Clarice smirked victoriously as she clambered out of her family’s shard and onto the solid tarmac of the academy’s landing field. Ignoring the clouds of blue-green aether that served to obscure the landing area as other shards came in to land, the half-elf took a moment to soak in the many looks of envy, disbelief and confusion that were being sent her way from the crowd of students stood pressed up against the landing field’s boundary line.
“Dear sister, I do believe we’ve caused something of a stir,” Marcille said from behind her.
“I think you’re right.” She nodded in acknowledgement to her twin as the girl finished clambering out of the Basilisk’s rather cramped rear-gunner position.
And it was true, for despite the many shards even now coming in to land – including a venerable Fairy – all eyes on the boundary line were on the craft behind her.
Though it wasn’t hard to understand why.
The Basilisk was a sight to behold.
If not for the sheer size of the craft, then for the fact that it had not one, but two engines – each equipped with a mithril shard core.
And both were needed to lift the veritable dragon of a shard off the ground and into the air. Part of that was down to the weight of the fuselage, but it was mostly a result of the armament. The Basilisk held no less than twelve heavy repeater bolt-cannons. Eight in the nose and four mounted to the ‘ball’ turret mounted in the tail of the craft – just between the two-rear mounted propellers.
That wasn’t where most of the weight came from though.
No, that came from the Basilisk’s payload.
A single thousand kilogram fire-javelin loaded with bear-blood. Firepower sufficient to kill or cripple a light frigate in a single pass – and put considerable hurt on anything bigger.
Clarice’s smile only grew at the thought. Because the Basilisk represented a new dynamic in shard warfare.
For years the focus had been on making craft that were lighter and more nimble, better able to dodge incoming fire and dogfight with other shards. But there was a trade-off to that approach. The more agile the fighter, the smaller bomb load it could carry, and thus, the less effective it would actually be at combating enemy airships once the air was clear of opposing shards.
As a result, Shard design was a constant game of carry weight vs agility.
The Blackstone’s new carrier design was an attempt to mitigate that issue through sheer weight of numbers – which was such a typically Northern approach to things.
House Whitemorrow was but a countship – for now. So it had decided to take a different approach. One that was both cheaper and more efficient.
To that end, the Basilisk wasn’t designed to combat shards. It was designed to kill airships.
It didn’t dodge or weave. Truth be told, it flew like a brick, with a turning circle that was just this side of laughable. But that didn’t matter when it was tough enough to simply shrug off incoming fire, while returning the favor with interest using either the nose cannons, or more likely, the rear guns.
Guns that had a near perfect one-eighty degree firing arc due to the ingenuity of the pneumatic powered ‘ball mount’ system their family had come up with.
…That wasn’t necessarily why her peers were envious of her and her sister though.
The Basilisk was eye-catching. It was new. That was all there was to it.
Like a debutante debuting a new outfit, by arriving in such a unique design, House Whitemorrow would be on everyone’s lips by this time tomorrow. Naturally, details on the actual design principles behind the Basilisk would be forthcoming eventually, but for the moment, all that mattered was that they’d caught people’s interest.
Moreso than that snake Plumgarden at least, Marcille thought with a shake of her head at the thought of her family’s rival for the Summerfield duchy.
Indeed, it didn’t take long for a quick look to reveal the snake. Still clad in her flying leathers, the effete brat was already whispering poison into the ears of her little coterie.
“Well, shall we sister?” Marcille asked. “I do believe some of our watchers may just die of curiosity if we don’t start making the rounds.”
Clarice made to nod, before she heard something both familiar and unwelcome.
Barely audible over the noise of the crowd and incoming shards, the fourth year still managed to make out a distant thrumming sound. One that could never be mistaken for anything but the thrumming of an airship’s massive propellers.
Now, to the uninformed that might not have seemed that odd. This was the capital after all, and as such was never without a significant airship presence in the form of the Royal Navy. The noise of an airship passing overhead was not at all unusual while moving through the streets of the city.
The sole exception to that rule was the Academy itself. Which, while strange at first, only made sense after a little thought. Nowhere else on the continent could more noble heirs be found than the massive learning complex – which naturally made it a tempting target for malcontents of all stripes.
To that end the academy normally maintained a no-fly zone for airships above its airspace.
A no-fly zone that a particularly peculiar looking cruiser seemed set to violate as it roared towards the landing field. Indeed, it was only the lack of panic on the part of the nearby staff that kept Clarice from grabbing her twin and making for anywhere else at a brisk pace.
Instead, she watched as the flag-woman stood atop the control tower twirled her colored flags in an attempt to direct Shards into a holding pattern around the academy. Waving off other shards coming into land, forcing them to circle.
Which meant the airship was both coming in to land and had permission to do so.
