Year 6994 ST (settled time)
Bear Mountains
“We’re approaching the first communications stop, General. A forward scout was waiting with this.”
Job takes the proffered envelope from his chief of staff. Inside he finds three slips of paper, reading them to himself, he mouths each word as he reads them. A notable improvement over two weeks ago when he was still reading everything out loud. Reccy and Sarich are both proud of his rapid development.
These communication way points, or Comm-stations are peppered along their route through the mountains. They could have followed the railway tracks and utilized the telegraph but in preparation for what’s to come, Seer Jadeen recommended a more resilient network. She and Elias designed mobile short range radio stations that can be transported by as few as two rangers. Now with code books only entrusted to a few, they can relay messages privately from Bearlower to anywhere their supply train can reach.
“Chief, this is good news. A convoy of ships was attacked, and they fought them off. There will be a full report waiting ahead.”
Elias isn’t thrilled about this plan to bend a knee to this little valley kingdom, but he must trust that this young genocidal monster is as smart as he’s been told. To achieve his ultimate goal, they must all die, every last War Born. Even though they’ve shown him more respect than his fellow humans, it’s their very existence that has caused him pains all his life. If they were gone, nobody could confuse him for one of them ever again. Learning that this young War Born has the same goal made him a true believer in the Free’er’s grand plan. Why else would he have let him live that fateful day?
“General Job, is there any other news waiting ahead?”
Jobs tiny voice is flat as he responds, “Yes, but it’s for me to know, not you.”
Elias swallows his retort; the general is young and has much to learn about respect and simple tact. Instead, he exercises caution, “Let’s continue to the comm-station, for the rest of that report.”
“Yes, the reports on ship attacks are still transmitting, it could be an hour or more, we can play a game until it’s ready.”
Elias wants no such thing and is rescued by the boy’s father, Sarich.
“That sounds like fun Job, how about we play a game of slayer?”
“Ok, father.” Responds Job disappointedly.
Picking up on the boy’s mood, “Would you rather play something else?”
“Father, I know you choose to play games that will hone my skills as a warrior, but that isn’t what I was born to do. If this fight comes down to me using a sword, it will be lost.
“I want to play something fun, maybe a game of King-me?”
“I’ll fetch your board and chips right away and join you in camp.”
Job stuffs the slips back inside their envelope and pumps out a spark of thermal energy, he waves it playfully in the air, stoking the spark into a flame that engulfs the papers.
Dropping the hot ash Job continues up the slope to the waiting camp.
Reccy dutifully follows, after stepping on the hot ash and grinding it into the cool earth to ensure there’s no risk of fire.
Three hours and dozens of games of King-me later, Radio Operator Sem stands with a stack of papers containing the full report of the navel encounter.
Cantial Ocean, Seventy-Two nautical miles North-Northwest of El’Hat
Windrunner Vladislav perched atop the mainmast doesn’t understand what he sees at first. There’s no vessel, there’s no wash, yet there’s clearly wake turbulence and oar cavitation under the distant surface as if there was one. It’s strange that someone would go through the trouble to hide their presence by ninety percent, doing so is as ineffective as not hiding at all.
Vladislav pulses an ultraviolet flash of light, it will only give away an approximate location if their assailants are able to see it.
Six other Windrunner’s make note of the pulse and drop weighted red flags to the deck of their ships. The familiar thud draws the attention of several deck hands in the vicinity, the nearest scoop up the flag and takes it to their captain wordlessly.
Each ship hand has enough gift and skill to mute their every sound, the occasional slop of water breaking the silence is all that is heard. Only the captain and two lieutenants are allowed to speak unaddressed when cloaked.
The rest of the ship is managed by two masters working in shifts. They ensure there is no sign of their passing, no creaking boards, whipping sails, no sign of water displacement or interruption of wind. This is accomplished by capturing energy, cancelling waves, and illusions to erase every aspect of their passing. Through air and sea, both above and below the waterline. Each master exercising skills honed to perfection for twenty or more years before earning this responsibility.
