Harbinger

The unnerving thing about the sky was that it was so quiet. As the Summer Hawk rose through the air like a cork released from the bottom of a lake, they quickly left the screaming and noise behind. The wet kiss of the clouds on Zofiya’s face almost convinced her that everything was going to be all right. Perhaps it would have, had she been a different person.

She stood at the gunwales, while sailors scurried around and Deacon Petav consulted with his weirstone. The Grand Duchess, in this moment of peace she knew couldn’t last for long, found her thoughts strangely drifting to her father.

Her mother had been the thirteenth wife of the King of Delmaire. An inconsequential nobody, who had been swallowed by the harem of wives and had never played any part in the life of the Princess she had birthed. Her father however loomed large; always ready with the harsh counsel and harsher punishments. He looked on Arkaym as the hellhole of the world; the place where geists had come from and still controlled. It contained no civilization and no worth—that was why he had happily sent his leftover Prince and Princess to it.

However, as she stood on the precipice of horror, Grand Duchess Zofiya thought of some of the lessons that he had thrashed into his multitude of sons and daughters. With her eyes closed she could see him sitting on the throne of jade, addressing them all with a riding crop tucked under one arm.

“A leader must always be ready to spill blood—no matter whose it is—there are no loyalties or boundaries when you sit on a throne.”

That day when Zofiya knelt on the floor with all her brothers and sisters, it was Kaleva’s little hand that had stolen into hers. Tears squeezed themselves out of the corners of her eyes, and she tried to tell herself that it was the wind that was doing it.

Captain Revele cleared her throat, and Zofiya dashed them away while her back was turned. “Yes, Captain?”

The master of the Summer Hawk showed no sign that she had seen anything like weakness in the regent. “I thought you should know, Imperial Highness, I’ve had word from the rest of our fleet. Your brother’s ships are pursuing us and not engaging them. Rather than a battle he seems intent on capturing you above everything else. Should I send word for them to engage?”

Zofiya thought about it for an instant. It was not that she had any wish to die, but she also could not afford to lose those precious airships either. “Tell them to hang back. Deacon Petav says he has an idea.”

The captain raised one eyebrow but did not question. She moved sharply back to the bridge. The Summer Hawk was flying in the clouds now, but this would only be protection for a while. They had Deacons who could see well enough, but her brother’s fleet was not without its own resources. They had navigational weirstones and the wherewithal to use them.

Petav was coming toward her holding out the weirstone as if it contained the answers. When he stopped before Zofiya, a slight smile lurked on his lips. “I have made contact with the others of my Order.”

“Can they come pull us out of this cloud? Perhaps give my brother back his reason?” Zofiya found she was snapping just a little. The truth was, she was heartily sick of promises and hope. She needed real help. In a voice laden with sarcasm, she snapped, “Can they magically transport themselves onto a moving airship?”

Petav’s smile faded a little, but he did not back down. “I thought I recognized the man on the ship, the one standing by the machines. Vashill is his name, once a tinker of Vermillion.” He paused, and the creak of the airship was the only sound.

Zofiya hated people who grew silent merely to increase their own importance. “Well?”

“His mother helped the remains of the Order escape Vermillion, and she has been traveling with us. I was able to speak to her, and give her a description of what her son has created.”

Zofiya stared hard at him, and he cleared his throat somewhat nervously. “She has given me ideas on how to combat the machines—maybe even destroy them.”

The regent closed her eyes for just a second. When she opened them, he and the idea were still there. “How close do we have to be?” she asked.

Petav pressed his lips together in a white line. “Very,” he replied. His voice and his hand holding the weirstone were both very steady. Like her, this Deacon would do what needed to be done.

“Send one of your Sensitives to the bridge then. Find me the Winter Kite in this cloud.” The regent turned her head and called, “Captain Revele!”

The officer appeared immediately; in the gray fog she might have been waiting not that far off.

Zofiya flicked her head in Petav’s direction. “We have a plan, but you are probably not going to like it.”

When she had told the captain what it was, she turned a little pale, but she quickly left them to make the arrangements needed.

After that, Revele took her place with the marines who were arranged at the aft deck. Zofiya knew there was little worse than waiting as a soldier—except of course for battle itself.

When she stood before them, she explained her plan to them in slightly lesser detail, and then took her place beside the captain. Deacon Petav appeared again, but this time with a wedge of Deacons. He took up position to the rear of the marines. Then all of them waited in silence, while the airship creaked gently around them as if they were not about to be very foolhardy.

The Summer Hawk lived up to her name, swooping and turning, the deck alternatively rising and falling under their feet as the Deacon on the bridge helped angle them just so. Zofiya did not like relying on Deacons so very much, but this seemed to be the way of things. Her brother had chosen eldritch machinery over sense, so she had no other choice.

Captain Revele knew her vessel and said it was ready for the task, but nonetheless Zofiya had never heard of such a maneuver. The Imperial Fleet was still young, and had never fought against itself like this. As they began to dip again, the regent felt her heart thunder.

“Remember,” she called above the flap and creak of the airship, “no one is to touch the Emperor but me!”

The Summer Hawk dropped out of the sky from above like her namesake. The cloud’s mist made everything gray, and their descent was so rapid that when they did see the Winter Kite finally emerge from it, there was scarcely a second to process it. One moment it was a deep gray shape in the cloud, and then the next the Summer Hawk was on it.

It was quite shocking how close the Sensitive had brought them—but then that was what they had asked her for. The Hawk’s forward cannon fired at the Kite’s propeller. The retort made Zofiya’s ears ring, but she was heartened to see the chain shot hit true. The propeller jerked and tangled just as it was meant to.

“Brace yourselves!” Zofiya barked to those that waited with her.

The rumble of the impact was loud enough to knock out all rational thought from a person’s brain. The bow of the descending airship struck her brother’s ship in the stern, just behind where that dire machine was mounted.

This was the best place to board another airship without risking it plummeting to the ground, Captain Revele had claimed, and no one knew ships better than she. The Summer Hawk’s bow was the strongest piece of her, just like in a battleship of the ocean. Luckily they did not have to worry about water suddenly rushing in.

Zofiya waved her saber. The marines followed her charge across the deck and onto the slightly tilted one of the Winter Kite. They had apparently done something unexpected. The first soldiers they encountered were still engaged in forming themselves into defensive lines. Skirmishes were soon breaking out all over.

Zofiya threw herself into the battle, allowing the ebb and flow of battle to keep her mind off what lay ahead. She was able to put away her knowledge that she was fighting men she had trained. Instead, she concentrated on keeping herself moving forward, cutting down those that stood in her way with a bloody determination. She called out, “For Arkaym,” so that they might know this was not a coup she wanted. However, By the Bones, she would not stop.

Then something curious began to happen. It started at the front, where the forces were clashing, and soon it was like a wave among the Imperial Guard. Several of her brother’s troops began to lay down their weapons. They held up their hands and surrendered to their brothers. The idea that Zofiya wasn’t going to have to kill any more of her fellows was an uplifting one. Still, not quite all of them were surrendering.