The Ashalmazite fleet stationed in the waters of the island of Arvis had been routed, and livid corpses and broken planks floated beneath the midday sun. The fifteen crusader knights had returned to the Fortuna Serena and were preparing for invasion.
Viryl had used up a lot of Fuligine Stone off his Exoplion’s inner layer, so he went to the armorer to have it re-coated. Lyndabel followed him, grumbling. He had just been in his first battle and he was already wasting resources, she complained. Crusades usually lasted a year, there weren’t enough barrels of Fuligine Stone to keep consuming it at that rate, she kept babbling.
Exasperated, Viryl told her to shut up, and she pointedly told him to fuck off.
“He’s right, though,” observed a big, hard-featured man with a short military hairdo who was standing off to one side, also waiting to have his Exoplion repaired in the workshop that smelled of grease and iron filings. Melfis Jawbreaker, a decent guy. He and Viryl had already crossed mugs, and he guzzled beer like a buffalo at a watering hole in the month of Arsico.
“If we meet here it means you didn’t do better than me,” Viryl retorted.
“You got me,” Melfis smiled and winked. “I got a little carried away.”
Lyndabel snapped. “You are two idiots.”
Melfis ignored her and scratched his belly. He looked over at the blacksmith’s counter and studied two abandoned Exoplions there. No sign of their owners. The rhythmic thumping of hammers could be heard from the back. Melfis said impatiently, “There’s too much to wait here and I’m feeling a bit peckish. How about we leave our Exoplions with the others and go get lunch?”
Viryl liked the proposition, and nodded. After placing the Exoplions on the counter, Melfis stepped out to lead the way, and the two Ferlonian knights followed him to the mess hall on the second level.
They didn't immediately find a place: the room was large but not enough to accommodate the entire crew, and at that time of the day everyone went to eat together, at least those who didn't have tasks to do.
After a few minutes, three knights of the Order of Libertas emerged, chattering happily. A seat becoming available, Melfis swung open the swinging door and stepped inside, letting it swing back into Viryl’s and Lyndabel’s faces. He hadn't meant it maliciously, but Lyndabel still thought he was rude. The mess hall was dark, lit by oil lamps, laden with crowded walnut tables. There was a counter behind which a cabin boy was pouring gruel, probably polenta, into pewter bowls and adding fruit and a couple of pieces of salted meat to the trays.
Having taken his ration, Melfis located the bench that had just been vacated. At the table still sat a knight, Lorana Deathpoker, peeling a withered orange. Although she was still young, with hair a vibrant color between brown and carrot, the inelastic skin of her face resembled the surface of the orange she was holding between her fingers.
“How about we keep you company?” Melfis asked.
“Do I have any other choice?” Lorana retorted.
“I'm afraid not.”
The knight seemed quite annoyed by their presence, and when Viryl had previously tried to interact with her she hadn’t given him the impression of being a big talker.
“Well, do as you please. I'm almost done.”
“You seem more sour than usual today, Lorana,” Melfis observed, settling himself down.
“Because I'm dealing with morons, that's all,” Lorana explained, lazily popping an orange slice into her mouth.
“I'm not a moron,” Viryl defended himself, fiddling with the spoon stuck in the pile of yellow slush in his bowl.
“You are the champion of all morons,” Lyndabel corrected him.
Lorana feigned a smile, but it was clear that the two knights of Ferlonia hadn’t amused her at all with their little skit. Melfis tried to insist, “Come on, Lorana, go into more detail. I saw Bellum, Brombelt, and Rubius come out of the mess, and I imagine they were sitting here. What did they do to upset you so much?”
Lorana put the last orange segments on the tray and crossed her arms, then, annoyed, she began to tease Melfis. "Look at that lively little eye, our Melfis Jawbreaker! The smartest detective in the Colonica tetrapolis! So tell me, what color do you think my panties are today? Come on, deduce it from some circumstantial clues!"
Melfis stared at her with furrowed brows and pursed lips, but he didn't respond to the provocation. He was serious and wouldn't let go of the bone, Lorana had to take note of that.
“All right. Let's just say I have the impression that the victories of these days have gone to our heads a little,” Lorana admitted vaguely.
“What do you mean?” Viryl asked with some curiosity.
