1
The western sky bore a seamless, unclouded pastel gradient, the sun yet but a hint, when it came the time for the Thefasos to set sail. The weather was on Yuliana’s side, by the looks of it. The sea stood at peace, with only gentle, shallow waves washing ashore beside Bendehol’s port, but there came a stable south-eastern wind higher up, promising expert lift on professionally set canvas. On the docks, the rush hour was already on. Followed by her drowsy maids, other servants, counselors, and an escort of fifty knights, the Empress boarded the caravel, where Captain Tal-Asif of the Imperial Navy received her with his crew.
The sailors in their deep purple naval uniforms stood in orderly ranks on the warship’s spacious main deck, the central mast between them. Standing aboard the impressive vessel, it became soon clear why pirates generally avoided confrontation. Without the benefit of heavy cannon fire, or far superior numbers, conquering such a castle could only be called an insurmountable effort.
The supply ships dispatched to forts and allied colonies were smaller and more streamlined, favoring mobility over defense, and were therefore the easier prey. But they weren’t undefended either, and the fact that some had still been attacked and sunk was grim news indeed, speaking volumes of the enemy's hidden power.
Was a dragon really aiding the villains…?
Why would such a mythical creature side with common buccaneers?
The story seemed too incredible to be even partially true.
“Your majesty,” Captain Tal-Asif bowed before Yuliana. “We are pleased to have you aboard. The Thefasos is ready to weigh anchor at your command.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Yuliana replied, glancing over the assembled crew. “I can see we’re in good hands.”
Next to the Captain stood a tall, older man, dressed in dark gray robes, leaning on an oak staff about as long as he was tall. By his face, he seemed to be in his early fifties, with olive skin, a short, dark beard, and a tidy crew cut.
“Your majesty,” the man spoke in a low voice, briefly bowing his head, a fatherly smile on his slim face, “I am Colonel Ibramov of the III Magic Battalion, here to secure your passage to Efastopol. Please be assured, no matter what we come across on these waters, I shall keep you safe.”
Yuliana forced a polite smile in answer. The wizard certainly couldn’t be faulted for the lack of self-confidence. It appeared to come with the trade. But she would not, perhaps, have been as boastful, were she in his shoes. According to the old tales she had heard as a child, dragons boasted borderline total immunity to magecraft. Had the Colonel truly even entertained the prospect of battling such a creature, or did he count himself among the skeptics?
No, perhaps she was being too paranoid.
Casting these dark thoughts off her mind, Yuliana said instead,
“Tell me, Master Ibramov, as a specialist…”
“Yes?”
“Would it be within the realm of possibility to have a bit of...weather support on the way? See, I had a small bet with the Marshal, and I’d really like to get to port before her ship. The result would simply be too amusing to miss.”
The mage’s smile widened and he bowed again.
“I shall have a word with the wind.”
Without further ado, the hawsers were pulled, the anchors hoisted, the red-dyed sails set. Sliding soundless across the blue waters, the Thefasos departed from Bendehol.
Far ahead of the bowsprit was drawn the unobstructed horizon line, finer than a strand of hair. Gazing at it, facing the steadily rising sun, the land-dwelling passengers were beginning to, for the first time, grasp the true thrill and joy of seafaring, which day after day lured sailors to defy death and disaster.
Approximately four hundred and fifty nautical miles stood between Port Bendehol and the capital of Luctretz, by the most direct route. Maintaining the average speed of eight knots per hour, they were scheduled to reach the destination by the dawn of the third day at sea. Perhaps a tad sooner, if the winds were firm, and Colonel Ibramov proved equal to his bravado.
“Ah, I’m beginning to see why Emperor Yollem was willing to risk so much for a better sea connection,” Yuliana contemplated, stretching her arms and inhaling deep of the clear sea air.
