Vayra and Glade reached the Harmony in a matter of seconds. She skimmed over the surface of the water, then swung up onto the main deck and ran to the quarterdeck. By the time she reached the wheel hub, where Captain Pels and a coxswain stood, she deactivated the Astral Shroud.
Glade and the swordwyrm flew over the stern railing, then landed in a crouch just behind Pels.
“We need to go!” Vayra called. “Now!”
“What’s going on?” Pels demanded. “Where’s Nathariel?”
“He’s holding them off! Go!”
Pels ran to the front railing of the quarterdeck and leaned over. “Full sail! For the Stream!”
The planetary wind blew directly from the side, filling their sails in and out of the harbour, but it also gave ships on the western half of the half a free approach to the Harmony—and a fast approach. An Elderworld galleon sloshed across the harbour, its bowsprit pointing directly at them.
It was trying to cut off their escape.
As soon as the Harmony sloshed out from between the cargo haulers it hid between, the galleon fired its bow cannons. One shot splashed into the water astern, and one ripped through the railing at the center of the ship, throwing up an explosion of splinters and debris.
“I’ll Ward the hull,” Vayra said.
“I will disable their sails.” Glade dropped the swordwyrm down and hopped on it, then drew his own sword.
“Roll out the long guns!” Pels called. “Aim for their Streamrunning fins and masts!”
Vayra jumped down the quarterdeck stairs and ran to the center of the ship, just in front of the mainmast, then, with the last quarter of her mana, filled the hull of the Harmony with a shield.
As the Elderworld galleon approached, its gunners adjusted. They wouldn’t land a glancing blow this time.
“Hold steady!” Vayra yelled to the crew around. Most were sailors, but a few marines ran to the railing, loading their muskets and fastening their bayonets. A crew of gunners pushed a heavy cannon up to the rail.
When their pursuer fired another volley from its bow cannons, she flinched. Plumes of smoke wafted from the ship’s forecastle, on either side of its bowsprit, but the cannonballs thudded harmlessly against her shield.
Then the gunners fired a volley back. Five, maybe six, cannons boomed, but they were the largest, longest cannons the Harmony had available. The cannonballs warbled through the sky and impacted their target with as much precision as a smoothbore weapon could. A few tore into the Elderworld galleon’s flank, and another smashed the side windows of the captain’s cabin. The rest dug into the Streamrunning fin, snapping its ropes and shattering its holding beams, and setting it to hang at an awkward angle.
But in the atmosphere, it could still catch them.
Vayra braced for another impact, holding her shield as long as she could. The bow cannons had to be ready soon. Her mouth dried, and she stopped sweating. Soon, she’d be out of mana.
The last volley burst from the bow cannons just as Vayra’s mana slowed to a trickle, but she gave one last push. The cannonballs bit only a half-inch into the hull before she stopped them, but her shield fell instantly after.
She fell to her hands and knees, black specks whirling in front of her eyes. Faintly, she registered Glade swooping past the galleon’s white sails, dragging his sword through the sheets and slitting them open. Bluecoats fired volleys up at him, but he was too fast for their musketshot, and they weren’t leading their shots.
As the Harmony’s bow curved up onto the Stream, matching the bend of the waterway, Glade raced back and landed on the quarterdeck.
They’d made it away, but just barely.
“What’s Karmion doing?” Vayra whispered. “He tried to kill us. I thought—”
“It is possible he didn’t recognize us,” Glade said, running down the quarterdeck stairs to her side. “If so, we are in a lot better shape.”
“He recognized us,” Vayra said. “Nathariel called my name.”
‘He was defending his assets,’ Phasoné said. ‘He wouldn’t have instigated the fight, so he wouldn’t perceive a loss in honour. He took his chance. But now that we’re gone, offworld…he won’t come after us yet. Not personally.’
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
“What was he doing with the Ko-Ganall?” Vayra asked. “Or…almost-Ko-Ganall?”
‘He’s worried. You have him nervous. But if he loses, he’ll be petulant. If he thinks there’s even a slim chance of failure, he’ll flip the board and wipe out the sector, hopefully killing you in the chaos.’
Vayra shut her eyes. They’d barely destroyed one Ko-Ganall. Without the help of a god, or without the strength of one, they’d never deal with the rest. She repeated Phasoné’s comments out loud for the benefit of Glade.
“Now he has us right where he needs us,” Glade said. “We are stuck without our instructor, and if we advance too far, he’ll come directly for us—to fight us. And if all else fails, he will wipe out the entire sector.”
