Blizzard winds whipped up around the ship as Mark brought it down into a shaky descent.

The ship's mage heart needed a chance to rest and landed with a heavy thud, jolting Mark and the acolytes roughly, squeaking through branch claws as it passed through the forest canopy.

I wonder if this thing scratches.

“We all alright?” Mark turned to ask, the ship's lights dulling and flickering before brightening again.

“Yes, Imperator,” Callum groaned.

“Think so,” Radic added.

I just need a little practice, that's all, Mark thought as he stood up.

“Alright, let's build a–is it getting warmer?”

The throne ship hummed softly, and Mark realized that it was heating them. There was no need for a fireplace tonight. Even guarding outside seemed unnecessary and likely to expose them to the dangers of the Frontier more than just staying inside the ship.

“Actually, scrap that. Just try to get some shut-eye if you can. We’ll wait until sunrise to set off again.”

The two boys wearily nodded. They had pushed themselves harder than either believed they could. They had met what they thought was their wall and pushed through it with determination, awakening a realization in both boys that they were more capable than either thought. But now that they had relative safety, fatigue hit like a sack of potatoes, and they went down almost as soon as their lids fluttered shut.

Mark, on the other hand, was filled with anxious energy. This ship was far more than just a tool to help defend the fort; it gave him the ability to scout, map, and even create lines of communication with distant settlements. Even supplies they couldn't get in the Frontier were within reach now.

But an invasive thought lingered. If the Imperium had ships like this, why weren’t they using them across the Frontier? As far as he was aware, wagons linked the forts and other settlements across the untamed land, exposing them to the dangers of the road; with something like a throne ship, it would be easy to keep the forts supplied and linked to one another.

Although, the ship's military use was clearly limited. Yes, the blast it fired was impressive, but considering how much energy it drained, it wasn’t about to defeat an army.

Mark’s thoughts drifted back and forth about how he could utilize the ship deep into the night, and he finally slipped into sleep against its cold, metal floor.

“Imperator, Imperator.”

“What?” Mark groaned, rolling over to see Callum and Radic looking down at him as he rubbed his eyes.

“Sorry, it’s just that morning came some time ago…”

“You did say sunrise, sir,” Radic added with an eager nod.

Pulling himself up, Mark turned to the tinted cockpit. He could see the late morning sun casting its warm haze across their snowy surroundings.

“We didn’t want to wake you, but we thought–”

“It’s fine,” Mark cut Callum off. “You were right to wake me. We should get back to the fort as soon as possible.”

Climbing back into the pilot’s chair, Mark stretched and felt the familiar jolt of energy as he merged with the ship. They had left all their supplies behind when capturing the ship, and without anything to eat for breakfast, Mark had little interest in wasting time.

“Alright, belt up.”

Waiting a moment for the boys to take their seats along the back rows that looked similar to a helicopter's passenger seats, Mark pulled the throne ship up and into the sky, violently shaking as it defiantly scraped past trees.

Turbulence shook them as they climbed, and soon, they were among the clouds once more. From here, Mark could spot the trail they had taken. It had been a grueling trek, and the feeling of easily gliding across the landscape they had conquered with hard work and determination was an uplifting feeling. Mark got a sense of the Frontier having been opened up to him. The treacherous hikes that had been needed just to travel a short distance could now be flown across in hours.

He watched a flock of birds flying beneath him as he soared across the land, and ferals climbed out from the hovels to watch the majestic vehicle and the whooping sound it sent echoing across the land.

Fort Winterclaw! Mark's eyes widened as he spotted their home.

Elation flooded his veins as he spotted the timber-walled fort in the distance. He could see his people hard at work, and a smile crept across his face as he spotted the new wall’s completion and the near-finished trench around it.

It didn’t take long for people to stop their work to look up and point at the ship passing through the foggy blanket that kept most of the sun out, some even fleeing into the forest or into their cabins as he got closer.

Completing a circle in the air above the fort, Mark sent the vehicle swerving to its side as he picked a spot of flat snow within the Imperial District to bring the ship down. As he lowered, the snow flew back, clearing his landing spot down to the earth below, and the ship's insectoid legs absorbed what little shock his much-improved landing had as it touched down.

Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

“We did it. Back safe,” Mark said, coughing as he got up from the chair.

“Yes, sir,” Callum saluted, but when Radic tried to, he was interrupted by a long, mucusy cough that buckled him forward.

The boy’s eyes looked dark and heavy, and Mark realized that he felt stiffer than usual when he looked at them.

We made it, but what if...

“Go report to Master Henric,” Mark said. “I’ll see you both soon.”

Leading the march out from the throne ship, they found Henric and several acolytes lined up and ready to greet them.

“Henric, see to the boys. I have something important to do.”

“Imperator," Henric saluted, quickly hurrying after Mark as he realized he didn't plan to stop and address them. "One moment, please,” he added with a raised hand.

“I’m sure you have many questions. And trust me, I’ll address them soon; just give me a moment.”

“But–yes, sir,” Henric gave a deflated salute, turned to the acolytes, and began to bark orders.

***

“You’re back, Imperator.”

“Erald, do you mind?” Mark said, pointing to the door.

“Yes, sir,” Erald saluted and left the cabin.

“I think I have a problem, Mira,” Mark exhaled.

“A problem?” Mira’s brow rose as she mashed something in her mortar and pestle.

“I think that me and the acolytes were poisoned by the miasma in the foothills. Do you have the means to test this?”

Mira slowly nodded. “I can... but Imperator–I can’t cure it,” she shook her head and her face twisted into a grimace.

