“Well?” Audra asked from the bed.
Daveth was sitting on the floor of his cabin, carefully cleaning his weapons one at a time. Audra was baffled at the sheer amount of weaponry that Daveth carried around. The giant was a packrat, somehow managing to carry around enough weaponry to outfit a small mercenary company. There were rows of swords, daggers, bows and crossbows and polearms of varying types.
“Well, what?” Daveth asked, wiping down one of the swords he’d just finished sharpening.
“What do you think about Tsubame sneaking into the Captain’s quarters?”
Daveth barked a laugh without looking up from what he was doing. “Aldric knows what he’s doing. Besides, I think he deserves to get his balls drained from time to time.” He paused for a moment. “Might do him some good.”
“It seems to have done you some good.” Audra replied with a grin. Daveth glanced at her, and then back down at the sword in his hands.
“If nothing else, it keeps him from eyeing me like I’ve grown a breast out of my forehead. Apparently I was acting weird for a few days.”
“It’s hard for me to tell what’s ‘normal’.” Audra admitted with an ostentatious shrug. “I’ve seen so many different things since I’ve signed on with the Seventh Seal that I don’t even know what that means anymore.”
Daveth nodded. “Fair.” He paused, and added, “It’s the same for me.”
She leaned forward, letting the sheet puddle in her lap, unmindful of what she was unconsciously putting on display. He’d seen everything a couple hours before. “How do you deal with it, without careening off the edge of the world into madness?” She asked, curious.
Daveth thumbed his chin. “I’ve seen some shit.” He admitted. “Things I probably won’t ever understand. Only piece of advice I have is for you to trust your mates- they’re the ones that’ll pull your ass out of the fire before it gets too hot.”
He put the massive sword he was working on away and examined an old, battered axe he’d scooped up. The old man that’d used it last seemed at once heroic and pitiful.
“No time left, Daveth.” Jonan pleaded. “I couldn’t help myself. You’ll see to it, right?”
“No time left at all.” Daveth muttered back in a hoarse whisper.
“Hmm?” Audra asked curiously. Daveth thumbed the edge of the old man’s axe. It was keen; the man had honed it wicked-sharp.
“Nothing.” Daveth replied, and began tucking the weapons away.
“Why do you do that?” She asked, and he shrugged. “The right weapon for the right situation.” He replied simply.
A knock at the door revealed Aldric, hair slightly askew. His jacket was unbuttoned, and one of the tails of his shirt was sticking out.
“Landfall. You should come see the Shaper’s land, man.”
Daveth eyed Aldric as Aldric deliberately avoided looking at Audra, who was currently a lump hiding in the bedding.
“You need to fix yourself up, man. You’re supposed to look the proper captain, right?” Daveth asked as he pushed himself to his feet.
Aldric looked down at himself. “You’re right. Shit. Never thought I’d get a dressing-down from you.”
Daveth chuckled. “I’ll let you off with a warning this time, but second offense is the stocks.”
“Fuck you.” Aldric barked and the two of them shared a laugh.
“Anyway, we’re getting ready to disembark. We’ve spent months on this boat and I’m getting stir-crazy. Get your ass in gear.” He paused thoughtfully and then added, “Both of you.”
*****
The Seventh Seal had spent the past three months on the massive ship that was owned by the Shapers. Aldric, Daveth, Morden, and Audra each took portions of the Seventh Seal as well as the other mercenary bands that had signed on with the Shapers through combat maneuvers across the broad upper desk of the ship, through the long hallways and holds as they attempted to bring a semblance of cohesion to the groups, while training the raw recruits they’d scooped up in Metzcal as hard as they possibly could.
The Shapers themselves had become very interested in the Brotherhood’s Landship designs, and not only purchased the designs, offered to improve them once they hit landfall.
The Shaper’s homeland was a landmass roughly the shape of an arrowhead; the land in general rose towards the center of the landmass to a massive volcano at its heart, but the mountain itself seemed dwarfed, reduced in size by the sprawling city of the Shapers which was absolutely nothing like anything anyone had ever seen before.
As a city grew, it typically expanded outwards, and most buildings only had several floors. In the Anglish Empire, former temples and Grand Cathedrals were the exception, topping out at twelve or so floors.
The city of the Shapers, however, grew upwards. Each building looked to be fifty or perhaps even hundreds of stories tall, seemingly scraping the clouds themselves from the sky. Most of them seemed to be constructed of nothing but glass, which was an utter impossibility since glass was ridiculously expensive, and there was no real way for it to be used as a viable construction material. Surely the Shapers knew that.