“Someone’s trying to outdo us,” Marcille commented absently as the pair of sisters hurried out of the way.
A statement that caused Clarice to frown as she realized that her sister wasn’t wrong. Because, for all that arriving in a Shard derived from entirely new design principles would normally have caused a stir, that paled in comparison to someone arriving in a cruiser.
After all, showing up in a shard was, under normal circumstances, a show of wealth and prestige. Not only that a house had said machines, but that they had enough that they could afford to essentially lend one out for a semester. The more expensive and powerful the shard in question, the better.
The only year exempt from that kind of showboating were the first years, given said year was focused entirely on personal combat ability and other fundamentals.
Well, House Royal too, she thought absently as she watched the behemoth come in to land, blasts of aether bursting from the ballasts as the massive vessel descended. One can hardly expect plebians to have access to personal shards.
…Indeed, it wasn’t a coincidence that while said House tended to do fine – or even above average - in the first year, they invariably ended up lowest in the rankings thereafter as they were forced to rely on the communal shard pool in inter-house competitions.
Then again, she thought. Not every member of said House is a plebian, are they?
Indeed, with each passing moment she became more sure of the identity of the one arriving via airship.
She could think of few others with the pull with the Royal family to make such a request – and the audacity to do so in the first place.
Void, even with permission from the Crown, what Matriarch would allow their family’s airship to travel beyond the borders of their land on a glorified joyride?
No, there was but one person with that kind of freedom – and that was because he had no matriarch to answer to anymore.
“Is that… music?” A nearby elven girl asked – and indeed, she wasn’t wrong as Clarice also caught the telltale notes of something melodic.
It didn’t take long for it to grow in volume, blasting across the landing field as the massive ship finally touched down. The music was both brass and bold, ringing through the air with a volume that was downright unnatural.
“Really, he brought an orchestra with him?” Marcille asked rhetorically, something akin to admiration in the girl’s tone.
Clarice just wanted to shake her head. The airship was statement enough, but to bring an entire orchestra with him to announce his arrival? That was just… tacky. The kind of thing one might expect to see done by some Solite trollop across the ocean, not a proper Lindholmian gentleman.
It was a shame. Like just about everyone in the academy, she’d been aware of the brewing saga that blossomed within their halls.
It was after all a story that would tug at any woman’s heartstrings. The tale of a man passed over as heir for a bastard before being set to marry a barbaric Northerner. A fate he resisted with all his might, despite the futility of it. Yet hope blossomed anew as, somehow, either through the kindly hand of a noble monarch, his wits, or sheer good fortune, he instead found himself in possession of a mithril core.
And rather than seek to bargain for his freedom by parting with the princely gift, he instead challenged his betrothed to a duel – for his freedom and the core both.
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A duel he went on to win, before the eyes of the entire nation and against all odds.
His betrothed was banished back up North, and for his bravery he was gifted a home anew, away from the House that had passed him over.
It was a stirring tale to be sure, made all the more so for being true.
It was just a shame that rather than be modest in victory, it seemed the boy seemed intended to crow it to the world with his return. Not that the boy having an ego would keep many a girl from trying to hop into his bed and family register.
After all, he was an unmarried man in possession of a landed title. To a second or third born daughter, that was a prize worth going after with both hands. Void, even the first-borns would be tempted. Sure, as countesses, none would be able to lay claim to both titles at once, but it would allow any children they had an opportunity to inherit one each – effectively allowing them two ‘heirs’.
In that regard, the boy was rather fortunate that it hadn’t been made known that he’d be receiving a landed title until the end of his first year. It allowed him to spend the time after the duel in relative peace, with those who might have been interested in him fearful to move for fear of Blackstone reprisal.
“You know what, that’s actually kind of hot,” Marcille murmured as the ramp of the airship started to lower. “I like a little ego in a man. Especially when they can back it up.”
Clarice tried not to roll her eyes. “Well, make sure any fantasies you have about acting on that interest remain just that. I’ve no interest in losing out on a ducal seat because you were thinking with your cunt.”
Certainly, no man expected a girl to come to his bed a blushing virgin, but it didn’t exactly look good for said girl to be fooling around with someone while her family were actively looking for betrothal opportunities for her.
And they needed those betrothals for the upcoming succession crisis. Marriages with powerful houses who would have the strength and the will to help them push their rightful blood claim over those Plumgarden scum-suckers.
“Clarice,” her twin said as she turned to her. “He’s got a cruiser.”
The half-elf waved her hand dismissively. “Yes, I know. And while I’m sure the thought of a man with access to his own warship gets you all hot and bothered, we have more important things to satisfy than your fetishes.”