Seagulls tailed the ship, gliding up and down beside the sails on their pearly wings, occasionally to swoop down to pick up fish stirred by the noise of the passing craft. Instead of sitting holed up in her cabin, Yuliana spent the morning on the quarterdeck, where a chair was set for her, close by the wheel. She was a bit worried about getting in the sailors’ way, but no one obviously dared to admit it, even if she did, never mind ask her majesty to move.
Captain Tal-Asif would entertain Yuliana with his sea yarns, and time passed quickly under this leisurely mood. Fisher boats and passenger ships would occasionally come into view, but the further from Bendehol they sailed, the greater a gap the other seafarers would leave with the Imperial vessel. Those from other lands appeared to avoid the Thefasos like something tainted. The Captain assured Yuliana this was perfectly normal, although she couldn’t help but find it a little depressing.
“Would you like some music, your majesty?” the Captain asked Yuliana, and at her approval, he told the crew to sing. They would sing the classic shanties that all sailors and coastal pub-goers knew by heart, their voices carrying boldly over the waters. Some of the shanties were rather comical and silly, while others unexpectedly romantic and moving, and Yuliana forgot her worries entirely while listening.
How nice...I can’t wait to tell Izumi about th—oh.
Yuliana’s smile faded as she caught herself unwittingly dreaming of something impossible again. Instead, she sighed deep, berating herself for getting carried away.
“This isn’t a holiday trip!” she reminded herself. “I have an important duty to mind.”
“Your majesty?” Tilfa heard her mumbling, a step behind. “Is something the matter? Maybe it is time we retired below the deck? Too much sunlight is not good for your complexion.”
“That’s right, your majesty,” Hila said, mirroring Tilfa, as usual. “Please let me know well in advance if you feel like hurling. It wouldn’t be a pretty sight, showcasing your breakfast out here in the open. I have a bag ready, just in case.”
“I’m not sea sick!” Yuliana retorted, her brow twitching.
“Then, I hope you won’t blame me if I end up using the bag myself,” the maid carried on. “It’s subtle, but the way the boat sways ever so slightly back and forth is the worst. It should either rock properly, or be completely still. I can’t stomach this ambiguity.”
“I’m going to turn nauseous if you talk about feeling nauseous!” Yuliana replied. “I’m the type to get sick out of sympathy! And if you’re unwell, then you should take your own advice and go below. You have my permission. Whatever you do, just don’t start gagging behind my back, okay?”
“I shall take your kind words to heart, but I think I’ll be fine,” Hila assured. “For the time being.”
“Your majesty,” Tilfa spoke up, “how about going for a swim to freshen up? If we tell the Captain to slow down the bo—ship a little, you may take your time, and enjoy the waves.”
“Aw, no matter how I’m the Empress, I’d feel bad if I stopped the ship just to go for a dip,” Yuliana replied.
“Nonsense,” the maid told her. “You are the Sovereign of the Western Continent. If only you will it, the world itself will stop spinning for your convenience. To prepare for the occasion, I took the liberty of packing nineteen varieties of swimsuits along. Would you like to see? I am quite sure any and all possible grievances among the crew will be immediately mended, once they see your gorgeous form in a bathing suit of choice.”
“Why so many!?” Yuliana cried out, flushing. “What a waste of cargo space! I told you to only pack the essentials! No wonder the ship goes so deep! And I’m not going to swim! This is a diplomatic mission of critical importance! We don’t have the time to be horsing around!”
“Oh, you’re too modest,” Tilfa argued. “I doubt anyone would blame you for taking a bit of time to yourself, to have some innocent fun. But, even if you choose to not swim now, would you still like to try on the suits anyway, in the privacy of your cabin? Just to see if they’re of the right size. It wouldn’t do if you ended up having to wear one in the Prince’s presence, and it wasn’t perfectly fitting. I may need to make adjustments.”
“Er…”
“That is to say, I simply must see you wear them. From every angle and up close. Please, please, let me see them…!”
“Why is your breathing getting heavier when I don’t see you taking any running steps?” Yuliana asked, narrowing her gaze. “Never mind myself, maybe swimming after the ship for a few miles would do you good?”
