Chronicles of Gilderam: Book One: Sunset (9 page)

BOOK: Chronicles of Gilderam: Book One: Sunset
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Chapter Eight:
War’s Arrival

 

 

 

Levwit Balkenthron, the Marquis of Pwij, turned around, doubling back down one of
Gilderam’s
corridors. At its end he glanced left and right. But both directions looked entirely identical, like mirror images of each other.

“What the…?”

He chose a direction at random and hurried down it. When he thought he heard the sound of someone else’s footsteps nearby, he chased after them. After a few bends in the hall he was sure he was about to catch up with the sound, but then it stopped. And no one was there.


What
the –?!”

There were more footsteps – louder ones – echoing from behind now. He spun around and ran for them. When he flung himself around the corner, he nearly bowled over Mentrat Ranaloc.

“Oh!”


Ah!

“It’s you!”

“It’s…! Just who the
mlec
are you?”

“Allow me to introduce myself, Lord Ranaloc. My name is Levwit Balkenthron, the Marqu–”

“Oh yes,” Mentrat interrupted. “You’re that ponce who keeps trying to run me over.”

“Uh, yes. The very same. Terribly sorry about that! But perhaps you could help me. You see, I’m trying to get back to my room on deck two and I seem to have lost my way. I could’ve sworn it was –”

“You’re on the lower deck, so you’ll need to go three levels up. The nearest stairs are abaft – so you’ll have to follow this hall and take your first left, but keep right when it splits. You’ll cross athwartships to the port side, and the companionway will be –”

Levwit laughed awkwardly. “Do you think… would you mind…?”

Ranaloc released a pained sigh. “Fine,” he said. “This way.” And he led him down the hall.

After a few paces of awkward silence, Levwit had to say something.

“So! I guess we’re going to war with Divar,” he said unceremoniously. “Rather unfortunate timing, don’t you think?”

“The morons.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The world is filled with morons,” said Mentrat. “Elvish morons and human morons alike. This pointless strife has been boiling between them for centuries. It’s a terrible shame they can’t seem to stop until they’ve killed each other off. Hatred is the opposite of reason.”

“But this war has nothing to do with hatred,” said Levwit.

“Oh?”

“It’s about greed, pure and simple. Money and power. The Gresadian peers see elvish lumber and they have to get their hands on it.”

“Nonsense. The peers already have more wealth and influence than they know what to do with. What could they want with a few trees?”

“A few trees? Nothing. But
infinite
trees? And elvish timber, mind you, is far more durable than even darkwood. My dear Lord Ranaloc, you know as well as any schoolboy that the forest of Divar is protected by elvish magic. In all the years we’ve been warring with them, how far back have we pushed their territory? How much land of theirs have we conquered?” Mentrat didn’t bother to answer. “Exactly. Not a single
plir
. The trees
grow back!
We can chop and burn them all we like, and they sprout up exactly where they were.”

“Making money is easy,” said Mentrat. “Doing something truly
great
… now that’s an accomplishment.”

“Oh, but it is great,” said Levwit. “Just think of it. The Empire of Gresadia is already the largest and most magnificent nation the world has ever seen. Whatever we want, we take. Saria has nothing but iron, so she’s more than willing to trade it to us for a pittance. When we needed nexane for our ships, we marched into Shinira and claimed it for ourselves. The only varride deposits in the world are in Avladia, so we’ve bullied them into handing it over to us. We’ve grown into an unstoppable monster, gobbling up the world – eating everything of value. Divar is the only one left. They are the last bastion of resistance against the Empire. The Called Upon are the only thing standing in the way of our complete and utter domination of the entire world….”

Levwit and Mentrat stopped walking.

“You don’t think this war will hinder the wedding plans, do you?” Levwit asked.

“Wedding…?”

Levwit furrowed his brow at the aging inventor. “Yes. Your daughter’s wedding? In Divar?”

“Oh.
Oh!
Right. That. Why have we stopped?”

“Hm?” Levwit didn’t realize he was referring to the ship. Mentrat picked up a speaking tube from the wall.

“Ranaloc to bridge,” he said into it.


Bridge here
,” a voice responded. It was Jaes, the newly promoted Communications Officer.

“Why have we stopped?”


Imperial galleon on approach, Lord Ranaloc. They’ve ordered us to stop. And they’re coming aboard, sir.

The color fled from Ranaloc’s face. He dropped the speaking tube and ran down the hall.

“Ooh!” said Levwit, following him. “The adventure continues!”

 

 

The afternoon sky was a bright, throbbing blue. Bubbling, cottony clouds hung fat and low as far as could be seen in every direction. Their shadows cast enormous splotches of shade on the ground below, dotting the landscape.

Central Gresadia was predominantly grassland, rolling green and white hills, prairies, and wheat farms. The occasional copse of trees broke up quilt-patterned farm plots. Tiny hamlets clustered around grain silos, and thin trails of roads threaded between them like little capillaries. On one nearby hill, white and brown specks sprinkling the waving green grass marked a herd of cattle.

Gilderam
glided to a smooth stop as the hum of its one working turbine subsided. The rich-green canvas that enshrouded its globular frame glowed in the direct sunlight. Its brass railings and steel hull shone blindingly. The much larger galleon lumbered near on its approach. The third rate warship was a hulking beast in the sky. On the archboard along its stern end was written the name,
CH Silus
.

The galleon was the prevailing ship of the line in the Gresadian Imperial Navy, being the top design at the height of the Empire’s military expansion twenty-five years ago. Galleons had one gun deck, marked by a single row of cannon hatches below her gunwale, and a small variety of artillery emplacements along her weather deck. Each of her two balloons, one fore and one aft, was bigger than
Gilderam
, and they were built halfway into the ship so that the top hemispheres rose above deck. At their apexes smokestacks spewed the black, putrid exhaust of nexane combustion. The lower halves of the balloons were shielded by the hull, and a pronounced aftcastle climbed high up the stern, a blocky hunk of windowed apartments for the captain and his officers.

