Valor and Violence

Ferez gasped as his head broke the water, sucking down a whole half a gulp of sweet, sweet air before the current ripped him back under. He kicked his legs and clawed toward what he hoped was the surface, straining against the maelstrom whipping him around. It slammed him against a spire and he stayed splayed in space for a moment, held in place by the water pressure before it dragged him further down into the black. His entire body ached, and his brain rattled in its cage as he went limp. The bastard sea wasn’t done with him yet though, and in a perverse reversion of momentum, the torrent flipped him upside down and catapulted him upwards. It slammed him against another monolith, bouncing him up the jagged spire before disgorging him into the early dawn air in a spray of foam.

Limbs flopping about uselessly, he passed the apex of his ascent and started to fall, to resume the most unpleasant bath of his life, but something arrested his descent. He cracked an eye. The sky roiled and frothed, while the sea was oddly calm, a beautiful gradient of reds and yellows.

Wait, he was upside down. He craned his neck towards the actual sky and saw Ingrid hovering above him, sodden wet and pissed off. A hand was extended towards him, the fingers tracing an intricate pattern as the air under her command arrested Ferez’s descent.

“Ha! I knew you still cared!” he said. Ingrid’s nostrils flared and her lips pulled back in a snarl as she clenched her fist, a new jet of wind propelling Ferez back into the water.

*

The next day found Ferez sitting in the war room on Leo’s flagship with a mug of coffee. Watery mucus still dribbled intermittently from his nose, and his throat was raw from the combination of salt and screaming. He had no idea what was so heinous about what he said, but Ingrid had dunked him a good three or four times before flying them back to the fleet. She had locked herself away in her cabin and refused to see him ever since.

He took a delicate sip, wincing as the hot liquid trickled over his ravaged oral mucosa, and glanced at Leo. The water mage sat beside him, his own mug untouched. He had been found and brought aboard by a Skjar longboat not long after Ingrid and Ferez had returned. Since then, he had been his usual jolly self most of the time, but in quiet moments when he thought no one was looking, he had lapsed into melancholy, his hands shaking and expression stony.

“The hot drink will do you good, you know?” Ferez said gently. Leo started and gave a wan smile.

“Right. Sorry, drifted off there for a moment.”

“So you want to talk?”

“About what?”

“About… you know…”

Ferez hadn’t seen feather nor beak of Windshear since returning to the fleet. Leo’s eyes glazed over again, and he shook his head, going back to mindlessly contemplating his coffee.

Gods be damned.

Hopefully, the rest of the ‘war council’ would arrive soon. The silence was becoming too much to bear. Ingrid, Wogenreiter and Reichblut were late. It was to be expected of Skjar raiders, but still Ferez fidgeted. Not necessarily from the delay, but from the fact it would be his first time face to face with his love since she waterboarded him, saved his life, and then cut off all contact.

“High Mage,” Asim said, crouched beside Ferez’s chair.

“Gah!” Ferez almost launched himself onto the table. “How long have you been there?”

“About fifteen minutes, sir.”

“Val’s tits, man. How are you always so damn stealthy? You’re literally huge and covered in chainmail.”

“I prefer the term ‘discrete’.”

“Either way, stop it. You’re going to scare me into an early grave.”

“My apologies.”

“Sure, sure,” Ferez said, distracted by the task of settling his heart, which was currently smashing out a rather impressive percussion solo. “What was it you wanted?”

“You were encouraging Master Leo to drink, said it would be good for him.”

“Yes, of course. A hot beverage is fantastic for lifting one’s mood, and the coffee itself will grant mental alacrity for the meeting.”

“I thought take your own advice, sir.”

“What are you on about? I am drinking my coffee.”

“Your mug has been empty for ten minutes.”

Ferez glanced down at his drink. Bone dry.

“Ah, Pit. Don’t suppose you could fetch me another?”

Asim produced a mug, seemingly from thin air, and took the old one from the table. He stood to leave, but hesitated, his black eyes gazing thoughtfully at the empty cup in his hands.

“We will rescue her, sir. It matters not who stands against us. I will cut them all down to see your task done.”