Tilfa fell quiet with a cough.
“Your majesty,” Hila said in her place, “please forget about this talking swine in uniform. Before such admittedly amusing, albeit wasteful games, I have more real and imminent concerns in mind, which I feel obligated to bring to your attention.”
“What is it?” Yuliana asked with concern. “Do you have to go now? Then do go, before it’s too late.”
“That’s not it,” the maid denied. “While I’m deeply honored and flattered that your great heart should worry even about a human toilet like myself, my concerns are always with yourself first, and myself only distant second.”
“Me?” Yuliana asked.
“Yes,” Hila nodded. “As my colleague very astutely pointed out before, should you keep sitting out here in the sun for multiple days in a row, your fair, milky skin will become inadvertently ruined by a most hideous tan. You might even get burns and turn red like a lobster. It must be prevented! At all costs.”
“Really? I don’t think it’s that bad.”
“It is. Fortunately, I have the remedy at hand. Please allow me to apply this lotion on you before it’s too late. The merchant I bought it from assured me it is most effective at holding the sun’s corruptive rays at bay.”
“Truly?” Yuliana asked, just a little interested.
“True as day,” the maid assured. “So please, go ahead and remove all your clothes, so that I may apply it. We must leave no spot of your breathtaking form untreated. Your face, your ears, your slender neck, your toned arms, your delicate hands, every fine finger, your shoulders, back, legs...thighs...feet...”
“How mysterious, your breathing is suddenly getting heavier too and I don’t think our altitude has changed…” Yuliana pointed out, narrowing her gaze.
“Never mind my lung capacity,” Hila continued, “please strip already. It’s for your own good, your majesty. If you’re feeling too bashful to do it up here on the deck, we can continue in the cabin too, just the two of us. No third wheels included. Indeed, that might be the safest of options…urk.”
“YOU—YOU REALLY ARE FEELING SICK, AREN’T YOU!?” Yuliana hollered, jumping up from her seat.
“This is a matter more important to me than my well-being,” Hila assured. “I’ll be fine...I think.”
“No, you go below and lie down, this instant. Someone on the ship should have medicine…!”
“No, no, I’m fine. I refuse to leave my post, even if it kills me.”
“We’re not going to wait till you’re dead!”
In the end, Yuliana had to have Tilfa take Hila below the deck, and stay with her to make sure the maid rested properly.
“Good grief!” the Empress sighed, sitting back down by the wheel. “Suddenly, I feel this trip is going to be a long one...”
“Ahoy, men!” Captain Tal-Asif called out to the crew, “sing something cheerier for her majesty!”
—“If I may, I have a few recommendations,” a voice behind them spoke up.
Yuliana turned to look over her shoulder, suddenly feeling even more fatigued than before.
It hadn’t been her imagination. There, a short distance away on the planks of the poop deck, sat the bard Waramoti. He was drenched in salt water from head to toe, as though he had only very recently climbed out of the sea, and was turning his lute from side to side to pour water out of the sound hole.
“And could someone pass me a towel?” the man requested. “Or some paper? Not for me, but the instrument, see.”
“What are you doing here?” Yuliana asked him with a blank look. “Shouldn’t you be in the dungeon?”
“Please, your majesty!” Waramoti answered her with a humored look. “I was not once called the mightiest of mankind’s heroes for nothing! Though I am a changed man these days, surely you did not think one backwater fort would have a cell capable of holding me for long? Ahahahaha! Your sense of humor is subtle as ever!”
“Are you telling me you swam after us, long and fast enough to catch up with the ship?” She frowned at him in disbelief. “How long has it been since we set sail? No matter how you were a famous warrior once, that’s not even human anymore!”
“Oh, no, not at all,” he replied, shaking his head, “I sneaked aboard already back when you weighed the anchor, and hid below the deck. But when I tried to climb up just now through an arrow port, I dropped my lute by accident. I had to jump off to retrieve it. Ah, that sure got my blood running! Excellent morning exercise.”