“That is, those three, and not only them, you can bet, want to attack Arvis alone, and play some idiotic game. Like, a contest to see who can behead the most infidels. I find it risky and childish. My grandfather and countless other knights from every corner of Boreatica lost their lives during the Second Crusade fighting the Suljukians. Their Ferenkelts are dangerous, and must be faced with due caution. I tried to make them reason, but — “
“Excuse me Lorana, but what do you care about that?” Melfis interrupted her with the aim of calming her anxiety, but he obtained the opposite effect.
“While I'd like to tell you that the road to Surelekem is still long and it would be better to try to get there in one piece, perhaps it's better to tell you that I don't give a damn if all those dickheads end up down the throat of a Ferenkelt. Maybe you're a dickhead too, Melfis, and you can't wait to call me a coward like those other three morons just did.”
“Ignore them, Lorana, they’re just stupid pricks…” Lyndabel tried to cheer her up, meeting her gaze with compassionate eyes. She was sincere, and the League knight seemed to appreciate her attempt.
“Shit, what a temper you have, Lorana. But, you know, I feel the same way. Some see religion in the crusade, others see it as an opportunity to give in to their violent impulses without risking punishment. But at the end of the day, this is just work, pure and simple. And my work ethic dictates that I don't take risks if it's not necessary.”
Viryl spooned a spoonful of polenta into his mouth and nodded at Melfis’s words. He would have said it differently, but he agreed wholeheartedly. Prudence was the first virtue of a knight. Lyndabel had come to think the same way, having been with him all that time. Without giving his statement too much weight, Viryl proposed, “You know, I think the four of us on a team would get along well.”
There was no reply and Viryl felt like he had said something wrong. In reality, the proposal seemed sensible to everyone.
The four knights finished their meal in peace, directing the conversation to lighter topics. Specifically, they talked about polenta. The northern knights considered it a fundamental element of the diet, while Lyndabel had never tasted it before being on that ship and she had not liked it at all. Viryl knew it, in his hometown it was considered a poor dish but it was reserved for special occasions. It seemed strange to him to eat it so often. The chatter eased Lorana's tension, and when their trays were empty they said goodbye and went their separate ways.
They were to meet again at five thirty in Jossolt Halfcannon’s cabin for the war council.
*****
Jossolt's cabin was by far the most spacious and luxurious on the Fortuna Serena, even more so than the Admiral's and the League General's, yet fifteen of them were cramped inside there.
Sitting in a leather-covered oak chair, Jossolt fiddled with a hand-drawn map of the island of Arvis spread out on his desk. The other fourteen seemed scattered haphazardly, standing, sitting on makeshift stools like empty crates and stacks of books, some stationed behind Jossolt, others with their huge hands resting on the table. But all eyes were fixed on the map.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
“Colleagues, our first real challenge awaits us!” Jossolt began. “We will land in the dead of night, and attack from several directions. The general has put seven hundred men and four galleys at our disposal. The island is large, and — “
“The first real challenge? These Infidels have so far proven as harmless as deformed puppies, Jossolt. Aren't you exaggerating a bit?” Ectivia asked arrogantly.
Ollante anticipated Jossolt and answered in his stead, “After the naval battle this morning, I flew over the island to reconnoiter. I spotted a massive number of Ferenkelts and troops hiding in the vegetation. The island is also very large. I assure you that what we have faced so far was only a taste of what awaits us.”
There were shouts of joy, applause and loud noises among the knights.
“Finally some real action!” Brombelt cheered, stretching.
“And hopefully some pretty Kellerian lass to rescue, or some Infidel bitch to lead back to the right path!” Jexter added, rubbing his hands together, looking slimy to say the least.
“Well,” Jossolt continued, “it’s a good thing that you’re loaded. But now we need to plan carefully how we’re going to advance. There are three coastal villages on the island, a small citadel in the center, and a fortified castle overlooking the sea, on the tip of the eastern headland. The rest of it is all forest. I think we could split into three groups of four and one of three, taking about two hundred soldiers per group. I suggest we land near the villages and then advance independently until we meet up in front of the citadel. What do you think?”
“I say: bo-oring! ” Rubius explained, cupping his hands around his mouth.
“Excuse me?” Jossolt asked, astonished.
