On the 10th of Solem, on the 48th cycle, Mirian began to assemble her assault team. She sat down with Professor Torres and showed her the schematics she’d been working on. The blueprint of the airship was covered in notes and shorthand for glyph sequences.
Professor Torres sat there, stunned. “This is incredible,” she said.
“You helped me put it together.”
“But you did this from memory.”
“Yeah,” Mirian said. “Tell me about it. If I never map Rodgier conduit networks to Leishire binding sequences again, it will be too soon. Obviously, this isn’t the whole thing, which is insanely more complex, and they’ve still never let me near the engine room, but it has what we need. Communications and steering. These are the key systems you’ll be modifying,” she said, and pointed out several labeled spell engines and conduits. “We’ll have several hours to work, but the longer it takes, the more we risk capture.”
Torres looked at her. “The plan, frankly, sounds insane.”
“That’s fair,” Mirian said. “Jei and I will help install the modifications. You’ll need to pre-prepare the artifice we need.”
“I’m still teaching classes,” Torres said.
“After I talk to the Archmage, classes will be canceled on the 20th. That gives you seven full days to prepare, and feel free to half-ass your lessons. Everyone will understand soon enough. Don’t talk to Luspire though. He’s… volatile. But I need him.”
Torres shook her head. “You were so normal when I taught you two weeks ago.”
Mirian smiled. “A lot has changed for me since then. I have to go. I have more people to talk to.”
“Who else?” Torres said.
“The master illusionist, Professor Marva. They’ll make sure no one questions us while we’re aboard.”
She left Torres to look over the blueprints, and headed to Castner Hall.
***
On the 26th of Solem, they found the damned airship that had been eluding Mirian hidden in the forest again, but this time it was five miles north of the spellward. Captain Moliner found it by accident as they were preparing terrain for the skirmishing team that would be hiding in the north forest. A divination spell they were using to double check the defensive wards they’d be retreating to picked up something strange, and when they investigated, there it was.
It had been several cycles since Mirian had bothered directing the militia that far north. Once the Akana army was fully deployed on the 2nd of Duala, they would circle around to hit the rear of the Akanan convoy. Mirian hadn’t bothered using that particular tactic recently because she’d already established it worked, and the prior teams had never seen the airship.
“Of course, it’s a small airship, so it’s almost entirely chance we found it,” Moliner told her.
Mirian looked over the small craft. There was a wyvern corpse next to it, and it still had a mouthful of conduit crystal it had been tearing out of the ship to eat when it had been discovered.
Captain Moliner could tell something was wrong, probably because Mirian was grinding her jaw and scowling. “Have you… seen this before? Does this change our plan?”
“I’ve seen a variation of it. No change to the plan,” Mirian said. “Any indication of where the pilot went? Anything they left over?”
“If they left anything, the wyverns ate it first. It’s been thoroughly stripped, probably by the pilot, because the glyphcore appears to be missing. Unless these wyverns knew how to use a screwdriver…”
Mirian stopped paying attention because she’d heard it all before. She’d tried to replicate the circumstances with Nicolus, then again with how the spies were captured to see if either one was causing the airship to be sent. In the end, she decided it was a Viridian-type, an unpredictable variable that she would never pin down with certainty. Since it didn’t seem to affect the information the Akanan army was getting, she’d been ignoring it; she was busy enough with Luspire’s training, investigating soul-magic, and masterminding the defense of Torrviol. Now she was wondering if that was a mistake.
As far as she could ascertain, whatever ridiculous conspiracy was going on in Akana Praediar was impossible for her to stop. There were too many people involved, and she still didn’t understand how they were involved or who had actually recruited the assassin. Alerting Uncle Alexus to the assassination of the Prime Minister did nothing to stop it, and usually just got him killed. It would be far simpler to win the battle here. It would be extremely useful to be able to have such an airship, because then she could just get to Palendurio or even Vadriach in a day or two, but right now it seemed like a waste of time. For all she knew, the airship pilot had been eaten by a bog lion anyways.
“What should we do about it?” Moliner finally asked to break the silence.
“Nothing,” Mirian said.
That night, though, she had a new dream. She was kneeling in front of the statue of the Ominian again, the grand sanctum of the Mausoleum looming above her, but unlike all the other times, she wasn’t alone. Some four dozen others knelt, their faces and bodies obscured by the deep folds of robes and cowls.