“…I think that’s plenty inhuman on its own,” Yuliana commented, before growing more serious. “But why go to the trouble? I told you, didn’t I? Nothing too flashy or adventurous is going to happen. You could’ve taken the chance to rest from the horrors of your journey until our return. Regain a bit of normal life.” Her expression further clouded and she looked down at her hands, furrowing her brows in remorse. “Isn’t it enough already? Everything you went through...it was even too much for her…”
Waramoti gazed back at the lady for a moment, shaking his head to get water out of his ear.
“Why, the reason’s obvious, isn’t it?” he then said.
“Because it’s your ‘destiny’?” Yuliana guessed with a weary look.
“Well, there’s that too,” he nodded, “but more importantly, it’s because—I don’t want to spend another day in the same town with the Marshal!”
“Huh?”
“She’s scary! Too damn scary!” he exclaimed with sudden temper and shudder. “I’ve never met a person as frightening as her in my life! She spent too much time hunting monsters and became one! That woman has no heart, mark my words! On that note, can’t this ship sail any faster!? We should get as far from Bendehol as we can! I’ll be dead if she catches me again! Or worse!”
“You’re exaggerating,” Yuliana told him. “...A little.”
As much as Yuliana loved Miragrave, she had to admit the Marshal could be a bit scary at times.
“Also, you’re misunderstanding things,” Waramoti added, wiping his face.
“Huh? How so?”
“I’m only a humble recorder, your majesty,” the bard explained. “My sole role is to remember. All I do is keep my eyes open, while others take care of the heroics. Worrying about one such as myself is an altogether wasted concern. True enough, I thought I was going to die a thousand times and more on our travels. In my heart of hearts, I feared and despaired, like anyone else, I shan’t lie about that. But such is the share of all those whom the adventure of life beckons. We wouldn’t trade that thrill away for any gold, no matter how gruesome it gets.” And an encouraging, mischievous grin appeared on his face, as he told her, “Sure enough, these experiences weren’t enough to break us. Not me—nor her. Not by a long shot.”
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
“Then why…?” Yuliana asked. “Why did she quit? Why did she leave all alone? Why wouldn’t she come back to us?”
“Well,” Waramoti shrugged. “As much as our friend complains about my stage performances, she has the unfortunate tendency to act dramatic to an excess on her own. She has managed to convince herself that her personal destiny is the cause to all our collective hardships, and that the only way she may spare us of endless misery is by avoiding us altogether. Rather transparent, isn’t she?”
“That’s the reason?” Yuliana shook her head, having a hard time buying it.
“Indeed. But surely your majesty knows better than that, don’t you?”
“Eh?”
“The world is not a one man show—or even one woman,” he told her. “Whether an Empress, or soldier, or a beggar, we are all tested from cradle to grave. Not one living soul is spared of sorrow, but must drink their fill ere its over. Having a good friend by your side doesn’t multiply the burden, but on the contrary. It is only by sharing the oar, that we may brave the brunt of life. Our friend will yet see this wisdom. And so will you, your majesty. You must, if you mean to save the world from what is to come.”
Yuliana could find no words to answer him with, confused as she was. Waramoti accompanied his thesis with a tune, in his usual fashion—or tried to. But as he struck the cords, his lute only produced a damp, muted “brung!”
“Damn it!? Where’s that towel!?” he shouted. “What if the salt has damaged the case!? What if my lute never plays the same again!? What will I do!? Excuse me? Would there happen to be an expert on instrument maintenance aboard?”
Waramoti hopped off the poop deck in search of aid—but was stopped short by the now familiar sensation of knightly swords resting against his neck, as he stood surrounded by soldiers.
“Your majesty, we have apprehended the stowaway,” a Sergeant reported. “What should we do?”
“Let’s see,” Yuliana pondered, “for now, just hang him up somewhere to dry.”
“What am I, a pair of boxers!?” the bard yelled. “You still don’t trust me, even after everything!?”
