“We’ve got a blockade ahead,” Captain Pels said. “It’s tighter than on the way out. They’ve closed ranks, and they’re not letting anyone in or out without a fight. I hope you’ve got a plan.”
As the Harmony approached the Shattered Moon, Vayra ran to the quarterdeck’s front railing and gazed down at the Stream ahead.
It was impossible to blockade the Stream itself. Even if someone had enough ships, they wouldn’t be able to hold a formation for long before the currents and winds tossed them out of position. But they could block off the base of the Stream and attack any ship as soon as its keel touched the planetary ocean.
The Elderworld fleet had done exactly that.
A wall of ships blocked off the Stream at its very base, preventing any ship from entering or exiting. They left a gap between themselves, nearly twice the width of a hull, for safety’s sake, but otherwise, they blocked all incoming or outgoing traffic.
Vayra exhaled sharply. They’d almost passed through the Moon’s crust, and there wasn’t much time for a plan. She’d have to wing it.
“Load the cannons and get the crew ready to fire a volley!” she said, speaking as quickly as she could. It came out as more of a yell than she liked. “Does anyone see the Cardinal Arrant in the blockade?”
Pels handed her a spyglass, then pulled out one of his own. She swept back and forth across the blockade until she found Karmion’s flagship. “There!” she yelled, pointing at it. “Move to the left! Uh…larboard! Aim for the nearest first rate ship! It’s got three gun decks and a whole lot of bluecoats swarming on the deck!”
“We’re going to attack it?” Myrrir asked. “I can’t—”
“Pels, fire a single volley when you’re exactly side-by-side with them. I’ll need the smoke as cover. When you pass, I won’t be aboard anymore. Make for the port as fast as you can, and get to safety with the other Velaydian ships.”
“They’ll send ships after us,” Pels warned.
“Keep together and hold on as long as you can. King Tallerion is coming to help.”
“Not as suicidal of a plan as I thought,” Myrrir muttered. “I’ll hold back as much of their volley as I can. When we reach the shore, I will depart and make for the arena.”
Pels nodded quickly, then delivered the order to the main deck and the crew. “Load the cannons and prepare a single volley from all starboard batteries!” A shrill whistle blast followed, and the lieutenants relayed his orders.
Vayra ran to the railing, but she couldn’t jump from the quarterdeck. She sprinted down to the main deck, then leapt up onto the rail at the middle of the ship and held onto one of the mainmast’s stays.
When the Harmony sloshed onto the flat ocean at the edge of the central floating island, they were only sailing at atmospheric speeds. With the wind blowing directly from the side, though, they caught it and navigated into position. A few ships in the blockade fired their bow cannons, but they splashed harmlessly into the ocean beside the Harmony.
Bluecoats swarmed on the decks of the Elderworld ships, and Karmion’s God-heirs stood by. Some threw grappling hooks at the Harmony, but Vayra and Myrrir knocked them away before they could trap the ship.
They passed between the Cardinal Arrant and a smaller frigate. The two ships shifted, trying to sandwich the Harmony and trap it between their hulls, but the wind wouldn’t cooperate with the frigate, and it could only move away, not closer.
“Fire!” Pels yelled when they were side-by-side with the Cardinal Arrant. The cannons boomed at once, and plumes of smoke and sawdust filled the air, obscuring everything between the ships for a few seconds.
Vayra jumped to the Cardinal Arrant. She reached out and clung to an ornament between the ship’s gun ports, then pressed herself flat against the hull so no one on deck would see her unless they looked straight down.
When the Cardinal Arrant returned fire, she pressed her ear into her shoulder, then reached up with her other hand and plugged her other ear. Flame spewed from the gun ports on either side of her.
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But Myrrir was still aboard the Harmony. He Warded the hull, and he stopped an enemy cannon from firing when its shot was about to cleave through the Harmony’s mast.
Now Vayra just had to do her job. Before the smoke cleared, she swung her legs out to the side, then slipped in through the nearest open gun port. A pair of bluecoats stood behind the cannon in the port, but they were too busy reloading to notice her slip in through the side of the port and duck down behind a crate of cannonballs, keeping out of sight.
“They’re past!” shouted an officer. “They’re past, hold your fire! The Losse and Territoire are pursuing. We hold our position!”
