-A warm explosive welcome-

{Excerpt}

In the twilight of the 1400s, a fellowship of esteemed merchants birthed within Crotha burgeoned, thought by many to be the foremost merchant guild within the realm of Udoris. Following the annexation of a Crotha after the Great War, this burgeoning confederacy of merchant guilds ascended to prominence, dictating the flow of trade throughout the Gulf of Verum. Their influence stretched, like the tendrils of a sprawling vine, from the shores of Gold Bay in the west to the distant reaches of the Caspian Gulf in the east, and with the passage of the ensuing decades, this confederation—now known as the Chamber of Commerce—had mastered the process by which trade was conducted, and in process, codified the rules governing the conditions of commerce.

As a result of this maturing, Udorian businesses flourished and became more permanent. By the end of the century, merchant enclaves soon populated every Udorian capital, from Neude to Bycrest, and even, all the way up to the reclusive Arien capital, Hatford. Over time these partnerships became more commonplace, leading to the development of grand trading consortiums such as The Brotherhood of Golden Ships and the renowned Order of Spice and Silk.

This progress catalyzed the rapid expansion of ancillary organizations like the Sanctuary of Scrolls and a formidable coalition of Verumitte mercenaries, now recognized far and wide as the Warriors' Guild. Both entities, inextricably linked with the Chamber of Commerce, endure to this day, fostering a symbiotic relationship that underpins the realm's economic landscape.

...

Excerpt from Jonas Diane's second book on Udorian powers - 'Capitalism, the mother of a modern civilization'

{END}

[13.02.1624]

Maidenpool.

THE birds were chirping, the bees were buzzing. In the trees, new leaves were fussing; a symphony of life was all around as nature's chorus resounded. The snow gradually melted away to reveal a vibrant palette of greens and yellows. Birds returned from their winter migration, filling the fields with wild songs and melodies. The air was filled with sweet perfume as the flowers began to bloom; their petals unfurling; reaching for the sun; thawing, burgeoning.

Aden sighed as he looked away from the swiftly thawing Strega, his gaze, forlorn, and visage, just a bit worn. "So, do we have an agreement?" Vaiu asked, playfully prodding him in the waist.

"This is daylight robbery," the duke replied, exasperated.

"Yes, it is."

"Blatant banditry, that's what this is."

"Indeed," the matriarch replied with a mischievous grin, twirling a lock of hair between her fingers, clearly relishing his vexation.

"...Can you make a few concessions? for old friendship's sake?"

"No."

"...Fine."

"Aden," The Matriarch tutted, "you make it seem as though I exploit you."

The duke turned to her, a brow raised in scepticism.

Vaiu giggled once more. Facing forward, Aden shook his head ruefully. "When His Majesty learns of this..."

"The Queen assented, did she not?"

"Her Majesty is in dire straits," Aden retorted, his irritation evident, "It ill behoves you to exploit her desperation when your people, albeit unwittingly, played a part in this debacle."

Vaiu shook her head in response. "Aden," she said with a small shake of her head, "you know matters are never so straightforward. I cannot afford to give my sister further cause to undermine me before the Elders; your rejection, following the dishonour you wrought upon me, has tarnished my standing as Matriarch irreparably. Rabia stirs enough trouble as it is. Should she convince the Elders that the Creed's interests are not my sole priority, I dread the repercussions that would befall us all."

Aden fell silent. "...I have been inconsiderate," he sighed after a moment, running a hand through his hair. "Forgive me."

Vaiu sniffed. "You had best," she replied, arms crossed as she turned away, "you can scarcely comprehend how much I have sacrificed for you, you ungrateful wretch."

The duke sighed once more. Just as he began to speak words of conciliation, a figure approached from the corner of his vision.

"Your Holiness," the approaching woman—a priestess—bowed deeply, extending a small scroll to the Matriarch, "A missive for you."

Aden watched, intrigued, as Vaiu's pouting expression turned to a frown upon reading the letter. "Is aught amiss?" he inquired, noting her hesitant glance in his direction.

"...Seemingly so," Vaiu began, her brow furrowed in perplexity, "over the winter, your son razed Mallowston Fort, amassed a peasant host of some five hundred men, and now prepares for conflict with the Count at his harbour."

Aden's face darkened at the revelation. "...Sean did what?"

"Nay," Vaiu corrected, equally baffled as she handed him the parchment, "Not Sean. He long ago turned traitor and fled west to Quilton, stripping you bare of gold and men before his departure. 'Twas Levi, your trueborn, who ordered the fort's destruction after Earl Gilbert threatened to seize Faywyn."

"...Impossible," Aden muttered, disbelieving. "Sean would not... Levi could not," he denied, shaking his head.

Vaiu remained silent, her lack of words speaking volumes.

"Where is the Count now?" the duke asked, his face growing pale. Vaiu exchanged a glance with the priestess at her side.

"Your Holiness," the woman supplied, "Three vessels bearing the Hera crest were sighted making their way upstream past the harbour but hours ago. At most, they shall arrive at Mallowston come noon, two days hence."

"...Fuck," Aden breathed, his complexion paling further. "Fuck!"

***

[16.02.1624]

Mallowston.

Count Josh stood upon the quarterdeck of the Dandelion, gazing with a hint of fond remembrance as the brig tacked its course against the thawing currents of the Strega. The ship sliced through thin, fractured sheets of ice with a soft crunching sound, propelled forward by the westerly winds. Before him, the silhouettes of Mallowston harbour and its vessels—the Serenity and Endeavor—phased in and out of the mist, tracing a sinuous path along the river's gentle flow.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

"A fine day to be alive, wouldn't you say?" the Count declared, his fists planted firmly on his hips as he surveyed the rapidly materialising outline of Mallowston harbour.