These seven ships were built to survive the worst winter storms of the Finger Lakes where three yard high waves are the norm in the tumultuous springs. On the surface they appear to be dual sail schooners, looking below the water line reveals a pair of retractable, deepwater keels equipped with hydrofoils.
The seas are calm, a northernly wind drives the seven escorts and their thirty merchant ships steadily south towards the port of El’Hat. This is their fourth trip up and down the west coast and around the tip of the northern swamps. The Windrunners are used to being the hunters, not the hunted. Finally having a target allows them to relax and do what they do best.
It's not long before all seven lookouts have spotted the poorly hidden approaching threat. Vladislav is on Captain Dragomir’s ship which is closest. Keeping his eyes on the approaching cloaked vessel he projects a three-yard, bar of blackness the width of his fist aligned directly from himself to the target. All of his crewmates can see it with naked eyes, the approaching ship would see nothing but a tiny dark spot if they can see it at all.
Captain Dragomir glances at Vlad and takes a read off the projected black bar. A swift turn of his ship’s wheel has his ship, the Sedminohý Mravenec pitching hard to starboard.
Now presenting his broadside to the oncoming threat, the rest of the convoy continues unaware of his actions. The six companion boats stay in their formation in case there are other threats.
Two black dots appear above the bar projected by Vladislav, the farthest forward represents the ship’s relative position. The second dot is above the bar’s midpoint, that’s the attack range. The crew ties off lines, secures gear, and gets ready for the moment the two lines converge.
A handful can detect the tell-tale signs of the oncoming target, the rest keep one eye on the narrowing space between the dots knowing their lookout will provide a target when the time comes.
Convoy Rearguard, Swift as Justice
The sun is overhead with minimal cloud cover, the seas are relatively calm for this time of year, with no signs of attack, this is a perfect day, thinks Gunner Charlie. Blue and purple hair blowing in the breeze, leaning on the rail at the rear of Swift as Justice, Charlie ruefully notes the only blemish on the day is the knowledge of the seven Windrunner ships flanking their position that are absolutely invisible. He knows they’re there because he watched them wink from sight as they left harbor. It’s not really the Windrunners that ruin the perfect day, it’s the knowledge that whoever is sinking their ships are likely equally undetectable.
Further ruining the moment is an overwhelming explosion of potential energy coming from aft, something was just hurled his way and it’s far more than he can handle. Discharging everything he was holding into the water behind him, sends up a plum of water with the mass of nearly a ton. The incoming roar of kinetic energy pounds through the spray weakening it by the slightest fraction. The rest, a tornado-force wind with the punch of a falling rockslide, Charlie absorbs into his hold. The force pounds his flesh, shattering blood vessels, penetrating flesh beyond his spirits capacity to stop, collapsing lungs, and pulping a kidney. He stands griping the rail venting everything can back into the onslaught, knowing he will fall at any moment.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Abruptly the attack stops, when a parody of a ship suddenly appears in the water from the direction of the attack. It’s a childishly drawn wireframe at first, becoming more refined within a few heartbeats, as if someone is drawing from memory or someone else’s description. After five beats there’s a crude approximation of a low-slung single mast longboat with more than two dozen oars to a side.
Charlie finishes venting all his kinetic and coughs up the blood seeping into his lungs. Had they not stopped he’d be dead now. His grip on the ships rail is the only thing keeping him from slipping to the deck.
A hurried pad of bare feet announce relief in the form of his brown haired, purple eyed counterpart, Ellymae.
“Charlie, you look terrible! Can you talk?”
He nods affirmative as pink bubbles escape his pursed lips. After coughing more blood he roughly whispers, “I’m good. You lead, defense only, wedge it.”
Ellymae doesn’t like the idea but doesn’t question his judgement, “Are you certain?”
Charlie can only nod while coughing out another spray of blood riddled spittle, begging his spirit to heal him enough to help Ellymae survive the next attack.
Ellymae points aft. “Look, they dropped their cloak.”