Vayra exhaled in relief, then tucked herself tighter into a ball and waited. The gun ports slowly full shut and the gunners dispersed, returning to their previous duties about the ship—and making it easier for her to sneak around.
After ten minutes of sitting in unmoving silence, when her spiritual senses didn’t alert her to any danger, she peered up over the edge of the crate. The gun deck was far from abandoned, but the bluecoats and officers were few enough that she could sneak around.
It was time to get herself a new toy.
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When the Harmony reached the port and rejoined the remaining Velaydian ship, its two pursuing frigates broke off and circled like sharks, awaiting reinforcements.
While Captain Pels shouted and coordinated with the other captains, trying to come up with a plan for their survival, Myrrir jumped down to the pier. He opened his mouth, about to try thanking them, then shut it again. He could thank them by continuing to help.
But first, he had to make a stop at the arena. He knew exactly what he—and the Mediator—would need.
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Every second the gates of Glade’s waiting room spent swinging open felt like hours. Mid-morning light blazed in, and he raised a hand to shield his eyes from their rays. As soon as the doors parted completely, the crowd began cheering.
King Tallerion’s aide handed him a small vial with a shimmering turquoise liquid in it. “Concentration boosting elixir. Compliments of the Order.”
Glade took the vial graciously. It was only the width of his pinky finger, and a half inch shorter, but he downed the liquid quickly and cycled it. It swept the tiredness to the sides of his mind, but at the Admiral stage, it couldn’t do much to improve his concentration that reforging his body hadn’t already accomplished.
Still, he nodded to the aide and handed the vial back, then summoned the swordwyrm from his corespace and stepped out into the open plain of the arena, crossing the moat at the edge.
To make it a fair fight, an orb of water nearly three years in diameter hung to Glade’s left, and a sphere of metal shards hung suspended to his right. Resources for both of them to draw on.
Varion marched across the arena in the opposite direction, holding his chin high. His hands were empty, but the frost on his cloak stood upright today, like shards of white ice sprouted out of his shoulders. He heaved a sigh, then locked eyes with Glade. “So I finally meet the prodigal disciple. Not so effective without the Mediator beside you, are you?”
Glade snorted. “How is your axe?”
That earned a scowl in response.
Any moment, the trumpet would sound, and the fight would begin. He drew his sword and cycled Arcara, but a faint tremble of danger emerged in his spiritual senses. Something arose from Varion—a fluctuation in the man’s spirit.
It was trembling, like he was veiling himself down a stage and holding himself lower.
Glanced winced. He had his suspicions, but complaining wouldn’t do him any good now. If Varion was a Grand Admiral, he’d have to work around it.
When a scream arose from higher up in the audience stands, Glade almost mistook it for a shrill trumpet blast and leapt into action. But then more rang out, and he followed the audience’s gazes up to the sky.
Looming as misty pink forms in the distance, circling around the Shattered Moon’s parent planet, was the horde of Ko-Ganall, like a wisp of a gas giant’s ring. The atmosphere and distance made them look like a celestial object, but they were drawing closer.
Karmion’s voice echoed across the arena a few seconds before a hastily-made sunlight projection of him appeared. He cleared his throat and said, “Do not fear, loyal mortals. You are under the protection of the High Pantheon, and the tournament must go on. But if you must watch, then witness Brannûl of the Wind, Vallor of Ships, and Bharrelion of the Moon rise to face the threat.”
On cue, a god emerged from each of their tower. Brannûl encased herself in a cocoon of wind, whirling so fast it made the air around her misty. Vallor drew up a curved plank of wood, a canoe-shaped sword, and stepped onto it. Bharrelion shrouded herself in pale gray dust, which clung directly to her flesh in a tight coating, turning her statuesque.
Then, with a boom, the three Gods leapt up into the sky. Their techniques carried them beyond the outer atmosphere and far out into the void beyond. It wouldn’t sustain them for extended periods of time in the void, and they were the members of the pantheon best for extraterrestrial combat—if Glade’s Order education served him—but they could hold the Ko-Ganall off.
But there were too many of the beasts for three gods alone to handle. Eventually, they would be overwhelmed.
The mortal audience quieted, however, and some returned their attention to the arena below. Glade raised his sword again.
The trumpet sounded, and the fight began.