing or saying something she would
regret later. “Of course, sir,” she said softly.
“Dismissed,”
the admiral said with a salute. “Good luck, Victorie.”
“Thank
you, sir.” Victorie saluted, then turned and calmly walked out of
the office.
* * *
Victorie
had managed to hold her temper in check and thank Fosdick as the aide
handed her a small pouch. As she strolled through the tower, on her
way to the airship dock and the Navy shuttles, she felt her anger
rise. That
old lech!
she thought. How
dare he!
The
major had worked long and hard to earn her rank and position in the
Cerindel Navy, which handled defense, policing and other security
functions for the sky realm. She had graduated at the top of her
academy class, been recruited for the intelligence corps, and had
already earned one royal commendation for her work.
And
yet,
Victorie thought with a quiet sigh, Stenholt
still undresses me with his eyes every time we meet. The other
admirals respect me, but he just wants to bed me.
She had no interest in being courted, let alone by a superior.
“Brassfeld?”
Victorie snapped out of her thoughts as two men walked up to her.
“What the devil are you up so late for?” the older one, with a
fierce mustache and corporal's stripes, said.
“Stamford's
plan, Greaves,” Victorie answered. “It's happening tonight.”
Greaves
chuckled sharply. “The bait's in place?”
“It
will be by the time I get to the cathedral.”
“You
know—” Greaves pointed a thumb at the tall, bespectacled man next
to him. “Castleton here has been studying up on the amulet.
Fascinating stuff.”
“Really?”
Victorie said.
Castleton
nodded nervously. “The historians all agree that Queen Glena the
First was wearing the amulet when she and the 206th Legion faced down
the Mezaran invasion force in front of the royal palace. After that,
the accounts differ.”
“How
so?”
“Well...some
say that it was just a coincidence that the lightning struck when it
did, decimating the Mezaran forces and letting the Legion have the
victory that day. Others claim divine intervention. But there were
healing mages who tried to save the lives of those who were badly
burned that day.” Castleton swallowed. “The burn victims claimed
that the lighting came from Queen Glena's amulet.”
“Poppycock!”
Greaves snorted.
“Possibly.
Their stories were dismissed as delirious visions caused by pain.”
“One
should keep an open mind,” Victorie said. “There were always
rumors that Glena had learned great sorceries from her mother.”
“Those
were never proven,” Castleton said quickly.
“Does
it matter?” Greaves said. “The end result was the same. Damn
shame about the queen, though.”
“But
the pursuit of historical truth is always important.”
“Castleton,
it's late. The only things I wish to pursue are sausage rolls and a
pint of dark. Come along.” Greaves took Castleton's arm and pulled
him away. “Good luck, Brassfeld,” he said over his shoulder.
“Thank
you, Greaves,” Victorie said as she started back down the hall.
Text © 2016 by the author. All rights reserved.
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