Ferez let out a short bark by way of a laugh, but the accompanying smile was genuine.

“Thank you, Asim. I’m glad you are here with me.”

The guardsman nodded and left the room, turning towards the kitchen. He returned a minute later with Leanne in tow, followed shortly thereafter by Wogenreiter and his son. Ingrid entered a few minutes after, her expression haughty and cold as she curtly refused the offer of a drink from Asim, and sat.

“This is all of us. Can we get this over with?” she asked, planting her heels on the table and reclining.

Leo sat forward, his apathy evaporating in an instant as he recounted the infiltration, the battle with Nezir and their… ‘tactical retreat’, as he put it.

“So, in summary,” Reichblut said, folding his arms over his chest, “not only do they now know we are coming, but we are outnumbered, the fortress is an attacker’s nightmare, the Crimson Blade has a team of battlemages, and he beat the two of you senseless by himself.”

His father was conspicuously silent, eyes darting over the scale model of the fortress resting on the table.

“Well, if you’re going to be obnoxiously pessimistic about it, yes,” Ferez said, willing tiny little knives into his glare. The little shit wasn’t phased.

“I prefer to think of it as pragmatic,” he replied. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying we can’t do it, but we need to temper our expectations.”

He leant against the table beside his father, moving a handful of miniature clay soldiers towards the Wail.

“We concentrate our forces at the docks, break through with speed and aggression before the pirates can mount a counterattack. Once we seize the ground floor, we can use the fortress design to our advantage and hold off the rest of the Blade’s forces. You mages destroy the siege weapons, while a small team, led by myself, busts this little girl out of her cell. Then we steal everything that isn’t nailed down and hightail it back out of there. We don’t get the stronghold, but some of us will live, which I consider a selling point.”

Leo shook his head.

“We need to get all the slaves out.”

“Impossible. There’s no way we can hold out long enough.”

Leo slammed his fist against the table hard enough that the table cracked. “I said, we are getting them all out.”

Everyone stopped and stared. Even Wogenreiter looked up from his mutterings. Leanne walked up behind her boss and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Your fleet is with you, Patriarch. Even if these mercenaries are not.”

He smiled and patted her hand, then turned his attention back to the crowd.

“Sorry about the outburst. But I’m standing firm on this. If you won’t help, me and mine will get it done ourselves.”

“If you are so eager to see ‘you and yours’ dead, then fill your boots. But the Skjar will not throw our lives away over slaves. There is no profit in a massacre. When we’re the ones being massacred, anyway.”

Leo bristled and Leanne’s hand went to her sword, but it was Wogenreiter who moved first. With a weary sigh, he stood, grasped his son by the shoulders, and gently turned the young warrior around to face him.

“My boy, you are the pride of my life. I love you more than it is proper for a Skjar father to love his child, but there it is. You are strong of arm, and sharp of mind, even if you need to learn to temper that impatient tongue of yours. However.” He rammed his knee into Reichblut’s stomach, doubling the young man over as spit sprayed from his mouth. Wogenreiter hauled his son upright again, then punched him in the mouth, knocking him to the floor. “You forget who we are. Wealth. Power. Prestige. These are the trappings a Skjar dresses himself with, so that all may know his calibre at a glance. But they are not the beating heart of a warrior. They are not the blood that flows hot with violent lust through our veins. We live to fight, and there is no greater shame than to die peacefully in our beds. Whether through victory or defeat, the bards will sing of this battle for generations to come. This, is how we win immortality. Commodore Telruson,” he said, turning to address Leo. “My Skjar will fight alongside you.”

The water mage nodded his thanks, the tension in his posture ebbing away while Ferez watched on in silence. Sure, he was technically in charge, but this was the business of commanders. Professional leaders. Better to let them sort this out between themselves. He was curious about Leo’s uncharacteristic outburst, though, but that could wait until later. For now, there was someone who’s silence was more pressing.

“Ingrid, do you have anything to say?”

She glared at him, then shrugged her shoulders.

“I already told you my clan would help. I keep my word. But while my heart is positively giddy at those idiot’s display of friendship, we still need an actual plan.”