“Fuck me.” Daveth breathed in unrestrained wonder as they pulled into port.
“Ask Alysia for that.” Aldric replied, then caught himself. “Or are you and Audra a thing?” He asked in a lower voice. “It might become a point of strife between the three of you, you know.”
Daveth rolled his eyes. “Trust me, the only thing Alysia wants is to stick a sword in me. I’m pretty sure she’s never once looked at me that way.”
Aldric gave him a significant look, but pulled out his pipe and ostentatiously didn’t say anything until after he got his pipe lit and he’d puffed out a few clouds of smoke.
“So we’ll disembark. We’ll get fully debriefed on the situation. We’ll make our preparations, and we’ll set out to get this done.”
Daveth nodded. “Hard to think of anything threatening this place- except maybe a stiff breeze. I’m not going in those buildings, boss. No good can come of it. They’ll come crashing down around us.”
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Aldric snorted in response. “They seem to have no problem living in them, and they’re a lot bigger than you. Good luck being an idiot.”
Daveth gave Aldric an obscene gesture, and moved to rouse his files and begin the disembarking.
The buildings loomed over them oppressively, drawing out instinctual claustrophobia as the sky eroded in the maze of towering structures. For Daveth personally it was intimidating on a fundamental level. He was used to being bigger and taller and stronger than everyone. Now he was merely a bigger ant in an army of ants that trudged in threadlike lines between massive buildings that could house hundreds of thousands of humans.
The Shapers were there on the street with them, towering over them a full foot taller than Daveth himself. The Shapers eyed the army with a varying degrees of curiosity, casually going about their lives in a city they’d crafted for themselves.
Daveth wanted a weapon in his hand and a target he could kill; the intense claustrophobia and omnipresence of the buildings weren’t things he could fight, so he struggled with his fear. He could see that selfsame fear in the eyes of his compatriots, unspoken but obvious in their stances, their gestures, the way their eyes moved, and the dizzying, nauseating feeling one got when they looked up.
Aldric gave Daveth something to focus on. The man seemed like a rock, riding his horse with apparent ease, as if he owned the place, as if he belonged there.
It gradually filtered through to Daveth that he did belong there, and by extension, so did the entirety of the Seventh Seal. They’d taken the Shaper’s coin. Or, well, they would. The point was that they were in this strange land, in this alien city by invitation, so they did in fact belong there.
Daveth straightened his back, threw back his shoulders, pulled out his pipe and thumbed it full of tobacco and struck a lucifer, puffed his pipe alight and then ostentatiously flicked the match away; a calculated gesture of casual indifference to inspire his men.
“Should have brought the fucking banner.” Daveth muttered.
“Fucking should have.” Aldric agreed. “It’s packed away in the Tross. It’d put the sap back in their balls.” Aldric muttered back. Daveth nodded, and realized that Aldric himself was unnerved by the place, the same as everyone else.
“So how much you think they’ll pay?” Daveth asked, and Aldric shot Daveth a look.
“Pay?” Aldric parroted.
“Yeah. Pay. Coin? Steel? You think they’ll pay in weapons? The crank-gun is their invention; surely they’ve got ammunition for it up to here.” Daveth tapped his chest.
Aldric rubbed his face. “Fucking...” He began, but cut himself off and switched tracks. “Okay, so you’re not wrong. We’re a mercenary company after all. And yeah, I did think of pay. But I can’t also think that we’re here to help them.”
“You thought about doing it for free? Fuck you, I hate trailbread and gravy.” Daveth rebutted.
“You’re right, you’re right.” Aldric griped. “Plus we’ve gotten a bit bigger than I expected. Pay’ll be a big deal in this job.”
They were provided maps of the mining complex that had been overrun; the central volcano was known as the Black Spire, and was the home of their primary forges where they turned unprocessed ores into metals and carved out stone blocks for use in their cities. While mining was a necessity for them, they didn’t make any efforts in establishing a city near the Black Spire, as they had an intense dislike for being under the earth.
Daveth himself identified their “dislike” as fear, a fear that had remained in their minds and memories, though there was nothing concrete to base this on, and the Shapers themselves weren’t willing to volunteer anything. From time to time there was a sense of mild contempt or disdain from the Shapers, though it never escalated beyond a few words here and there of humans and elves “not remembering their own history” and a general inability to keep a nation together as long as the Shapers had.
*****
Aldric, Daveth, Edwin from the Brotherhood, Morden, Derrick Alhambra, Tsubame the pirate, and Corwin from the Ebon Hand grouped around the maps that they’d been given.