The comically drawn boat has been replaced with the real thing. Rowers line each side and there’s a group of seven or eight crewmen huddled on the prow. Those must be their stone shots.
Windrunner Port-Side Rearguard, Sedminohý Mravenec
Captain Dragomir will run the drill by the book until he sees reason to improvise. The book says to disable the ship, then offer a chance for the crew to surrender. Except, now that his eyes have confirmed the reports, these are War Born, he knows there will be no surrender.
The longboat pirates are still focused on the convoy rearguard. They seem to be resuming their previous kinetic wave attack that was interrupted by the Windrunner targeting illusion. The blast was huge, more than any single Windrunner ships compliment could hope to counter.
As expected, the previous attack was resumed moments after the previous interruption. Observing the huddle of crew on the enemy ship, six of them are aligned behind a single woman, each with a hand on the War Born in front of them. The attack seems to emanate from the woman in front.
The defending crew of Swift as Justice appear to be successfully wedging the blast. There’s a man pressed between the rail and a woman, her upraised arms indicate her lack of training, but the results show her strength. She’s projecting a spear of kinetic energy up the center of the incoming attack. Her wave of energy being narrow makes up for the power differential. The incoming air molecules carried by the wave of energy are being forced outward in all directions. The force hitting their ship is diminished as the bulk of energy is routed to the perimeter of an expanding cone.
Having taken two hits, Swift as Justice is no longer the rearguard, pushed abruptly forward it’s overtaken the ship designated as Smel'that.
Raising his voice enough to be heard over the choppy water resulting from the torrential wind, Captain Dragomir bellows, “Fire!”
His crew of twenty-two are all stone shots and pyromancers, if lightning comes into play, he has two masters that can handle that situation.
Seven gunners fire fist sized lead shots towards the group on the ship’s prow. Another eight gunners fire raw kinetic without shots into the rudder. The intent is to break it, jam it, send it to the bottom of the sea; the final result doesn’t matter beyond taking away their ability to steer. The last seven gunners use canisters of shot to pepper their sails with holes to degrade efficiency.
This outright attack will give away their position, they’ll brace for a counter attack only when one looks likely. Until that time, they will attack.
The pirates are not amateurs, the rest of the crew must be gunners as well, the forward huddle of crewmates is protected, the fist-sized shots splash harmlessly in the water a dozen yards shy of their targets. But the rudder takes a direct hit and is lifted from the rudder horn and jammed against the haul. The crack of hardened wood is heard over the din of shouting now coming from the convoy. The sail is shredded but still intact enough to be of use. Something to note, they protected their crew but did nothing to protect the ship.
The mostly intact sail doesn’t concern the captain, the second compliment of seven pirates that are heading aft spawns a sinking feeling in his stomach. If they have two stone shots with the ability just demonstrated, his Windrunners won’t be enough to stop them.
With only a quick sideways glance at the disabled but afloat Swift as Justice and the ships beyond, he decides to improvise and go against years of Windrunner tradition of sparing vessel’s.
Amplifying his voice to carry the length of the convoy, “Scuttle the bastards!”
In spite of the tradition or capturing enemy boats whole, the Windrunners have developed many ways to sink a ship, if luck holds these pirates will not know how to counter the first and most effect method about to be executed.
His entire crew coordinates and apply a concentrated wave of kinetic energy that is forced under the target from the front, with enough force behind it, to punch a hole in the water that extends below the ships deck far enough back to cause it to tip forward into the hole. Once the deck enters the sustained kinetic wave it will teeter forward hard into the airy void. Which is when they discontinue the attack and let the clashing water do the rest.
The Free’er’s luck was with them as these pirates did nothing to thwart the attack, both standing clusters of stone shots crash to the bucking deck, some fly overboard. Their ships keel cracks but doesn’t break when the nose dips into the forward kinetic wave and lifts the ships stern skyward.
Many of the crew dive into the water preemptively when the ship pitches forward to escape the crashing water as it closes on their submerged longboat. Once clear of the doomed ship they set their deadly sights on the retreating convoy.