“My apologies, Sir Bard,” the Empress explained in an angelic tone, an ethereal smile on her lips, “but some very alarming rumors about your uncontrollable libido have recently come to my attention. And since there are several more or less innocent maidens and pure-hearted sailors aboard, it is necessary that certain precautions are taken, for their virtue’s sake. Please understand.”
“Those rumors are all false!” he cried. “Lies, they’re lies! Well, mostly lies—misrepresented facts! And that smile frightens me, please stop that! You and that Marshal are both as terrible!”
“She is my dear role model, after all.”
2
The stowaway bard was tied to the mizzen-mast, and the voyage continued in peace and quiet. One knight, a seasoned musician himself in his spare time, was tasked with cleaning and maintaining Waramoti’s lute. He began the task by removing the strings and stuffing the case full of Bormroot nuts to absorb the moisture.
“Let me see what you’re doing,” Waramoti followed the man’s work from his post. “Come on, show me. That lute is older than you are! Much, much older! You have to respect its soul.”
Meanwhile, Yuliana withdrew to her quarters in the aftcastle, deeming she’d relaxed enough. It was time to think about business again.
What would she say to the Prince and the politicians of Luctretz?
How to best explain the complex situation and convince them of the importance of combating the menace of piracy? Would they believe the story about the prophecy and the end of the Age? That the world would face certain destruction, unless every race in the world banded together to clear the path to the Trophaeum, there to enact the sacred ritual?
No, perhaps it was wiser to avoid this fantastic topic altogether, in favor of more pragmatic methods? Should she try to appeal to them solely in economic terms? How much more time and money could be saved by removing the corsairs from the picture?
The man called Benjamin Watts had taught Yuliana an important lesson. Nothing in life came free, not even dreams. Everything had a cost, which virtuous intentions alone would never cover. Pretending otherwise meant denying reality. A bitter but no less vital a class she had received from her predecessor, Mayeshwal III; bind a man’s body and he will always find a way to break out; bind his heart instead, and he will not know freedom again in his days. Such were the shackles the pirates had cast over all who lived near the ocean. No doubt their vile influence extended as far as Efastopol’s nobility, undermining every effort to bring the villains to justice.
To get her way, Yuliana would have to convince the Luctretzians that the profits of cooperation were greater than those of ignoring the plundering and pillaging, and that she had the power to protect them from the criminals’ revenge. All the while assuring them that she came as a friend, an ally, and not as a greedy conqueror.
What a vast task indeed.
Perhaps Miragrave had the right of it, after all; it was a project too great for any one person to accomplish. Generations of labor by countless dedicated souls was needed to end the pirates’ long reign. But the world didn’t have so long.
Was it too late to even get started…?
“No, I can’t give in to despair now.”
Yuliana thought about the Prince. She had been fifteen when they last saw each other. He was four years older than she was. Not much of an age gap. She remembered the Prince as a handsome man, humble and courteous. A bit awkward but good-intending. Quite unlike most conceited nobles she knew. She did like him, in a way, although the distance of eight hundred land miles between their residences made any idea of genuine romance heavily impractical. Their engagement was, of course, only a political maneuver. A marriage to solidify the alliance between the two nations that had been one in the past—and a fitting excuse for the King of Langoria to send the unneeded girl child away.
Since she could never succeed to the throne.
If she weren’t deemed unfit to rule in her own land, she never would have become the Empress—could there be greater irony?
“Father…” Yuliana whispered, recalling the aged face of her parent, regret slashing her heart. “What should I do?”
Naturally, her majesty was not alone with her problem.
Viziers and counselors shared her headache with perhaps even more intense agony, and had already drafted various speeches, based on varying approaches and tactics. The style of their pen was, needless to say, highly Imperial, and they were not above including threats and blackmail in their arsenal. The Intelligence Bureau had had agents posted in Efastopol for decades, and had uncovered various sensitive tidbits of data on the private life of the local politicians, to be used to compel their support. Yuliana had sworn to never order anyone’s death, but it was quite simple to destroy a life without laying a finger on the body. She felt sick just reading the attached documents and soon put them away. There was such a thing as knowing too much.