Who are you? she said, or maybe thought; no sound carried in this room. Whenever she walked through it, she felt her footsteps, but they were always silent. The figures turned to her, but their faces were empty. She turned to the Ominian, and the statue’s head was looking down at her. Its empty eyes bore into her, and she knew its gaze could see through her very bones.
She alone rose to stand before it. I’m almost there, she told it.
It only stared, the silence in the hall deepening.
***
“Another successful withdrawal,” one of General Hanaran’s colonels reported. It was the evening of the 3rd of Duala. “The enemy is now hesitant to move forward.”
Mirian turned to the General, who as usual at this point in the battle was looking at Mirian with something between respect and fear. Hanaran said, “We’ve had no reports from the northern strike team. Have they disrupted the Akanan logistics?”
“They have,” Mirian said. “Marshal Cearsia will next prepare a desperate thrust into the center to reach the Underground. Harass the southern and eastern Akanan lines as they withdraw, then let them overextend into the trap.” She turned to look at the militia members. Valen stood beside Captain Moliner. She was scared, Mirian knew, but determined. She was the perfect person to help lead the defense of the Underground; after all, Mirian had nearly the full month to prepare her. “Start deploying to the tunnels. This is the one we win.”
When she said it this time, there was no false conviction. She meant it. Both Valen and Moliner saluted her and left.
Hanaran said, “As long as the Akanans have those airships, there’s no way we can cut them off. Every time we push a front, they’re the only thing preventing us from reaching a breakthrough.”
“You have the levitation wands?” she asked one of the lieutenants.
“Yes, ah… sir?” He was at a loss for titles. The man presented a box to her.
“Good. I’ll take them now. In a few hours, they’ll be taken care of.”
General Hanaran shook her head. “The airships? You’re actually serious. When you first described your plan… but now I think you have a chance. Ominian watch over us.”
“He is. Watch for the signal,” Mirian said, then headed for the Monument. She wound down the now familiar staircases and halls and through the security door.
Archmage Luspire was in front of the Monument, raised hand trembling as he channeled into it. “Damn. Damn! I was sure it would work,” he said.
Mirian strode up behind him. “You need more time. Days, not hours.”
“But I did it before!” he snapped. “You told me I did!”
“In circumstances we can’t recreate. But you know how close you are. If the Akanans reach this room though, they’ll do so with overwhelming force. We can stop them before that. Make them pay for what they’ve done to Torrviol.”
Archmage Luspire turned to look at her, face a mix of wild emotions he was barely containing.
“Marshal Cearsia is in command of the airship.”
It was fury that emerged as the victor in the Archmage’s emotions. “Damn her,” he snarled. “After everything I gave her. You have…?”
Mirian handed him a levitation wand.
“Of course. My best prepared student.”
Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.
She smiled at him. “You’ll need to carry three, plus the artifice Torres has prepared. Marva doesn’t have the spellpower, and we’ll want Torres to be fresh.”
“To plan B, then,” Luspire said, and they moved up to the garden.
Jei, Torres, Cassius and Marva met them in the courtyard. “Go ahead, Professor,” Mirian said to Marva. Marva’s major illusion spells were, in a word, perfect. When she was done, there was no sign they weren’t part of the Akanan’s 7th Airborne Engineering Division.
Cassius looked himself over with disgust, while Luspire seemed pleased with the result. Marva cast a separate spell for themself. That’s interesting, Mirian realized. I didn’t even feel them cast it. Were they simply that efficient at illusion?
“The sooner this is done with, the happier I will be,” Respected Jei said.
“Remember, if you start speaking, the game’s up. I’ll do the talking. The crew up there is exhausted, but they’re well trained. Ready?”
The team murmured their affirmation. Luspire looked up at the sky.
“For Baracuel,” Cassius said.
“For Torrviol,” Mirian echoed.
Archmage Luspire encircled Torres, Marva, and the two crates of supplies with a force binding spell, then began to levitate. Mirian and Cassius rose after him, shooting into the sky.