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As soon as the Mediator’s ship departed, Karmion breathed a faint curse under his breath.
But his bad mood didn’t last. She couldn’t do anything about it. He’d post Admirals to guard this facility, and if she came back, they would destroy her. If she spread the word, no one would believe her.
He had only lost one opportunity, but those were one in a thousand. The true mark of greatness was capitalizing as much as one could. He hadn’t ascended as far as he had without being able to make the most of luck when it arose.
And today, his luck was Nathariel.
The Admiral had exhausted all his mana on Wards, and he had nothing else to fuel his enhanced body. He hung, limp as a mortal, face battered and bruised, in the grip of two bluecoats.
Karmion called his remaining water into a glove over his right hand, then strode across the street to face Nathariel. Though he had no more mana in his system, his core still radiated an absurd pattern. Something bound to his core, shielding it and sheltering it. If Nathariel released the veil?
Karmion lunged forward and punched at Nathariel’s head. If his fist connected, he’d break Nathariel’s skull open and scatter his brains across the entire block behind.
He stopped only a fingernail’s length away from Nathariel’s forehead. The man didn’t even flinch.
“Nathariel, is it?” Karmion shook off his hand, scattering the water across the paving stones. “You have been a thorn in the side of many a God-heir and Mediator alike, from what I hear. Lived five-hundred years, is it?”
Nathariel looked up slightly, but he said nothing more.
“I don’t believe you,” Karmion said, pacing around the back of the man. The two bluecoats held him in place. Three more sprinted down the street adjacent, pushing aside a terrified vendor who tried to scoop the remains of a loaf of bread into a barrel. They cocked their muskets and pointed them at Nathariel.
“Believe what you want,” Nathariel spat. “I am what I am.”
“An Admiral doesn’t raise a Mediator and a boy with a weak spirit up to Commodores in less than a year.”
“Maybe they are excellent disciples. Maybe pitting your children against each other and treating them like fighting dogs doesn’t motivate them as well as…”
Karmion scoffed. “As well as what?”
“As well as a father does.”
“I’d kill you for that.”
“No, you wouldn’t.”
“I—”
“...be able to.”
Karmion squinted. “I am the God of the Planetary Sea, commander of all water, Lord of the High Pantheon. There is nothing that I cannot do.”
“The dragons were the first gods.” Nathariel hoisted his head up high, with great effort. “Do you know where the Streamfather got his power from?”
“I am not playing this game with you,” Karmion spat. “Take him to my ship. I’ll put him in the Namola when I arrive.”
“The Streamfather forged the galactic paths with the strength of the Spirit Dragon itself!” Nathariel yelled. The bluecoats dragged him away, bearing him toward the port, where a longboat waited—it’d carry them back to the Cardinal Arrant.
“Silence. I will use your fire, and you will provide the finishing touches to the mightiest weapon of the age.”
“You cannot control the Dragons’ Fire. It will turn against you.”
“That’s nice. If he speaks again, shoot him.”
Karmion crossed his arms and shook his head, then mustered his cloud of mist from his corespace and hopped onto it.
It was wonderful to have Lyze back.
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When the Harmony returned to Shatterport, Vayra and Glade leapt ashore in a hurry. It was still nighttime, though past midnight. A chunk of the Shattered Moon’s crust hovered in front of the stars, blocking the sky, but even beyond its edge, the sky was dark.
“Get out of here,” Vayra told Pels. “If we need you again, we’ll send a fish, but if you wait in the port, you’re just putting a target on your backs.”
“Good plan, missy,” Pels said, dipping his head respectfully. “We’ll be nearby, and hopefully, we hear from you soon.”
Then, she and Glade walked back to the arena. They had refilled their mana on the journey back, using spray from the Stream, but there was no need to burn mana just sprinting back to their apartment.
The sun was glimmering on the horizon by the time they made it back to their apartment. Vayra dropped down on the couch, and Glade sat on the chair on the opposite side. Phasoné manifested physically behind Vayra, leaning on the back of the coach and resting her chin on Vayra’s head.
“Do you think…he’ll kill Nathariel?” Vayra asked.
“He seemed pretty confident that he’d live,” Phasoné said. “We should trust him. He gave us an assignment. All of us. We can’t fail him. At best, he needs us.”
Vayra shut her eyes and nodded. “We need to take the final step alone.”
“You are not alone, Vayra,” said Glade. “We will train together. Like old times.”