Did the fate of the world warrant such ugly measures?
Did the end justify the means?
“But if I do unforgivable things to be saved, do I deserve to be saved at all?”
Dusk fell while Yuliana remained absorbed in study. The Thefasos continued to glide across the waters unstalled by the cloudless sunset. Only a nominal watch was left on deck for the night, changed at the start of each period.
Yuliana interrupted her struggle briefly for dinner. Of course, there wasn’t going to be a bath on a ship, but she cleansed herself with a bowl of fresh water and a towel. She then returned to work in lamp light for a couple of silent hours more, until she found herself too drowsy to keep track of the lines anymore. With a big yawn, she gave up the fight for the day.
There was a proper bed in her cabin, set by the larboard wall. Wondering if the crew’s hammocks weren’t more comfortable, Yuliana changed into her nightgown and went to sleep. Sleep didn't come to her so readily. The air remained warm and humid even at night, so she cast off her blanket and opened a window. As she did, she observed that the sea had grown distinctly more restless in the short hours following the sunset. From overhead, she heard the brisk banging of sails. The wind seemed to be picking up. Taller waves whipped the sides of the Thefasos in random, sharp lashes, as though to test the hull’s endurance. Tattered clouds were rising from the northwest to cover the few twinkling stars, like a thick clump of seaweed.
From distance carried the low, faint rumbling of thunder.
Was there going to be a storm?
A hurricane or a passing shower, Ibramov could probably take care of it.
Giving up on the idea of leaving the window open for the night, Yuliana could only bear with the heat, and go to sleep. The lazy splashing and rumbling continued over the next hour, drawing gradually closer. A bright flash of light passed through her eyelids all of a sudden. A lightning bolt! It appeared not even magic was going to help them around this one.
Somewhere around midnight, it began to rain.
It didn’t sound particularly fierce. The ship’s motions as well remained steady, and save for some sporadic calls and shouts, no great noise carried from the deck. Listening to the gentle hum of rain on the window, Yuliana felt slightly soothed, and the occasional thundering no longer troubled her.
Knock—knock—knock.
Right as Yuliana was about to fall asleep, cautious knocking carried from the cabin door. Who could it have been, so late at night? Slightly annoyed at losing the thread of dreaming, Yuliana got off the bed and went to open. Outside in the cramped corridor stood two maids in their pajamas, shoulder to shoulder.
“Hm? What’s wrong?” Yuliana asked them.
“Y-your majesty, there appears to be a storm,” Tilfa stiffly informed.
“Your majesty, it appears Hel is about to be unleashed,” Hila concurred.
“Yes, such things naturally happen, from time to time,” Yuliana calmly replied. “It’s not a very bad one, as storms go.”
“Yes, well, we may not be in immediate danger of sinking just yet,” Tilfa said, “but as your loyal servants, we still deemed it necessary to come and see if you weren’t too scared by the unholy noise and celestial flashing!”
“Yes, please throw away all modesty,” Hila said, “there is no need to hide your terror from us lowly servants. We would be more than happy to keep you company in these dark hours before our violent end!”
“I’m quite fine, thank you,” Yuliana assured the two, “and if I need anything, I’ll let you know. For now, you should just go back to sleep. Goodnight—”
She began to close the door, but the maids interrupted her, simultaneously grabbing the edge of the door.
“Your majesty,” Tilfa told her, “acting brave in moments of crisis may be an admirable trait for a leader, but you shouldn’t force it for our sake!”
“Indeed, your majesty,” Hila agreed, “we would never presume to judge you in your moments of weakness, just as we know you would never judge us either!”
“Yes, although you are far superior to us worthless slaves in mind and rank, aren’t we all human, and look more or less the same underneath our clothes?”
“Truly, though your cup size may be something out of this world, don’t we all have mothers and fathers, who brought us into this world as equals, crying, kicking and screaming?”