Their ships is still silenced and invisible, the captain speaks barely above a whisper to his lookout, “Signal the others we have boarding parties in the water.”
Vladislav, flashes two ultraviolet pulses to say attention, followed by short and long pulses, “. -. . -- -.-- .. -. .-- .- - .”
Now joined by the Slaná Slimák they go to work on the War Born attempting to reach the convoy.
War Born are natural endurance athletes. Give them the gift and they become more than super-human. Almost four dozen missiles are shooting through the water towards the rear most ships.
The pirates have a distance of eighty yards to cover before reaching the SmEl'tHat, they’ll likely pass on it as it’s small and sitting low in the water making it unlikely to be able to keep up with the accelerating convoy. Just beyond is the disabled Swift as Justice, an equally unappealing prize. That means they need to cover two-hundred and fifty yards to reach the next viable ship. They’ll need to breathe before they reach them.
One by one War Born pirates explode out of the water like dolphins to take a much needed breath, only to be greeted by super-heated air that turns the water on their bodies to steam, which once inhaled, scalds their mouths, throats and lungs, diminishing their lung capacity and ability to breath. Forcing them to surface more frequently, greeted each time by a mix steam and stone shots.
Seven pirates reach ships, only to be shot dead by the merchants’ own stone shots while attempting to board.
It takes two hours to fish all of the bodies from the water. Laid out on the deck of Sedminohý Mravenec, reveals nothing. The crew are all dressed alike in what must be their navy uniform, course undyed cavi-wool. None of them carry personal belongings.
The debris of the scuttled longboat is equally uninformative. Enough food rations and water for another two weeks at sea. The empty barrels and crates imply they’ve been deployed for three weeks. The longboat was well built with zero ornamentation, bare of decoration, optimized for efficiency. Built with the finest teak and oak found in North Cenoka, it made an admirable funeral pyre for the fifty dead War Born.
Captain Dragomir sits with his first mate in his sparse cabin, his black hair in strong contrast to his subordinates white; matching black eyes as common of the folk of the southern lake shores.
“Zoran, we got lucky. That crew was ill-prepared to face a real resistance. I doubt that will happen again.”
“What do you mean Captain?”
“I mean, they could have come at us with twice or maybe three times the force and we couldn’t have stopped them. Once they figure out the counter to our scuttling attack it will turn into a slug fest. Our spies tell us there are hundreds of those long boats. Now that they’ve tasted defeat, they’ll come at us in pairs or squads.”
Emboldened by their decisive victory, “Let them come captain, we’ll crush them all.”
“Your enthusiasm is appreciated Zoran, but it would get us killed. We’re going to need to adapt our strategies or bring some heavier firepower.
“Now about the report you drafted for Captain Nikitin. We must assume it will be intercepted at some point. Leave out how we spotted them, let’s keep that our little secret.”
Bear Mountains, Comm-Station
Elias watches painfully as Job reads the entire report, eyes widening at some details, chortling like a fool at others. He needs to learn statesmanship if he’s to be a believable commander someday. Backing him up is Reccy the so-called War Mother’s admonishments to stay serious.
Dropping the report on the tiny field desk without offering it to anyone else, “First contact went well. I doubt we’ll get so lucky next time.
“Whoever wrote this report did a good job, lots of details about what they did but not how they did it.
“It shows they’re doing what our allies in Rebirth asked. To guess everything will get out.”
Reccy corrects Job, “It shows they are following the advice of our ally and assuming our messages will be intercepted.”
Job sniffs, “That’s what I said.”
“Yes, but you’ve expanded your vocabulary and are not using it. Your brain is like a muscle and must be exercised as such. No more talking like a baby when you can help. Am I clear?”
Dropping his eyes, Job mutters, “Yes, mother. That was perfectly clear.”
Gesturing to the report of the naval encounter, “Chief, read this. I want to know what you… I want your opinion on the matter. We can… discuss it later when I finish reading the reports from Bearlower.”
Reccy gives a slight nod of her head to signal her approval.