“Just tell me if I’m poisoned or not for now.”

“Please, take a seat,” she pointed to a timber stool in her kitchen with a sober nod. “I see you managed to find a throne ship… how is that possible?” she added as she collected items from the cupboards and hanging herbs.

“It was abandoned a long time ago in the foothills. Likely nobody was reckless enough to try and retrieve it.”

“And for good reason, so it seems.”

“I couldn’t just leave it. Not with everything I’ve seen,” Mark sighed. "It might be our only hope of surviving what is to come."

Taking a seat beside him, Mira mixed a few ointments and herbs into a small bowl. “I’m not sure our chances against the winter will be any better without you. Even if we do have a throne ship.”

“Is there really no way to cure this illness?”

“Here? No chance,” Mira shook her head as she dabbed a fine brush in her mixture and then applied it to the inside of Mark’s wrist.

“Here, as in Fort Winterclaw?”

Mira gasped as the clear liquid slowly turned black. “Imperator Atlas,” she murmured, barely loud enough to hear.

“Mira, please, what do you mean about here? Do you mean Fort Winterclaw, the Frontier, or the entire Imperium?”

“Y-you’re…”

“Mira,” Mark took her shoulder and pulled her gaze toward him. “What did you mean about here?”

“S-sorry, it’s just that,” Mira swallowed. “It’s only rumor.”

“What rumor?”

“To the south, across the sea, in the Archbishopric of Deloise. But they are heretics. They pray to the Reborn God.," she said, shaking her head.

"Just tell me, Mira."

"They say the priests of the Archbishopric wield unparalleled magical powers capable of healing even the worst poison and diseases. It has long been rumored that they might have the power to cure the toxins from the miasmic fields of the Frontier. But you would be cast out if you sought their healing powers. But the Reborn God directly contradicts the God-Lord. To seek healing from his people is an unforgivable heresy."

“And if I don’t, I die. And so do the boys.” Mark sighed. “Tell me, what choice do I have?”

“I don’t even know if they’ll be able to heal you. And I doubt the Archbishop would heal an Imperator of the Imperium. Our people are rivals and are at constant war. You would be seen as an enemy if you entered their land. Perhaps even killed on sight.”

Damn, I wish I had these memories. It might give me a better chance of navigating this supposed enemy of my people.

“It doesn’t matter. If this is our only chance, we need to try. I will not just let those boys die after all they have gone through. Neither do I particularly like the idea of dying," Mark said with soft smile. "I will stay long enough to ensure that the next steps in our plans for defending the fort are followed, and then I shall be off.”

“Imperator.”

“It’s fine, Mira. I understand the risks this poses. But I’m not about to roll over and give up. If there’s a chance we can survive this, I have every intention to try.”

“I should have guessed,” she whispered.

“And Mira, please, keep this between the two of us, okay?”

“I will,” Mira nodded. "I promise."

She may be an Imperial, but at least Mira prays to the Star Goddess. Hopefully, that means she’ll be able to keep this to herself.

***

Immediately, Mark set off to inspect Payon’s work. It was surprisingly clean. Unfortunately, he wouldn’t have time to build the engines as he had planned, so he went over the instructions, the goal, and the purpose. The man had obviously never heard of steam power, but he seemed switched on enough to get the basic gist of what Mark was trying to explain. And he was somewhat confident that the man would pull it off. However, with time running short, he requested that the barbed wire be made the priority. As useful as steam power would be, it would all be for naught if they couldn’t hold the fort.

Next, he inspected the training. His people's archery was getting better, and while they were far from being elite, he got the impression that they would be helpful in defending the fort now if they were able to craft enough arrows to feed their needs.

He also made the difficult decision to halt the collection and processing of food for their supplies and focus entirely on arrow fletching. If this trip to the Archbishopric was successful, he was certain he would return well before they ran out of food, and once the throne ship was back, they had the means to bring food into the fort from afar. The sole priority had to be increasing the fort's defenses for now.

Mark then collected every crown and fur they held in the storeroom. Unfortunately, he was advised that a wagon with most of their furs had been sent to Frostwind, but he didn't have time to wait for them to return.

Taking what crowns and furs they had, he loaded them into the throne ship and prepared to leave. Hopefully, they would be valuable enough to pay whatever costs they might encounter trying to get healed, and maybe even a bribe or two, if needed.

He then had Henric collect Radic and Callum for him. He didn’t tell the boys of their likely sickness, but their sober expression told him they likely already suspected as much.

His orders were simple for Henric: Make sure everyone gets their work done and do his best to bring more people into the fort. Every sword and bow increased their chances of surviving the winter, and he made sure Henric understood just how important that goal was.

With that, he gathered up the unlikely party and boarded the ship. Mira watched, tears swelling at the sides of her reddened eyes. Mark wasn't sure if they were for him, the boys, or the implications of their failure, but they touched him nonetheless.

Waving goodbye, he slapped the button, closing the ship's hatch and turned for the cockpit. It would be a long journey, treacherous not just because they were heading into enemy territory, but because ship would need to pass over the sea that separated the Imperium from the southern states. It would require careful routing and power management to survive.

Hang in here, he sighed as he settled into his chair. He hoped that the wargs wouldn’t descend immediately on Fort Winterclaw. To get back before winter would be threading a needle. But with any luck, they would at least return before the enemy descended on the fort itself.

Mentally pulling on the ship, Mark sent its insectoid wings buzzing and lifted it into snowy weather, swinging it around to head south. With one eye on the map from Atlas’s stash, he picked his landmarks and selected his flight path.