By the time Vayra and the others made it back to the Harmony’s main deck, the lock had already filled up halfway. Water surged down from the pitcher plants like four massive waterfalls, and when it hit the bottom of the lock, it burst into plumes of mist. She could barely see more than a few feet past the ship’s railing, but the runes on the lock’s doors glowed—they had closed shut when the spirit water came in contact with them.
In a matter of minutes, the water level rose to the top of the cliff. Whisps of Stream water swirled around in it, and when the spirit water touched the runes of the gates at the top, they activated. Creaking and groaning, the gates at the top of the lock opened.
The Harmony sloshed out onto the new river at the top of the cliff. The water level here matched the top of the lock, and the walls of stone only reached about as high as the deck.
Vayra shivered, but not because she was cold. Without a deep ravine to hide in, anyone could see them for miles. It would be like raising a flag and begging people to check on them.
But at least Nathariel was keeping watch. She exhaled slowly, trying to calm herself. Her arms were tired and sore from playing Velle-ball all afternoon, and moving her prosthetic limbs so much had taken a mental toll.
‘We should at least try to sleep,’ Phasone said, having retreated inside Vayra’s head again.
“I’ll try…” Vayra walked back to the officer’s quarters and tucked into the little corner of the room that was supposed to be hers. She had a curtain for privacy, but there wasn’t much to keep hidden other than a hammock.
She nestled into it and pulled one of the inner sheets around herself. Within seconds, she fell asleep.
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Vayra woke up halfway through the night to boots pounding on the deck above and a shout, then a short whistle blast.
It wasn’t a full call to action—there would have been a lot more ruckus—but something was going on. Now that she was awake, her curiosity wouldn’t let her leave it alone. She rolled out of the hammock, then stumbled. Phasoné’s sandals were a little clumsy…
With a grunt, Vayra kicked the sandals off and traded them for her boots. She laced them up as quickly as she could, hopping across the deck to cover a little ground. Once she had them laced up, she sprinted out onto the main deck.
The marines—sentries for the night—were running belowdeck, and officers were pulling off their coats.
They were getting rid of anything that would identify them as a ship of the Royal Velaydian Navy…
Vayra scrunched her eyes and ran to the quarterdeck, where she found Nathariel and Captain Pels. Glade ran up the stairs a moment later—and as soon as he reached the top, Pels plunked a tricorn hat onto his head to cover his white hair.
“What’s going on?” Vayra asked.
“Bluecoats,” Nathariel said.
“Where?” Vayra perched up on her tip-toes, scanning the canal behind them. Even though it was night, the reflected light from the moons and the bright band of stars cast everything in a pale glow. Still, she couldn’t see any ships.
Besides, anyone who was trying to follow them would be stuck behind the locks. Ahead? Well, it would be impossible for anyone to turn around and sail the opposite direction in this canal. Even if they could get a ship turned around, there wasn’t enough room to tack into the wind.
“First Galactic Dragoons,” Nathariel said, tilting his head to the larboard side. “Karmion’s elite cavalry.”
“Whenever one of his children enters battle, they come along,” Glade said.
Vayra grabbed a spyglass and ran over to the quarterdeck’s larboard side railing. She swept her gaze back and forth across the wheat fields, searching for dragoons. After a few seconds, she locked onto a plume of dust just to the south.
“Nathariel sensed them before we could see them,” said Pels. “They’re streaking right towards us. We don’t have much choice but to see what they want. Can’t exactly run away in these canals, eh?”
Vayra chewed on her lip for a second.
‘Ask him if there are any God-heirs,’ Phasoné said. ‘Or I could just appear and do it myself, but we don’t want any unnecessary attention.’
Vayra asked.
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“I don’t sense anything,” Nathariel said. “Nothing Captain-stage or below can veil itself from my senses, so either we have a real fight on our hands, or these are all mortal bluecoats.”
“They may be mortals,” Glade said, “but the First Galactic Dragoons are some of the best-trained warriors in Karmion’s armies. We cannot take them lightly.”
The Harmony kept its sails full for another half hour, streaming down the canal as fast as they could, before the dragoons reached them.
Ten mounted riders rode along the edge of the canal. Their deep blue coats were almost black in the night, but white cloaks streamed behind them. The rider in the lead carried a blue banner emblazoned with the Elderworld crest—an eagle perched on an anchor. The others carried straight sabers at their hips and muskets on their shoulders.
One of the riders raised a brass cone to his mouth and shouted, “Drop your sails for a mandatory inspection!”
Of course, being bluecoats, they all wore thick black and gold masks beneath their riding helmets. They were mass-produced almost-humans, who only lasted about five years before decaying—and the decay wasn’t a pretty process.
If what Glade had said was right, these dragoons must have spent most of their life training.
Vayra shuddered, but at least they were all wearing masks. They were all bluecoats, and that meant there were no God-heirs among them.