“True. I think I might one, though,” he said, fighting the smile tugging at his lips. That was the longest sentence Ingrid had shared with him in a few days, now. Wouldn’t do to ruin it by being smug.

“Oh? Do share with the crowd,” she replied.

Ferez stoically ignored the dripping sarcasm as he spoke to the collective.

“Alright, full disclosure. There is one fairly significant issue with my plan that I am yet to figure out, but if we put our heads together, I don’t doubt we will come up with a solution.”

He hesitated, eyes roving over the assembled professional killers and military leaders.

“I propose we split our forces and seize both the top floor and the docks simultaneously.”

Reichblut burst into a fit of roaring laughter.

“Why are we listening to this fool again? The only one here with no real experience as a commander?”

“Because he’s paying you, dickweed,” Leo growled. Ferez’s ‘thank you’ died before it was born into the world as Leo turned to face him with an apologetic look on his face.

“But I have to admit I’ve got reservations, too. Splitting our forces when we’re already outnumbered? It flies in the face of conventional wisdom. Like, literally, all of it.”

“Yeah, I understand but-”

“It’s flying very fast, too, I might add.”

“Yes, but-”

“Almost like it had been launched out of a trebuchet and into a brick wall.”

“Will you let me-”

“A wall of wisdom. A wisdomwall, if you will.”

“Leo! Shut up and listen to me! Splitting our forces will help with the numbers issue. When we were in the fortress, you were explaining how the stairway design gave the advantage to whoever controlled the higher floors, right? What if we could get a portion of our army up there? The Blade’s forces would need to fight on two fronts, and as long as we seize the docks and the ground floor quickly enough, we could settle onto the defensive and let them come to us. Just like that, we would gain the benefit of the chokepoints and our troops on the top floor could rain arrows on the pirates attempting to fight up and down the central shaft.”

“And where will you get these archers? Hmm?” Reichblut sneered. “Skjar fight like real men, steel to steel. We don’t have any archers among our ranks.”

“You don’t, but I bet Leo’s marines do.”

Leo nodded, his eyes darting between the diorama’s top and bottom floors.

“Yep. Half my fighters are proficient with Ris crossbows. The other half are world renowned experts.”

“Right,” Ferez said, shaking a finger at Leo to emphasise his point. “We put a group of marines up there with a detachment of Skjar to hold the stairs, and they’ll grind the pirate’s assault forces to a halt. We will have more than enough time to evacuate all the captives. Pit, if they are reckless enough, we might even attrit their forces enough to swing the weight of numbers in our favour.”

“So far, so good,” Wogenreiter said. “But what of their ballistae?”

“I was wondering when someone would ask that,” Ferez said, a smile creeping onto his face. He was really starting to enjoy himself. Maybe he should try this commander thing more often? At the least, he had earned a small degree of smugness, right?

“A pre-emptive strike by us mages will sort that out. Each of us, through our mastery of our magical disciplines, has the ability of flight. Leo on an ice board, myself using fire propulsion and Ingrid, well, she’s an air mage, isn’t she? We will strike, hard and fast, and destroy the siege weapons as the fleet enters the stone forest. From there, we seize the dock and defend it until reinforcements arrive to clear the ground floor.”

The grizzled old Skjar nodded, stroking his fingers through his ample beard.

“Yes, this could work. I assume Commodore Telruson would then shuttle the strike force to the top floor on this ‘ice board’ of his?”

Ferez’s smile faltered. Here it was. The potential stick in the mud.

“Essentially, yes. How many could you take at a time, Leo?”

The water mage sucked his teeth as he ran some estimations in his head.

“About a half dozen at a time. No more. I dunno, Ferez. The first few groups will be out on a limb, and if they get wiped out we’ll be starting from scratch. This could turn into a sausage press pretty damn fast.”

Shit. Ferez had been hoping for a lot more than six fighters at a time. Maybe he should have discussed this with Leo before bringing it up in front of the crowd. He was racking his brain for a solution when, unexpectedly, Ingrid rode to his rescue.

“Gods be damned,” she muttered, lifting her boots off the table and leaning forward in her chair. “I might actually have a fix.”