Honestly, where’d he even get such a thing? Was it a gift from the Crown? If so, it was as powerful a statement of support as one could possibly make, especially in a time where airship hulls were almost more valuable than mithril cores.
“Like making sure one of us marries a boy from a powerful family who can back us up militarily later,” Marcille continued, speaking slowly for some reason. “Because they have a powerful warship. Not a shitty wooden hulled thing.”
Nonetheless, Clarice nodded. “Exactly. Just because there aren’t any ducal matches available doesn’t mean we can be careless. A countship marriage may only give us access to a single airship, but there’s still a world of distinction to be made in the size and quality of said airship from house to house.”
“So… ideally, you’d want me to marry someone with not just a steel hulled airship, but a big steel hulled airship?”
Why was she asking this? Clarice knew her sister tended to be less… academic than herself, but the girl wasn’t dumb. Prone to thinking emotionally rather than logically, yes, but hardly dumb.
“Yes,” Clarice said slowly, eying her sister.
“Like that one?” Marcille said as she gestured over her shoulder.
“Well, yes. Something like a cruiser would be-” Clarice’s mouth slammed shut partway through her sentence, much to the amusement of her sibling.
Not that Clarice noticed. No, the older twin’s focus was entirely on the second year who was now marching down the ramp of his cruiser, that strange music still accompanying him. Yet… There was no orchestra present. Just a strange box with a funnel held in the arms of his dwarvish companion.
Was… did she invent some kind of… musical device? One that could imitate the sound of an entire orchestra? Because that was what it looked like.
…Was that why he’d arrived via airship? To show it off?
It was an effective tactic, she’d admit.
Shit.
Fuck.
Void.
That just made him more valuable! Indeed, as Clarice glanced across the lines of girls around her, she realized just how much work she had cut out for her if she intended to snag this guy – and his cruiser!
Shit, she needed something that would make her stand out from all these other sluts!
Unfortunately, it didn’t take her long to think of one as the Redwater Count continued walking down the path, visibly preening at the shrieks and yells he was eliciting from his fellow students as they tried to gain his attention to ask about the ship, the musical funnel or any other number of things.
Sighing, Clarice turned to her sister.
Her twin sister.
That bit was important.
“Sister, you know how we promised each other we’d never do… certain things to entice a guy,” Clarice fought down the urge to cringe even as her soul screamed. “I think… we might have to rethink that promise.”
The way her twin cringed was a pretty apt mirror of Clarice’s own feelings on the matter.
------------------------
The ambient hum of Wagner wafted through the dorm room of Team Seven, though the bombastic music of another world proved to be of little succor to the souls present.
“I think… I think I might be dying,” William opined from his position on the floor.
Across from him, in a similar state, Verity made a sound that might charitably have been called agreement.
The team had been back at the Academy for all of two days and in that time they’d been thoroughly disabused of the notion that they were ‘ready’ for the frantic routine that so characterized the first few weeks of any given year.
“William?” Olzenya muttered, her blonde hair plastered to her head, even as Marline – the least affected of the team – tried to absently fan her.
“Yes?”
“Please can you use your penis to make Griffith be nicer to us.”
“Olzenya!?” Marline hissed, scandalized by her fellow elf’s words.
For his part, William just giggled.
“What?” The high elf said unrepentantly. “If we absolutely must have a satyr for a leader, we may as well take advantage of that fact.”
“I have a healthy libido. I’m not entirely sure that makes me a ‘satyr’,” William said in between chuckles. “With that said, no. As much as I like that idea, I’m pretty sure trying to use my relationship with our Instructor to garner preferential treatment would just result in worse treatment. And she’d definitely break off our little engagement.”
“I think you should try anyway,” Verity muttered.
William wisely didn’t respond to that, instead he focused on the only other person in the room besides Marline who didn’t currently seem to be questioning their choices in life. Which was impressive, given she actually looked worse than the rest of them.
“What are you grinning about?” he asked Bonnlyn, who was sprawled out on the couch. “Not that I’m complaining.”
“Do you have any idea what these idiots are offering me for a gramophone?” the dwarf said, a giddy smile on her face. “Scratch that, do you have any idea how much some of them are offering for me to make records with their favorite songs on them?”
“A lot, I imagine,” Marline said dryly as she returned to fanning her fellow elf.
William was in agreement. He was also happy that he’d decided to hand the gramophone off to Bonnlyn when they’d arrived. Because as a result, most of the students at the academy assumed she was the inventor of the device. As such, over the last two days she’d been getting enquiries about selling the thing pretty much non-stop in those few short moments she was available between being dragged about the academy with the other second years by Griffith.
Glancing over, he could see that Olzenya had levered her head up and was now quietly staring at the music producing machine. Naturally, just about every member of team seven wanted one also once it had been explained what it was and what it could do, and as such had been promised some of the initial production run. Once the Mecants got the method down.
