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Salt and Blood - Chapter 121
🕑 Added 2025-02-03 13:33:23 +0000 UTC<< Chapter 120 | Table of Contents | Chapter 122 >>
2.27 - Death from Above
Even when at sea, it is important to keep a watchful eye in all directions. You never know where danger might strike from. The cautious sailor returns home, while the ignorant fool slumbers in the ocean’s depths
-Excerpt from ‘Silversea Saga’ by Norris Howell
Commodore Pellan stood on the poop deck of his flagship Eleanor’s Revenge while staring in disbelief at the little ship which had taken flight to evade the second blast of the new cannons. The Emerlan Isle was supposed to be a backwater nation bereft of talent or energy, yet they couldn’t even destroy a single flimsy ship with these fancy new ships designed and built by Elmer Saff himself.
His second-in-command, Captain Fields, stood beside him equally slack jawed. “Commodore, what are your orders?” he said slowly.
“The cannons are mobile. Blast them out of the sky. Tell the gun crews that if they miss the next shot, they’ll be getting half wages for the next decade!” he roared, spraying the other man with spittle.
He glanced to the side, at the third ship in the fleet. His counterpart for this invasion, Commodore Olivan, stood with his arms crossed behind his back, looking unbothered by what was happening.
Pellan kissed his teeth and turned his gaze back to the approaching ship. He felt the thrum of arcane energy in the air as the cannons gathered power for another shot.
The insolent bastards may have escaped the last shot, but they wouldn’t be able to pull off the same manoeuvre while in the air. The next shot would spell their doom.
After that, it would be an easy journey to Albumott and then they could lay the piddling town to waste and be on their way back home. He didn’t understand how the damned fool Foulter had managed to die while invading this shitty island.
There were no warriors of worth; no humans capable of standing up to the might of Minenblum. Perhaps their king, with his rumoured blessing, could take down a ship or two, but there should be no issues conquering the entire nation.
Showing weakness here would embolden the forces of Derridas and Zoria when the time came to subjugate the rest of the Bluestone Sea. King Malthax had grown tired of the clamouring of his weaker neighbours and decided to bring them under his banner in anticipation of Minenblum’s conquest towards the central seas.
A grand goal, but one worthy of achieving. Pellan sighed, relaxing as he felt the energy relaxing. The cannon was ready to fire. A second later he heard the shout of Captain Fields.
The man stood stock still, awaiting his command. He glared at the little ship as it continued to sail through the air. He raised his arm and closed his fist.
His flagship trembled as the neighbouring ship fired, the beam of arcane lightning flashing the world white as it roared through the air. The air around the beam distorted from the heat and he smiled as he stared at the ship in the distance.
Right as the lightning was about to blow the ship to smithereens, he heard a faint whooshing sound, followed by a dull thud. He frowned, but thought nothing of it.
His eyes expanded beyond his face and his jaw fell to the floor as he watched the damned ship tear through the air for the second time, right out of the path of the lightning bolt.
As it raced directly towards the central mast of his flagship, he heard the maniacal cackling of a young woman. He drew his cutlass and leapt from the poop deck, gathering his own energy to his blade.
Damned fools can’t blow a single ship apart. If you want a job done right, do it yourself, he cursed as he stood beneath the approaching ship, his cutlass raised.
Captain Fields yelled something incoherent, but he ignored it as he stared down the prow of the ship. Suddenly something smacked him on the head and he stumbled.
The prow of the little ship slammed into his chest and he gasped as the wind was blown from his lungs and he was smashed through two decks of his ship. He passed out as his spine snapped against the third deck.
***
Commodore Olivan watched enraptured as a tiny sailing boat flew from the skies and crashed through the deck of Pellan’s flagship, taking the man with it. He winced at each of the three separate crashes, the third and final one bringing about an eerie silence that hung over the sea like an unwanted guest at a wedding.
He hesitated to order his men to board the flagship to assist. If the commodore’s men had it under control he would end up looking a fool. On the other hand, if they needed assistance he might be cursed for inaction.
In the end he decided to give the command. Despite being a handful of people on board a miniscule ship, they had evaded the first three blasts of the new cannons. Cannons which Elmer Saff himself had guaranteed would incinerate anything they touched and be nigh unavoidable.
Either he had lied and his cannons were faulty, or they had somehow encountered the most talented sailors in the Bluestone Sea. Olivan was leaning towards the latter, though he wasn’t sure if flying could be classed under sailing.
He sighed as he watched Pellan’s man scramble about the deck of the flagship. The ambient arcane energy tasted odd, a result of the metal hulls of the ships. The decks were still wooden, but the outer hull was almost entirely metal.
Olivan didn’t quite know how they stayed afloat. Likely the ridiculous tidestone engines that he couldn’t wrap his brain around that took up most of the lower decks. He drew his cutlass and stepped onto the railing of his ship.
“Gather your courage, sailors! It’s just a ragtag bunch of rebels. Crush them with the iron fist of justice,” he roared as he leapt from the edge of the ship.
The metal railing bent slightly from the force of his jump, the roars of his men a deafening backdrop to his brief flight. He crashed against the splintered deck of the flagship, finding it in chaos.
Only a few moments had passed since the ship had smashed into the decks but already the sounds of battle roared all around him. He looked over the edge of the hole in the middle of the deck, but couldn’t see much through the thick, black smoke rising from it.
The acrid tang of arcane energy burnt the back of his throat and he stumbled backwards with a cough. A loud groan sounded out and he looked up to see the mainmast collapsing, falling towards his head.
He leapt to the side and avoided the descending mast, sighing as it crashed through the deck. They’d not even arrived at their destination and the flagship had already been laid to waste.
The next moment he saw a flash and felt a crackle of arcane energy as a man wearing shining armour leapt from the hole in the deck. His eyes widened as he matched the face of the armoured warrior with one from their dossiers. Crown Prince Everyn.
How fortunate I decided to help. If we can capture or kill the crown prince before this conquest begins in truth, the king may surrender without a fight, Olivan thought to himself as he twirled his cutlass.
Everyn looked the man up and down, taking in his uniform and the spattering of badges that decorated Olivan’s breast. “Another Commodore… Does Minenblum have an infinite supply of you?” he chuckled, advancing a few steps closer.
“Sometimes it does feel that way,” Olivan replied with a smirk, taking the jab in stride as the two men began to circle each other. “It will only take one to bring you to heel, Crown Prince.”
With that, Olivan lunged forward and struck the first blow. Everyn met his strike with a deft parry, the clash of steel ringing out across the deck.
That first exchange was the starting pistol for a rapid sequence of strikes, each man skilled with the blade. Everyn had swordsmanship drilled into him since he could first walk, while Olivan had the expertise of the Minenblum Royal Navy Academy etched in his bones and burned into his muscles.
To begin with, neither man used their arcane energy. It was a simple battle of strength and skill. Everyone on the top deck stumbled as a soft explosion rocked the ship from the lower decks.
Olivan felt the acrid burn in his throat intensify as a fresh cloud of smoke billowed upwards. That sensation could only mean one thing.
The crash had damaged the tidestone engines. Or a member of their boarding party was attempting to destroy it. Commodore Pellan should be down there.
Despite what it looked like, being struck by a wooden ship was far from enough to take the man out. He’d been one of the youngest to awaken his arcane core in their cohort of the academy and the first to gain his own command.
Once the smoke cleared, he was forced to dodge as a lightning fast strike almost cleaved his arm from his chest. Olivan would have to trust in the man’s talents as he focused on his own battle. His life and honour depended on it.
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