Falric rubbed his eyes and checked the telescope again, not believing what he had seen. A castle floated in the distant sky, complete with a full wall and more guard towers than all of Fallbrook. Alongside the castle flew a dozen black frigates.

“A wall… As if flying away in a castle wasn’t enough to keep the neighbors away.” Marveled Falric.

Lifting his head from the scope he used his own eyes to see the two burning galleons. One had broken in half and was sinking slowly. That far out to sea her crew would likely drown before help could arrive, assuming the black fleet let them send a rescue ship.

“Port Master, evacuation is no longer an option. Sound the alarm. Execute any who oppose the order on the spot.” Ordered Falric.

Port Master Robertson looked at Falric, mouth flapping open as he processed the command.

“We’re under attack? Oh! We are under attack! Let me go!” Cried Robertson, struggling against Titus’ grip.

Titus dropped the Port Master, who scurried from the room. Both ship captains who had accompanied him fled. No doubt seeking their own ships. Leaving Robertson as the one responsible for sounding the alarm. This sent the seasoned bureaucrat running down the hallway to a room where a sailor stood guard. Upon seeing Robertson the sailor saluted, standing at attention as Robertson bumbled past him and into the room.

“We’re under attack!” Hollered Robertson.

His words lashed the sailor into action, and soon the clarion call of brass bells was echoing across the town. Falric almost chuckled at the Port Master’s change of heart, one moment he was negotiating a strike. The next he was sounding the alarm, calling for Captain Falric’s aid.

Bureaucrats. Thought Falric with a shake of his head.

Bells tolled across Fallbrook as each watch tower and bell picked up the call. Merchants closed their doors early, off duty militiamen ran for their armories, and the town guard assembled. Commander Dorian sprinted out of sight, his auxiliaries would be the most difficult squadron to assemble. Doubly so when he considered how many of them were involved in the evacuation. Titus merely sauntered to the nearest window. Holding out his hand he rubbed a silver ring, it’s ruby glowing red as it sent a narrow beam of flames into the sky.

The spell was a basic fire arrow, incapable of doing anything in combat that Titus could not. Though the spell was only a means, a spell that could be seen in the noon sun or in a decrepit dungeon. A flare for the knights to rally around.

Twelve black ships advanced on Fallbrook, as if the flare commanded them as well. Captain Falric donned his golden helm, thankful for the contentious evacuation. With so many citizens resisting the evacuation many had taken to bearing arms. From bollock daggers to arming swords to spears, the townsfolk were ready for a fight. Activating his strategist talents he began calculating a course to victory.

“I’m not sure if I should curse Levi or thank him.” Wondered Falric, drawing an ugly chuckle from Titus.

“Do as you please, I won’t thank the worm til he drowns himself. If he takes those ships down with him, guess I’d have to pour an ale out. Maybe a keg.” Suggested Titus.

Prompted by his mental talents, Falric immediately upped the ante.

“He wouldn’t taste a keg. If you bought every ale in Fallbrook and dumped them into the harbor he might notice.” Laughed Falric, heading for the port.

Titus followed him, descending three floors to exit the Port Master’s tower. Town guards were beginning to gather and a contingent of knights with their men at arms were directing the defense. Arraying the guard in a way to fend off docking ships. Falric’s brows furrowed at the sight. Yes, they were being attacked from the sea, but would a flying ship have any use for a wet dock?

“Titus?” Asked Falric.

“Yes sir!” Answered Titus.

“If you had a flying ship… Well, a dozen flying ships, where would you attack? For that matter, where would you land?” Mused Falric.

“Ships go in the docks, tis only natural sir. Soldiers need a way to get off.” Said Titus with a shrug.

Falric stroked the stubble on his chin. “Why disembark at a defended port, when you could throw a rope overboard and land in the lord’s inner courtyard?”

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Titus jerked in surprise, realizing the painfully obvious logic. His eyes went wide and Falric could see him trying to answer his earlier question. He balled his hand into a fist, punching Titus in the shoulder hard enough to get his attention. Armored gauntlet med rolled steel, clanking for all to hear. Titus barely noticed, but he did notice.

“We can’t defend the city. They’ve put us on the back foot. No matter what, we can only respond to their attacks. Marvelous really, we are a walled city, every plan for our defense involved manning the wall. We could handle one or two breaches, even a third breach would be manageable. But twelve… Impressive.” Said Falric, activating his strategist skills and thinking out loud.

“Captain, the men need orders! Now is not the time for compliments.” Hissed Titus, drawing the greatsword and resting it on his shoulder.

Twelve black frigates soared over the ocean, coming close enough to be identified without the help of magnification. Sergeants and corporals stood in shock as they realized the twelve black dots in the sky were ships instead of birds. They formed the men into ranks, creating what would have been an excellent force for repelling pirates.

“Listen closely,” growled Falric, grabbing Titus by the collar and dragging him down to his level.

“We have already lost, each ship holds at least fifty men, one hundred and fifty at most. Twelve times fifty is six hundred men with magical support. Half our auxiliaries are gone, along with half our regular guards and all our magical support from the guild. Not to mention the rescue force we sent to Dianthus.”

Titus paled as he realized what Falric meant. They were doomed, caught with their pants down by a pack of rabid bears. With their greatest defensive assets, their fortifications, completely negated by the enemy.