“Okay, so we’ve got four fronts to fight in: The Manufactorium, where they build their things,” Aldric pointed to a small city off to the side of the mountain and then slid his finger towards a small complex that butted right up against it, “The Crucible, where they smelt their metals,” he dragged his finger towards the large hole the Shapers had punctured into the side of the volcano, “The mine entrance itself”, and then he pulled the map away and revealed an additional map showing the serpentine twists and turns of the mining tunnels, “And finally, the tunnels.”
He replaced the map and picked up his pipe. “Thoughts?” He asked, as he puffed away.
Daveth rubbed his chin. “A two-pronged attack. We take the majority of our troops and we hit the Manu-whatever, and then the Crucible.”
He grabbed the other map and set it off to the side. “Separately, we send Derrik and his paladins along with the Brotherhood and their two new Landships to plug the mine entrance. Once the rest of us have swept up and cleared the... Manu .... whatever, and the crucible, everything that’s left is effectively bottled in the mountain. We reinforce Derrik’s paladins-”
“Templars, sir.” Derrick interrupted. “They’re templars. Women are paladins, and there are no women left in my unit.”
Daveth gave him a baffled look. “Whatever. You excel at entrenched, defensible positions, so that’s what you’re going to do: You’re going to dig in and you’re going to keep anything from getting out. The Brotherhood will be directly behind you with the landships equipped with the crank guns and cannon. Hold that ground. Don’t advance, do your damndest to avoid retreating. If there’s anything in the mine, keep it bottled up in there and don’t let it get out.”
Derrick nodded at that. “I think we can manage that.”
Aldric nodded. “The Shapers don’t want us using our cannon in the Manufactorium, because the buildings there apparently have a lot of expensive, difficult to make precision instruments. Shelling the city is apparently off the table.”
Morden gave the map a twisted look. “We’d save ourselves a lot of trouble if we simply shelled the manufactory and the crucible until we were certain nothing was alive, and then continued onward.” He tapped the map of the mining complex’s interior. “We’re going to die in there.”
“You’d think that after three months training in the belly of that greatship you’d be used to tunnel fighting.” Aldric insisted.
“Fuck you, I racked up more losses in those exercises than anyone else did.” Morden complained unhappily.
“Well, just don’t make those mistakes in the mine. On the ship it was practice. This time it’s for real.” Aldric remarked dismissively. He nudged Daveth. “I like your plan, but what happens when we hit the Crucible and whatever’s holed up there decides to retreat back to the mine? The templars and Brotherhood will be exposed to a rear attack and they’ll get carved up like cheese.”
Daveth tugged on his beard for a moment. “When we hit the crucible, we’ll have the pirates swing wide around it and put themselves between the crucible and the brotherhood.”
“And why would we do that?” Tsubame argued, slapping her hand down the map. “I don’t follow you.”
Daveth shrugged. “When they start squeezing out of the crucible, they’ll do it in small groups, I think. Ones, twos, the like. You and your pirates excel at hit and run tactics. Pick them off one by one. If there’s larger groups, then bleed them out.”
Tsubame glared at him for a minute, but Daveth stared back blandly.
“Give me the thunderblade, and I’ll do it.”
“The what?” Daveth gave her a baffled look. Tsubame rolled her eyes. “Aldric told me all about it. The blade of our ancestor, Sasaki. You have it, don’t you?”
After a careful moment of contemplation, Daveth nodded. “I do. What makes you think I will give it to you?”
Tsubame grit her teeth. “I’m saying, if you want me and my pirates to do this thing, I ask you to return the blade of my ancestor to me. This is a two-fold reward, meat-brain. First, I will guarantee everyone in my crew fights to the last drop of blood. Second, when you hear the thunder, you’ll know we’ve been engaged and can plan accordingly.”
Daveth nodded, and pulled the fulgurite blade from the pouch at his waist.
Tsubame picked it up and discarded her own sword so that she could slide the blade into her scabbard; one of her pirates picked up the steel sword and sheathed it himself.
“We’re the last of the oni-blooded. We remember what should not be forgotten, and we wreak terrible vengeance upon those that would hurt us!” She murmured excitedly, and her two companions repeated it as if it were some sort of mantra.
Daveth looked at the others; but they all gave minute shakes of their heads. Nobody knew what Tsubame was talking about.
Aldric spoke up, then. “All right. Rest up, eat up, and prepare your weapons. Tomorrow we go to war.”