“Come on, Jossolt, why should we carry those balls and chains around with us? You'll take all the fun out of it, and besides... it would be dangerous for them . Did you see how bad they ended up in Malgadra, when they found themselves facing a Ferenkelt? Let the infantry disembark when we've cleaned everything up,” Bellum argued.
“Supposedly, our job is to protect them from the Ferenkelts, Bellum. And theirs is to deal with the small fry we don’t have time to waste on,” Mishiff countered.
“Supposedly, I say that ten, a hundred or a thousand of them makes no difference against one of us, Mishiff,” Ectivia teased.
“You are a fanatic, Ectivia. Our ethereal armors are still made of metal, and a well-placed bullet can still pierce them. We are not invulnerable!” Lorana snapped at her.
The discussion grew heated, almost to a scuffle. The voices overlapped, and it was now impossible to follow one of them. Jossolt scratched his chin reflexively, then pounded his fist on the desk to restore order.
“It seems obvious to me that we have different ideas about how to conduct this and that we will not come to an agreement,” Jossolt observed, taking the reins of the debate back into his own hands. “And I do not want to force any of you to listen to me, because your opinion is as good as mine. So, to make a long story short, raise your hand if you do not agree with my plan.”
Ectivia, Jexter, Brombelt, Bellum, Morront and Rubius raised their arms decisively.
“Good. You six do as you please. Land wherever you like and let yourselves go wild. The rest of us, how do we want to proceed?” Jossolt asked.
"There are three Second Rank knights in our ranks, and that's you, Alvira, and Rubius. Excluding Rubius, who intends to go alone, I'd say you and Alvira shouldn't be on the same team to begin with," Mishiff assessed.
Hearing those words, Alvira lowered her gaze and turned her head away from Mishiff, as if she wanted to escape him. Rubius, on the other hand, sat on his box, crossed his legs, rested his elbows on them, interlaced his fingers under his chin and sketched a mocking smile. Viryl guessed that Mishiff was referring to the hierarchy of power of the knights of the Order of Libertas, but having no idea how it was evaluated, he could only assume that the “Second Rank” roughly corresponded to membership in the High Table of the Royal Order of Ferlonia.
“If you agree, Jossolt, I’ll offer to go with you, and as far as I’m concerned, the two of us will be enough. Our spells synergize quite well,” Ollante proposed, and Jossolt nodded.
“Well, then I'll go with Alvira,” Mishiff replied, “and I think at least one more can join us. That leaves Lorana, Melfis, and the three Ferlonians. Who's with us?”
Alvira stood there with her lips pressed together, not even making a moan.
“We already have some sort of agreement. I mean me, Lorana, Viryl, and Lyndabel. We were supposed to go together,” Melfis said.
“I confirm,” Lorana echoed.
Viryl's eyes widened: Melfis and Lorana had taken him seriously. He didn't mind.
“Yeah, besides Viryl and I would prefer to be together anyway. We're a tried-and-true couple,” Lyndabel added.
Marzela sighed wearily. “I have no objections to that. I’ll go with Mishiff and Alvira.”
“Very good!” Jossolt exclaimed, “I’d say we’re set, we have three teams and six independents.”
Jossolt paused for thought, and immediately the first murmurs could be heard, then a light buzz arose, threatening to revive the previous commotion.
Before chaos returned to the room, Jossolt pounded his fists again and began to conclude his speech, “I ask you for one last moment of attention!”
Jossolt took out a quill and drew a series of star-like symbols on the map along the island's coast, “We'll land at nine different spots and we’ll all head up the center of the island.”
He then drew a series of lines from the symbols, and squiggled just beyond the western gate of the city, “We'll meet in the clearing in front of the citadel. We'll invade it from there, and proceed east to attack the fort. We expect the enemy to be at their strongest there, but the fort is within cannon range from the sea, so our galleasses will provide a diversion. Dine, rest, and make final preparations, we leave at ten!”
That last exhortation was followed by a disjointed chorus of “aye”. The first to break ranks was Rubius, who rose from the crate he was sitting on, walked to the door, threw it open, and left. Slowly all the knights streamed out of Jossolt’s cabin, and Melfis patted Viryl on his shoulder, suggesting, “How about we go to the armory and see if our Exoplions are ready?”
*****
The Exoplions weren’t ready. At least not in the way Viryl and Melfis expected. The blacksmith had polished them up and replaced the leather straps, but the Fuligine Stone hadn’t been applied.