“Actually, on the topic of recording music, I have to know; when did you find time to record this?” The high elf asked. “Beyond that, who’s the orchestra?”
William shrugged as best he was able from his prone position. “I recorded it when I was in the capital last week to buy new shard frames. As for who they are, I’ve no idea. I chose a random music hall down by the docks for my first recording.”
“Really?” Marline asked. “You don’t even know who this is?”
“Not really,” William lied. “It was one of those dumpy little traveling minstrel places and at the time my main focus was seeing if the machine worked rather than who I was recording.”
Marline looked like she wanted to say something, before sighing. “Yeah, that sounds like you.”
“Hey William,” Verity chose that moment to speak.
“Yes, Verity?”
“Why are you here?”
He stared up at the ceiling. “It’s one of life’s great mysteries isn’t it? Why are any of us here?”
He heard, more than saw, the orc roll her eyes. “Don’t be a smart frog. I mean, why are you back at the academy? Wouldn’t it be better for you to be back in your county… running things? It’s not just because of Griffith right?”
“That’s actually a good question,” Bonnlyn chimed in. “I mean, if I had the option to avoid all this shit, you sure as shit know I would.”
“If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles,” he said. “If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat. If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle.”
Silence greeted that statement.
Until Bonnlyn grunted. “And that means?”
“It means that if he’s going to design new shards and shit, he needs to know how other shards perform,” Olzenya of all people said.
“Not exactly how I’d have put it, but she’s not wrong,” he admitted.
“That’s it?” Marline asked.
“What do you mean, ‘that’s it?’ This is an academy. I’m here to learn,” he said. “Well, mostly.”
“Mostly?” Verity asked – and he had a feeling she was thinking of Griffith.
Fortunately, that wasn’t the case.
“I also need to do some networking. You know, the other reason people attend this shithole.”
Now that Tala wasn’t leaning over his shoulder, he actually had an opportunity to make some inroads with the other nobles here. Which was good, because his eventual plans would require at least some degree of support from others. Because like it or not, he couldn’t conquer an entire country with a single county’s worth of troops and a single airship.
Fortunately, his long term plans had neatly come to align with a new short term one.
“You… networking?” Olzenya scoffed.
He actually felt a little offended. “What? I can totally network.”
“Name a single other person in our year. Full name and one fact about them,” Marline said.
William winced, not least of all because it was Marline of all people asking him. The girl who’d spent her entire childhood training to be a magical shock trooper in the name of redeeming her family’s fortune.
Well, that and the fact that the more he thought about the more he realized he couldn’t actually name any of his classmates’ names. At least, not with any degree of surety.
“I was busy last year,” he muttered lamely. “Networking wasn’t important then.”
“And it is now?” Bonnlyn asked.
“Sure.”
Because he needed to keep his beloved and stupid little sister from killing herself via accidental slit throat. Which meant he needed to convince his family that trying to gain control of the Summerfield duchy was a bad idea.
Mother’s going for the duchy and the Blackstone alliance because with it she sees not just our ascent to ducal power as guaranteed, but our position on the winning side of the civil war afterward, he thought.
In short, she was willing to risk making a power grab because in her mind it wasn’t a risk. Olivia’s position as a claimant was as of yet unknown and when it did become known, her alliance with the Blackstone duchy would make defeating the other claimants to the position easy.
So all he needed to do was make the Ashfield claim to the Summerfield duchy less of a sure thing.
…By backing one of the other claimants and ensuring that his sister lost the succession war.
It was genius.
And it was going to be awkward as hell.
If his beloved little sister had been annoyed at him before, this was really going to set her off. Nevermind that he was doing it for her own good. The less said about the rest of his family the better. To be frank, a disowning was likely the best possible outcome. The most realistic outcome was a blood feud.
He resisted the urge to sigh, b. Because said genius plan had another caveat.
The only way I’m legally going to be allowed to interfere in the succession is if I’m… married to one of the claimants, he thought.
Fortunately, three of said claimants were fourth year students at this academy.
Unfortunately, three of said claimants were fourth year students at this academy.
Which meant they were twenty three.
Twenty three.
More than that, I’m going to have to convince the one I manage to… seduce to effectively engage in the medieval equivalent of a green-card marriage with me, he thought. After spending all of last year trying to get out of a marriage, I’m leaping back into one.
…And then there was going to be the awkward conversation with Griffith he’d need to have regarding their fairly nebulous relationship status and its ability to survive him marrying another woman.
Temporarily.
Hopefully.
“Yeah,” he muttered to his blissfully ignorant team. “Networking is going to be really important this year.”