She always found exhilaration in flying, but this time, the anticipation of the coming assault magnified it. As they approached, Archmage Luspire created a thick cloud that obscured the darkening sky further. They descended onto the rear deck of the Might of Liberty, Cearsia’s flagship. They were the more disciplined crew, so the plan would be harder to implement on the ship, but they were also far faster to react if something went wrong on the other ship. This was the better target.
Their landing was as graceful as could be expected. Jei was four meters off the target, and Luspire bounced one of the crates off the railing but quickly recovered with a modified force cushion. Mirian signaled for them to follow. Their first target was a key spell engine that generated several dozen remote speech spells.
As they entered the first room, a man wearing a lieutenant’s uniform said, “What are you doing here?”
Mirian didn’t break her stride. “Enemy fire just hit the seventh conduit of your engine. Damage is mostly superficial but communication with the Republic’s Justice forebridge is down. Our orders are to split the channels of the fourth conduit and reroute until there can be a permanent fix. It’s already noted in the damage log.”
“Belay that,” the lieutenant snapped. “We should have gotten confirmation. I don’t recognize you, who sent you?”
“Captain Markus. Ask him if he’s authorized my team’s repair of the aft communications, but please hurry, because my team has six more patch jobs to do and we’ve already been chewed out twice.”
Mirian assumed an expression of barely contained frustration.
One of the crew looked at the lieutenant, who then curtly nodded at her. “Aft communications hub to Captain Markus, confirming authorization of…?”
“7th Airborne Engineering Division, Falcon Team,” Mirian said.
“—Falcon Team’s patch job to aft communications.”
There was a pause, then the remote voice spell carried the reply. “Confirmed.”
The real Falcon Team had a different communications repair job on their schedule, and was actually off shift right now, sleeping in their bunks, but scheduling had been disrupted enough everyone expected everyone else to be working doubles and there were dozens of minor repairs no one could get to. Despite the perception of the Baracuel crews on the ground, the hits of the light artillery had done significant damage. Though she couldn’t predict what communications would be hit, the glyph-phrases on the aft towers were always hit by shrapnel, so there was always at least one communications repair job needed, and if it was low priority, it went to Falcon Team. With how many sorties the airships were running, no one had time for the minor jobs.
“Sir, I’m not able to reach the Justice’s forebridge,” another communications officer confirmed.
That was because the captain of the Republic’s Justice had relieved the forebridge crew since they had been awake and on duty for twenty-three hours and he assumed the main bridge’s second team wouldn’t need the support.
Meanwhile, Marva was taking mental notes on exactly how the communications crew sounded. They had, Mirian had learned, gotten very good at mimicking voices and appearances. That would come in handy for the penultimate step of the plan.
“Go ahead,” the lieutenant snapped. “But be quick about it.”
“We’re trying, sir,” Mirian muttered, glaring at him. Then she nodded at Torres, who got to work.
***
Over the course of the next two hours, they visited four spell engines and three conduits. Mirian and Torres had changed several dozen key glyph phrases. It was when they visited the last spell engine that they finally got caught.
“I’ve ordered no repairs. Wing control is running smoothly,” she said. “Who are you?”
That was too bad, Mirian thought. Usually, the flameburst shells did enough damage to the wings that there was at least one repair job needed.
“Falcon Team. 7th Airborne Engineers, the bridge ordered we—”
“Falcon Team. No you’re not,” the woman said. “Falcon Team is off duty right now.” She blinked, looking at them, then her eyes narrowed. Her hand went to her pistol at her side. “Explain yourselves, now.”
Mirian looked at Cassius. “Kill them,” she said in Friian.
The woman’s eyes went wide. She drew her pistol, while another went for a wand, but it was too late. These were crew, not battlemagi or infantry. Cassius speared them in the heart one by one with an empowered force lance, Luspire joining him only after a moment. Within seconds, all six of the Akanans in the room were dead.
“Last job,” Mirian said. “No need to hide it. Set the spellbomb.”
Torres opened the last crate. The nice thing about a spellbomb was it didn’t look like much, unless you knew what the glyph sequences meant. One of the Akanan inspectors they’d encountered earlier had missed the explosive sequence Torres had hidden in her artifice even after looking at it.
As Torres set them up the bomb, Cassius used a collect liquid spell to pool the blood from the bodies in the corner. Marva looked away from the carnage, looking nauseous.