"Indeed it is, My Lord Duke," the Dandelion's helmsman—a nobleman from House Locket—replied with a hint of jest, eliciting a chuckle from nearby knights.

Josh joined in the laughter, his smile tinged with nostalgia. "I am not yet Duke of Faywyn, good sir. There is much to accomplish before I can claim the title of Governor of Souville. At the very least, I must ensure Gilbert's union with that Timel lass lest her father, the old boor, raises a ruckus again. Ah, so many tasks, so little time."

The helmsman nodded in understanding as the crew prepared to dock the Dandelion. Then it happened; the first salvo—sudden and brutal. The count tumbled to the ground, screaming, as the Dandelion heaved to one side from the force. Great bluish plumes of smoke erupted in an explosion of fire and metal to reveal the vague shadows of artillery batteries hidden amongst the yard clutter. The Dandelion and Serenity both shuddered as they too were struck by chain shots on their portsides; The Endeavor at the forefront of the line fared much worse, as by some horrid stroke of bad luck her mainmast was shorn right through by the artillery barrage.

The stricken vessel quickly began listing towards her port side as she and her damaged mast―still attached by the ship's rigging―were pulled back by the river's current.

The Dandelion's above-deck scene was a gruesome horror; a nightmare made real. The air was suddenly afoul with the thick stench of blood and entrails, the ground littered with the broken bodies of noblemen and peasants alike. Severed limbs and mangled torsos lay scattered about; blood staining the wooden floorboard, soaking into the deck like some macabre offering to a deranged god.

"What in the devil's name is happening?" Count Josh cried out, his face contorted with rage, fear, and confusion, barely audible above the din of battle.

"An ambush, My Lord!" the helmsman shouted back from where he cowered beneath the ship's helm

"No shit!" the Count snarled. "All hands on deck! Ready the cannons! ... Shit! Belay that! Hoist the sails and weigh anchor! Helmsman, steer us clear of the Endeavor! Now!" Josh commanded, gesturing towards the damaged ship drifting downstream. The Serenity, unable to manoeuvre quickly out of the way, immediately collided with her stricken sister-ship resulting in a dull, worryingly creaking noise echoing across the river.

As the Dandelion struggled to manoeuvre, Count Josh watched in dismay as his crew hurried to arm the ship, despite his orders for retreat. Outgunned and outnumbered, he made the grim decision to flee. But their pursuers were relentless, their cannons relentless in their assault.

Count Josh grimaced at the sight of his men still hurrying to arm the Dandelion's three two-pounder portside minions despite his orders for retreat; the vessel could hold more than three times the armament it currently held but had been partially disarmed to carry more men and supplies the month prior. Out-gunned, the count opted for a complete retreat as he watched the Endeavor get dragged downstream for a few hundred meters before getting caught on a sandbar about two dozen meters from the southern bank.

"Enemy brigs!" one crewmate shouted, drawing Josh's attention to the two vessels ahead weighing anchor just ahead as they let the current pull them out of the harbour. The count blanched as the vessels' combined gunports rose to reveal the menacing lips of a worrying number of cannons.

All aimed at his vessel.

Josh dove for the deck as another salvo ripped bloody lines of shrapnel through the Dandelion.

"All hands on deck, you cockless fools!" the count screamed, intent on fleeing the battle. "Raise the godsdamned sails and set the fucking anchor aweigh!" The Dandelion's anchor dropped into the icy river, its flared bill catching the strong current just above the surface of the riverbed as it towed the vessel into a hard turn away from its assailants. But the enemy vessels hounded them still; the visibly lighter vessels racing downstream at a much faster pace than the Dandelion or Serenity could manoeuvre. Another salvo of artillery from the harbour itself struck the fleeing vessels; the Serenity suffered the most damage as she began to visibly list to her starboard side.

The Serenity managed to flee downstream for another three hundred meters before she was summarily caught, gunned and boarded by one of the enemy vessels. The second, relentless in its pursuit of the Dandelion, sought to board her. Count Josh watched the rapidly approaching sloop in fear. "Make for land!" he shouted, terrified of his fate should the enemy ship catch up. The Dandelion slowly began to careen to the left as it lumbered towards the northern bank. Suddenly, the anchor line went slack as the anchor hit the riverbed, with the vessel running aground about two dozen meters from the riverside a few moments later.

The count, his remaining bannermen and the brig's crew quickly abandoned the vessel, diving into the freezing water to swim towards the shore.

On the river bank, Josh watched aghast and confused, trembling from fear and the cold. Opposite him, on the southern bank, the Endeavor's crew and his defenceless bannermen fleeing from her sundered guts were quickly encircled by a contingent of enemy cavalry and a massive formation of pikemen emerging from the thicket just behind the shore.

"By Jove's bloody yard…" Confused, the count cussed as he turned to flee into the woods.

***

Levi watched the carnage from his perch on a martello tower by the harbour; the fortification's single twenty-four-pounder gun had ceased firing given all three of the count's vessels were either already captured or were currently being brought to heel. Lancelot stood by his side, silently observing the scene.

"...Inform the men to ready themselves for pursuit," the earl instructed, a faint smile playing at his lips. "I trust you all can manage affairs in my absence?"

"...Indeed, My Lord," the viscount affirmed, his expression one of dumbfounded relief.