Melfis slammed his big forearm down on the counter, and the pliers, files, tongs, and all the blacksmith’s tools twitched. “What the fuck did you think we left them for you to do?!”
“What would I know? I'm not a fortune teller!” the blacksmith replied with a purple face. “You threw them there, they looked awful, and I cleaned them up. That way you'll learn to tell me what the hell you want from me next time”"
"Do you fuckin’ know your job, you shithead!? Can't you see that the coating is almost used up?!" Melfis howled, shaking his right fist.
The ironsmith smirked, not at all intimidated. He was highly skilled in his craft, and both he and Melfis knew it. Besides, given the rarity of metalworkers specializing in sympathionic devices, he was in no danger of being thrown overboard for that little oversight.
Viryl let out a long sigh, and calmly tried to talk some sense into the little man in the black grease-stained apron, “We have to sail to Arvis tonight, and it won't be an easy mission. We have to be ready for anything, we can't leave in these conditions. Do you understand?”
“I understand, but it's none of my business,” the blacksmith reiterated stonily.
“Our Exoplions just need a little Fuligine Stone, and we’ll be off in four hours. You can do that easily,” Melfis insisted, his voice sharp. Viryl didn’t know him well, but he had the feeling he was about to lose his temper.
“I don’t think so, I still have a lot of work to do with sir Ram’s and sir Hotcap’s Exoplions,” the blacksmith replied with narrowed eyes and a real asshole face, “I think you’ll have to make do.”
“You know what, Melfis? Fuck him!” Viryl snapped, strapped the Exoplion to his chest, and turned to walk out of the armory.
As Viryl walked away, Melfis bared his teeth, let out a sinister laugh, and then hissed, “Oh yeah, fuck him! And fuck everyone!”
Viryl waited outside the door, and watched as Melfis walked toward him, head held high, his Exoplion in his left hand, his right arm raised and bent. In one extremely quick motion he snapped his fingers, closed the door behind him, and holding the handle cast the “Melt Metal” spell on the lock. Viryl had felt a sympathionic rush from Melfis even as he snapped his fingers, but he couldn’t figure out what spell he had cast.
“Oops, I think I wasted some of my Fuligine Stone. Damn, I was already running low on it,” Viryl found Melfis’s big-baby voice and innocent look so damn funny.
The handle bent in vain, then a desperate, frantic knocking could be heard on the other side of the shutter.
“What have you done?” Viryl asked, trying to suppress the spasms of his own laughter.
Melfis pointed at him with a wink. “Oh, you’ll see, my friend. This is going to be fun.”
Thirty-two years later, third day of Neviticus, 7:45 a.m., abandoned prison on the grounds of Morgraal Abbey,
“Come in,” a nasal voice croaked from beyond the door.
Dioryl turned the knob and opened it. The Doctor Maximus, dressed in a richly decorated crimson robe, was hunched over his desk. His large, pustular nose protruded from his white mustache and his eyes seemed to pop out of their sockets.
“Oh, the Grand Master. I didn’t expect to see you so soon,” the Doctor Maximus commented, looking at the man in his doorway, his armor painted bright red by the torchlight.
“There was a setback and I had to fall back here for the moment. But I brought you a couple of gifts. A young knight of the Order of Ferlonia and Coronice,” Dioryl retorted.
The Doctor Maximus’ eyes flashed, “What? Would you deprive yourself of your favorite toy like that? Are you sure about that, my master? She might not be the same again if you leave her in our hands.”
Dioryl sighed, “That toy is already broken, I don’t need it anymore. Speaking of her, I might have let her fall asleep. You should check her over and make sure she wasn’t dreaming.”
The Doctor Maximus stroked his beard, thoughtfully, “I’m surprised, master. Such mistakes are uncommon for you.”
Dioryl folded his arms and drummed the fingers of his right hand on the plate of the left vambrace. “I told you I had some setbacks. The Rat King betrayed me, the Slimy Glory and the High Priestess are dead. I couldn’t be subtle.”
Sensing his master’s nervousness, Doctor Maximus quickly downplayed it, “I didn’t mean to criticize you, Grand Master. In any case, there’s no problem. You know, we have a cell that can contain her bird form. It will be enough to torture her until she tries to rebel or until she is reduced to such a bad state that she is no longer able to use her arcane power. And then…”