“They’ve been planning this…” Muttered Titus.

“Beyond a shadow of a doubt. This is a battle we will lose. Unless… Hmm… We board their ships. This is our home and a numerical advantage. If we seize their flying ships then we can contest their landings. Fly at them like we are trying to ram them. That ought to give us a chance to respond to their landing parties. Make it happen Titus!” Ordered Captain Falric.

The armored champion didn’t bother to salute as he sprinted towards the gathering knights. His mind already switched to a battle footing. Titus bellowed orders at the rank and file, dividing them into platoons and scattering them across the city. Men at arms in plate armor surrounded Captain Falric, sent by Titus to act as his bodyguard.

“Men at arms, to Town Hall! Save the Mayor!” Shouted Falric.

“Save the Mayor!” Echoed a score of men at arms, chasing their captain as he set off.

Captain Falric had more time to think than he wanted. His strategist talents automatically weighed the odds of success. Squads of soldiers passed as the armored company jogged towards Town Hall. Citizens made way for their captain, some even fell into line with the men at arms. Falric recognized some of them as retired town guards, men who had served loyally for decades before retiring. Seeing them join his ranks twisted his heart, their fidelity warmed his heart. Reminding him that it was his job to see them safely home.

Accepting the responsibility he dove into his calculations. Twelve frigates could reasonably carry an average of a hundred warriors, totalling twelve hundred. During the last census Fallbrook’s population was just shy of twenty nine thousand. That was four years ago, so he rounded up to thirty thousand then removed ten thousand from the count, representing those who had already evacuated.

The town guard stood at roughly one thousand regular soldiers, with a thousand retirees and a few hundred recruits who formed the core of Dorian’s militia. Titus commanded one hundred and twenty three knights, though most of them owned enough land to sponsor men at arms to fight in their stead.

Regardless of which contingent the warriors came from, half of them had been sent to aid the evacuation. Leaving Falric with roughly even numbers against the invading frigates. A meaningless advantage when the frigates could land wherever they pleased. Glancing back at the flying ships he gawked at their speed. Two were already above the docks trailing ropes as they prepared to disembark.

Ships go in the docks… Huh. Guess Titus was right. Or their commander is an idiot. Thought Falric.

Twin plumes of fire hit the docks, one incarcerated the Port Master’s tower while the second tore through a platoon of regular guard. At a command from their sergeant they scattered, ducking into buildings or diving behind crates in a mad free for all. Confirming Falric’s worst fears.

He had hoped the mages would be too busy flying the ships, a massive amount of magic would be needed to fly a heavily laden frigate. The MP cost of flight spells increased with the net weight of the flying object. If they had MP to spare after flying this far then they were doomed.

Aside from a few personal mages Fallbrook’s magical defense relied entirely on guild mages. Magi existed at the extremes of society, completely obsessed with knowledge they sought to power level inside dungeons. Hunting the magical items that would further their research. They had left months ago, robbed of their purpose when Levi ate their dungeon.

Falric fed these factors into his strategist talents as he ran towards Town Hall. Halfway there his talents spat out hard numbers followed by a brief summary of how the battle would play out.

Possibility of defending Fallbrook = 4.82%

Black ships isolate and defeat small bands of defenders. Town guard who are defending the wall fail to launch a counter attack. Mages kill knights and champions. Total defeat and occupation by flying castle.

Possibility of retreat = 0.32%

Flying ship speed exceeds a galloping horse. Enemy transports take the town, return to castle for reinforcements then pursue and overwhelm evacuees. Number of survivors estimated to be less than 0.32% of current forces.

4.82 percent… I haven’t seen odds that low since… Well, since I was a boy and tried to wiggle my way out of telling mom that her favorite dress made her look flat chested and pregnant. Thought Falric, biting his lip to stifle a groan.

A tongue lashing from his mother would be infinitely preferable to the total defeat in front of him. He slowed to a walk, grabbing two of the men at arms around him, then another two.

“Run to the walls as fast as you can, flying ships don’t need to attack them, rally the wardens to counterattack. Try to board the enemy frigates or kill the mages!” Ordered Falric.

“Yes sir!” Shouted the four men at arms in unison.

They scattered, two running down an alleyway to the right and two breaking to the left to head down Baker street. Together they might have a chance of rallying the wall guards. A shadow covered Falric’s platoon. Sounds of clinking armor began to echo as a ship’s hull overtook them. Forming an enclosed corridor with the buildings on either side of the street.

Seconds passed with Falric searching for any sign of a mage. The men at arms were covered in plate armor, polished until it shone. Making them easy targets for mages. Falric’s armor was no exception, his golden helm marking him as an excellent target for magic. How they had escaped notice was beyond him.

Then the ship passed by them, aimed at the open-air forum that was Town Hall. Falric blinked, his eyes watering as a light came into view above the frigate. Bright enough to be a second sun, it made the knights falter. Shielding their eyes the men ran on.

“Scatter!” Screamed Falric, diving for the nearest alley.

The light flew from the ship. Zipping through the air like an arrow the size of a wagon. It impacted the center of town hall, evaporating the stone forum in an instant. A column of fire erupted from the crater, extending far beyond what the nearby buildings.