Another bolt of lightning struck close by, painting the hallway white. The flash was immediately followed by heavenly clangor, as if the very air had been split in half by a giant hammer.
It appeared that the storm was now directly above them.
“HIIII——!” the two maids let out a simultaneous shriek and threw themselves at each other, sinking on their knees while miserably whimpering. Yuliana looked at the pair for a moment in pity. Those two were the ones most scared by thunder, no question about it.
“...Do you want to sleep together?” she then gave in and proposed.
“Can we…?” the maids asked in unison.
“Just this once, okay?”
A moment later, the three of them were crammed in the same bed like sardines in a can. It appeared that the two servants were genuinely afraid and not simply using the storm as a pretext for something weird. Finding safety in Yuliana’s presence, both fell immediately asleep like babies, clinging each to one of her arms, and the continued crackling of thunder no longer bothered them. Exactly how great was their faith in her majesty?
On the other hand, it wasn’t as easy for Yuliana herself.
“...It’s so hot,” she bemoaned in the maids’ embrace.
Beyon the warmth, an inexplicable unease haunted her. She continued to lie still for another restless hour longer, until a random thought banished sleep from her mind once again.
“Waramoti…They’ve untied him by now, right?”
Yuliana hadn’t given any separate orders to release the youth, assuming the knights would do so on their own. It was only supposed to be a bit of a prank, after all. Certainly they wouldn’t leave the minstrel bound to the mast during such a storm, simply because they weren’t given additional instructions otherwise? Then again, they were soldiers, and empathy or flexibility were not exactly their strongest points.
As vexing as it was, Yuliana couldn’t trust in her subordinates’ consideration alone, and neither would her gentle nature simply leave the matter be. With care, she wriggled free from the maids’ hold, and climbed out of the bed once again. She cast a robe over her shoulders and went out to the deck.
Outside, Yuliana could see that the storm was rather heavier than it had seemed from the safety of her cabin. Waves had grown taller, throwing random, foamy splashes all the way across the main deck. The rain had likewise intensified and erratic winds tore the sails here and there, banging the canvas and pulling the lines. All watches had been called up to reef and furl the excess sails, lest they be torn clean off their bindings. The falling droplets were large and pale like hale and whacked the ship and the struggling sailors with punishing weight.
Yuliana pulled the robe hood over her head, and climbed up the stairs to the quarterdeck, tightly clutching the railing. First Mate Treabor had command while the Captain rested below.
“Your majesty! You shouldn’t be up here!” Treabor yelled at her as soon as he saw her.
“Did you release the bard already?” Yuliana asked him. She glanced at the mizzen-mast, but didn’t see any sign of Waramoti. Surely the waves hadn’t washed him away already?
“Please go below!” Treabor told her. Apparently, he hadn’t heard her. “It’s not safe!”
“Did you release the bard!?” she repeated, louder.
“Aye, we did! He’s in the crew’s quarters! As far as I know!”
“Great…”
Yuliana wasn’t one to use foul language, but now if ever, she felt like swearing, having come all this way and showered for nothing. Turning around, she wobbled the stairs back down to the main deck. She glanced forward and saw the mage officer in the bow, gazing up to the sky. Now that she was here and already drenched, she thought to go consult the man regarding the weather.
The sailors struggled aloft, tying the sails, or on the deck, securing the lines, and Yuliana went cautiously past them to where the wizard stood with a grim face.
“Your majesty!” Colonel Ibramov exclaimed in surprise as he saw her. “You shouldn’t be here! You have to stay below the deck! It is not safe!”
“Yes, I heard that already,” Yuliana replied. “But how fares the ship? Can you do anything about this storm?”
“I’ve tried!” the man answered her, a helpless look on his face, his earlier confidence but a memory. “This is not an ordinary storm! It’s like it has a mind of its own, and it only scoffs at my speech! The eye stays upon us, moving as we do, and we are ever in irons. Whatever is behind this, it is more powerful than I am! Please, return to your cabin! It may still grow worse! Corporal, escort her majesty below!”