“Respected Jei, please seal the door behind us,” Mirian said as they left.
She did, using fuse metal to subtly seal the door on the inside rim.
The last place they stopped was an empty cabin Torres had set up their own spell engine in. “Go ahead and trigger it,” Mirian said.
Torres muttered, “Gods I hope this works.”
“I’m pretty sure it will,” Mirian said. She’d never actually gotten this far before.
There was a hum and a whir as the spell engine came to life. The glyphs began to glow, and all of a sudden, Mirian could hear communications from the bridge and the hubs. Dozens of voices, all at once. “Master Luspire, sir, it worked! We need the cloud off the starboard side.”
The Archmage grinned. “On it.” He left the room and looked out over the deck. When he started channeling, Mirian could feel it. Likely, several of the magi on the ship could as well. Another reason to move quickly.
Mirian hit one of the glyph switches on the triggering device Torres had made, and an explosion rocked the ship—key conduits leading from the bridge to the first and second communications hubs. Mirian nodded at Marva as she hit a glyph on their spell engine, tapping into the remote speech spells of the hubs. Marva’s modify voice spell changed Mirian’s voice to mimic the woman they’d heard in the last communications hub, which, thanks to their sabotage, was now isolated from the airship. In their place, they’d linked their own spell engine, if only for a few minutes.
But a few minutes would be all they needed.
“Steering, this is Command,” Mirian said. “We just took a bad hit from artillery. Adjust your heading two degrees west and take us another five hundred feet up. Confirm course change.”
“This is Steering. Command received. Two degrees west, five hundred feet up. Confirmed.”
Mirian hit another switch so that the spell was in contact with another area. “Fire Control, this is Command. We need the artillery that just hit us silenced. Prepare a full salvo. Starboard guns, firing solution at minus twenty degrees. Fire in two minutes. Confirm.”
There was a pause. “Command, this is Fire Control. Republic’s Justice is on our starboard side, but we have no visual. Confirm order?”
“Checking,” she said, because that was the procedure. She waited a few seconds, then said, “Both ships are correcting course to hit the target. Spotters have visual on the Republic’s Justice and it is out of our firing arc. Order confirmed.”
“Firing solution at minus twenty degrees, one minute fifteen seconds. Confirmed.”
Mirian didn’t smile. Instead, there was another emotion swirling in her. Apprehension? No. Satisfaction? Not quite. A feeling of horror, for all the deaths she’d just ordered, but a feeling of righteousness too. For all that they looked and acted human, these Akanans had coldly massacred the people of Torrviol, and it was only her actions that now stopped them. It was time that the horrors they had visited on others came to them.
Mirian turned off their spell engine and joined Luspire by the railing.
The guns roared out, a full broadside. But instead of hitting the town far below, the cloud just below them glowed with orange flames, as the full salvo of explosive shells slammed into the other Akanan airship’s unprotected deck, the plunging fire smashing into the superstructure and right through the center of it. The bright flames blew apart the Archmage’s cloud, revealing the Republic’s Justice below, now awash with multicolored flames as tens of thousands of glyph phrases and spell engines went into catastrophic failure, burning with arcane fire. If Torrian Tower being shattered was a sight of awe and horror, this was ten times that; the colossal ship began to point towards the ground, streaming fiery smoke as secondary explosions cascaded through it.
“Got the bastards,” Luspire said. “Now to the bridge. I can’t wait to see the look on her face.”
Mirian waited a moment longer. Even in the howling winds, she thought she could hear the screams below. Or perhaps it was the shouting of the crew here, as they realized what had just happened.
“Never in all my years,” Respected Jei said.
“I know it shouldn’t, but it feels right,” Mirian said. “They killed Lily. Tore her apart. I’ve watched them butcher so many people, time and time again.”
“Then let us end it,” Jei said. “I hope you are right. I hope this stops the rest of it.” Mirian had told them all about the leyline catastrophe, though she’d left out a few crucial details.
“I hope so too. Let’s go,” she said.
More explosions rocked the Might of Liberty as the last of their spellbombs detonated. The airship listed, the starboard wing now a mess of tangled titanium and steering and the rest of communications was cut.
They headed to the bridge. Marshal Cearsia would be waiting for them.