A cable ran the length of the ship, from the bowsprit, over the balloons, to the taffrail, bearing the blue and white pennants of the Gresadian Navy. Over the aftcastle flew the flag of her captain.

A heliograph operator on deck flashed signals at
Gilderam
, communicating their orders. A crewman aboard
Gilderam
signaled back from the main deck. The
Silus
pulled up side-to-side with
Gilderam
and halyards were exchanged between them and affixed to bollards, locking the two ships together. A boarding plank was secured between the gunwales, and a military cadre crossed over it.

Mentrat and Pawl were waiting for them with Levwit and a handful of crewmen. Owein, Fulo, Gor’m and Cavada stood beside.

The Gresadian officers stopped just short of them and the captain saluted, snapping a fist to his breast and bowing his head slightly.

He was an extremely fat man, on the verge of oozing out of his uniform. He wore the royal blue coat with tails of naval officers that earned them the nickname “bluejacks.” It was completed with gold trim, epaulets, and far too many buttons. Great, bushy muttonchops were joined across his immense face by a mustache, and a plumed bicorn sat atop his head.

His hand whipped back to his side.

“I am Captain Azendun of the
Catega Hirtho Silus
, and faithful servant to Her Majesty, the Empress of Gresadia. Who’s in charge of this vessel?”

Mentrat answered. “This is my ship. What’s the meaning of this?”

“This is the vessel aboard which Imperial Councilor Miro Thalius was killed just last night, isn’t that correct?”

“Along with several others,” Owein answered. Captain Azendun gave him a look.

“Then it is even more peculiar that you are already back in the air.”

“We’ve already filed an extensive report with the Royal Police in Erand,” Pawl said. “They have collected evidence – all the bodies have been handed over – and we’ve been officially cleared to – ”

“In a bit of a hurry, are we?” Azendun interrupted.

“We’re on a very tight schedule, Captain,” said Owein.

“Oh? And where are we headed, exactly?” Azendun’s eyes raked up and down the deck.

“New Gresad,” said Owein. “To make repairs.”

“Perhaps my crew can assist you,” Azendun offered, looking everywhere but at Owein.

“Thanks, but we’re getting along just fine.”

Azendun waited a long while before saying, “So this is
Gilderam
. I’ve heard of her.” They only stared back at him. No one wanted to prolong the conversation. “Quite a craft you have here. There’s no exhaust. And a handsome ship, too. I hear she might be the fasted ever built. Is that true?”

Mentrat tensed. But before he could reply, the hatch behind them flew open and Shazahd burst onto the deck.

“What’s this I hear about the Navy…?!” but she trailed off when she saw the captain and his entourage.

“My, my…” said Azendun, stepping out to get a better look. “And who is this pretty thing?” Owein intercepted her and whispered something quietly in her ear. She turned to go back into the ship.

“Oh, don’t go so soon, my dear,” said Azendun. “Come and say hello.”

She stopped mid stride and slowly turned back around.

“That’s better,” he said with a sickening smile. “Come closer.” He beckoned with his hand. Owein glared at the captain with outright contempt as Shazahd cautiously approached.

“Aren’t we a lovely creature?” He saw her necklace. “And what a beautiful….” His spirit fell as he reached for it. “Wait a second….”

Wrath spread across his fat face as realization dawned on him. He grabbed Shazahd by her golden hair and yanked it back to reveal the pointed tip of her ear. She shrieked in pain.


Aiango vlith!
” he roared. “An elf! A spy!” He threw her to his officers. “Arrest this woman.”

“Get your hands off her!” Owein shouted, taking a step forward. Fulo swung his gun up to his hip and Gor’m drew his sword. The bluejack officers drew their pistols at once.

“Oh?!” Azendun roared, wheeling around. He was ready to lash out, but something stayed him. His eyes narrowed at Owein. “Wait,” he said. “Don’t I know you…? Yes… yes I do. What was it? …Ah yes,
Maeriod
. That’s it, isn’t it? Mad Maeriod? And the Rape of Vorth.”

Owein bristled.

“That’s
Commander
Maeriod,” Gor’m snarled.

“That
was
Commander Maeriod,” Azendun corrected, strolling nonchalantly up to Owein. He sized him up. “Tell me, Maeriod… how is the gulag in Ceshgan these days? They say only one in a dozen survive to see the end of their sentence.”

Shazahd’s eyes widened at Owein. He was grinding his teeth, staring daggers at the captain.

“That either means you’re tough,” Azendun went on, “or the gods favor you. But I don’t think it’s the latter.” He turned away from Owein. “By the Imperial Law of the Skies, I hereby commandeer this vessel in the name of the Empress, and –”
“You have no right!” Pawl shouted.

“I have every right, in fact! For harboring an elf in a time of war, you’re lucky I don’t have you all executed for treason. This ship and crew are hereby impressed into the service of Her Majesty’s Imperial Navy.” Azendun’s words rattled them like a shockwave.

“You can’t!” shouted Mentrat. “This is
my
ship!”

“Not anymore!” Azendun bellowed. “We are at
war
, sir! Now you will show my officers to your bridge and you and your crew will obey their every command or you’ll be shot as mutineers.” He made his way back to the gangplank. “Bring the elf aboard,” he said. Owein was about to leap forward when the captain added, “Oh, and arrest Maeriod too.”


What?

“Didn’t you know?” said Azendun over his shoulder. Beneath his mustache was a crooked smile. “You’re a wanted man, Master Maeriod.”

BOOK: Chronicles of Gilderam: Book One: Sunset
12.07Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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