“Yes, sir!” A knight keeping watch at the fore deck left to take Yuliana to safety.
As they passed under the main mast booms on the way back, a loud cry carried from overhead.
“Sail ho!” a sailor cried from the main top. “Starboard! Eight thousand feet!”
“Sail ho!” the observation was repeated across the ship.
Yuliana stopped as well and turned to look over the troubled waves. The sailor had a keen eye, to perceive such a small object so far away, in the middle of a stormy night, with only the sparse lightning for assistance. Yuliana’s vision was better still, enhanced by the presence of the Divine spirit within her. She could even make out the details of the vessel, clear as in day, its frayed, patched sails, and round sides.
“A schooner,” she said aloud. “Is that——a black flag…?”
It was quite easy to mix the likewise black Imperial flag to that typically flown by the buccaneers. But the pirate flags tended to sport more color, often with the large spot of white in the middle, depicting the eerie death’s head, or one of its many variants. Such a chalky apparition was also drawn in the foreign schooner’s banner.
“It was spotted earlier in the day too,” the Corporal told her. “They are stalking us, it seems. But rest assured, your majesty. There is nothing such a small ship can do to us, especially in this weather. They keep at a distance like the cowards they are.”
“I see…” Yuliana murmured, unable to take her eyes off the distant vessel.
“We should keep going.”
They walked on, shielding their faces with their hands, as the downpour continued unabated. But before the aftcastle, Yuliana abruptly paused again, alarmed by a most unnatural sensation. She could feel vividly in her bones that something profoundly terrible was going to happen, as though the sky itself was falling on them.
Unable to help herself, she turned around, searching for the cause with her eyes. And that was when she witnessed one of the most extraordinary scenes in her life play out in front of her.
From out of nothing, a child dropped on the deck.
A young girl with short, lime-green hair; a slim, petite build, veiled in a light gown of bridal white. As if stepping off invisible ladders, she hopped before the main mast, barefooted, a vision in violent contrast with the raging thunderstorm about her.
Gaining solid footing, the girl turned the gaze of her large, jaden eyes at Yuliana.
“Nishishi~!” she snickered with a playful grin.
The pupils of the girl’s eyes were but narrow, cat-like cracks.
Look out! a voice inside Yuliana’s mind suddenly cried out.
“What—?” her majesty gasped out of surprise, instinctively tensing.
Barely a heartbeat later, a small hand pressed against her abdomen.
The child crossed the deck with a singular step, quick as a dart, and then she was right in front of the Empress. Casually picking up Yuliana on her palm, the child tossed her in the air between the sails, exhibiting enormity of might ill proportionate for her size.
The disturbing sense of weightlessness twisting her gut, Yuliana felt herself reach the climax of her trajectory, and began then to gradually fall. But her feet never touched the deck of the Thefasos again. Below her, the mysterious girl jumped up in the air after her, and in the next moment, there was a child no more. A vast wall of wings, scales, horns, and claw met Yuliana, catching her on the palm of a prodigious fist.
With the Empress in its grip, the dragon drew a slow, round somersault in the air, as a leaping whale would, the length of its wondrous form surpassing the main mast itself. Sharply accelerating by the bottom end of the curve, it pulled its jagged, whip-like tail along, and cleaved the Thefasos in two by the main mast. A terrible crash, louder than thunder, rang out as the boards shattered and broke apart, down to the waterline.
Inflicted with a debilitating deathblow, the ship’s insides began to flood at once. The Thefasos was doomed.
Flapping its vast wings, the dragon watched over the ship for a moment, as if to confirm the result, letting out a resonant, approving hum. Then, disregarding the plight of the drowning knights and sailors, it turned around and sped fast away, north, towards the foreign schooner in the distance.
This is...a true dragon? Yuliana thought, filled by wonder and dread in equal measure, right as her consciousness left her.