Captain Pels ran to the railing and cupped his hands around his mouth. He put on a convincing Elderworld accent, albeit a faint one, when he said, “We weren’t informed of any inspections! We were told this world was entirely open!”
“On command of Lady Larra of Mascant, we are to search every ship travelling inland!” the dragoon yelled back.
‘Larra,’ Phasoné said. ‘That’s one of Karmion’s favoured daughters. Not favoured enough to put her in line for the Sea Godhood, mind you, but still powerful. Last I knew, she was a Captain.’
“How…how many children does Karmion have?” Vayra whispered.
‘By all estimates, there are over a hundred of his direct lineage.’
Vayra swallowed. “So this Larra must be pretty good to rise above the others…”
‘Best to assume that. If the dragoons are here, then Larra will be too…’
Pels glanced back at everyone else and shrugged.
“Don’t drop the sails,” Nathariel said softly. “The moment they set foot aboard the ship, they’ll figure out who we are.”
“If they haven’t already…” Vayra muttered.
Pels stepped away from the railing, but not before sneering, “Get lost, bluecoat scum!” He ran to the front railing of the quarterdeck and made a motion with his hand, then called, “Sharpshooters to the tops! Mr. Tikks, keep the sails trimmed!”
“Down!” Glade yelled.
The dragoons had all drawn their muskets and pointed them at the quarterdeck.
Everyone dropped to the deck—except for Vayra and Nathariel. Vayra pushed a shield of starlight into the railing, strengthening it against incoming musketfire, and Nathariel stomped his foot down, conjuring a wall of fire in front of the railing. The volley glanced off Vayra’s shield or melted into sparks through Nathariel’s fire.
Vayra pulled her shield down right away, and Nathariel dropped his fire moments after.
Five of the dragoons had pulled grappling hooks from their saddlebags. They threw them across and hooked them onto the Harmony’s rigging—too high to cut easily. The rest reloaded their muskets while riding.
“I’ll cover the quarterdeck,” Nathariel said.
“I’ll take the main deck!” Vayra said. She drew her pistol from her belt. It hadn’t been reloaded, but it didn’t need to be.
“Glade, go with her,” Nathariel instructed.
Vayra jumped down the quarterdeck stairs and sprinted across the main deck. One of the dragoons was swinging over already—he aimed straight for a sailor. One of the redmarines poked his head up from belowdeck, and he pointed a musket at the dragoon, but his shot missed.
It was up to Vayra. She pointed her pistol at the dragoon, then, drawing in starlight from all around, fired out a beam of starlight-infused Arcara. It seared through the man’s chest, leaving an inch-wide hole of burning flesh.
The dragoon dropped dead immediately, but another swung across between the ships just after. He swatted Vayra’s pistol aside with his saber, knocking it out of her grip, then kicked her in the chest.
Another dragoon had landed in front of Glade, and the last two landed on the quarterdeck in front of Nathariel. For now, they weren’t her problem.
Vayra’s dragoon flourished his saber, then dropped to a crouch and poured a vial of Stream water along its blade. A length of runes lit up, and when he swung it, iridescent sparks flew off into the air.
Great. Magic swords.
Vayra sprang back to her feet, then spun to the side just in time to avoid the dragoon’s saber. It hacked straight through the railing behind her, leaving a glowing gash of embers in the wood.
She held out her hand, and without asking, allowed Phasoné into the hand. Her scythe wove into existence—the Goddess had known exactly what Vayra wanted. She met the dragoon’s next strike with the scythe’s haft. The blade latched on. Vayra pushed it away, Bracing her arms with starlight to match the bluecoat’s strength, then lashed out with a pair of scythe swipes.
The dragoon had already sprang away. A pair of redmarines charged him from behind, their bayonets fixed, but the dragoon sliced through the weapons then cut them both down with a single swipe.
The dragoon was about to impale one of the lieutenants. Vayra lunged at the dragoon, pushing his sword away, then unleashed a rapid pattern of swipes that she’d practiced hundreds of times. She had to keep his attention on her. The dragoon blocked all of her attacks except the last. She drove his blade down into the deck, and the scythe’s blade cleaved him in half.
She pushed Phasoné out of her arm, dispelling the scythe. Glade duelled with his dragoon, blocking the mana-empowered blade with his own sword and his technique, but he had it under control. Nathariel had already incinerated his dragoons.
Vayra ducked behind the mainmast to avoid a volley of musketfire from the dragoons on the shore, then whispered, “Phas, how’s my mana supply doing?”
‘Half full. That pistol blast used a good chunk.’
Vayra inhaled a smokey breath, then strengthened her legs with her Bracing technique. If she didn’t deal with the dragoons ashore, they’d spread the word, and reinforcements would arrive.
She jumped out of cover and ran to the railing as soon as the volley ended. With a burst of power, she launched herself off and to the shore.