She stands there, with her body and her light blonde hair swaying in the ocean breeze, taking in the salty seawater air, and her hands rest on the marble balcony railing. It amazes me that no matter how long the sun showers her, she stays pale. Must be the genetics of being a Firekeeper.
She stares out at the ocean, appearing to be in deep thought. Looking at her from behind reminds me that she is human, that she could be anyone. Because the difference between her and the other women of Solton is not her cybernetic arm, many Firekeepers have them for one reason or another, and it’s neither her hair nor her eyes. It’s the emerald soulpiece lodged in the center of where her delt would be. It matches the soulpiece in her golden circlet.
I know you’re staring. She says in a distinct elegant voice. How did you distract Florian this time?
Drakon.
Ahh. She turns around, a simple gesture turned flashy with her white silk dress, and as much as I hate using this as a way to describe her eyes, but there’s nothing else that can compare. But she glares at me with her ruby eyes. Tell me why you’re here, Oddie.
Well, you know me, Sanna, what do you think I’m here for?
You go on and on and on about glory and honor, treasure and gold, but we both know that’s not true. You’re power-hungry. Blood-thirsty. And she laughs, softly. When I see you, it’s like I’m looking in a mirror. And I know that look in your eyes. Full of hatred, rage and righteous fury.
That transparent, huh? Well, I’m searching for the The Lionheart. The crown-
Jewel of the Hyrcanian Navy. I can tell you where she is right now. She’s dry-docked at the port in Northern Hyrcania. She’s undergoing routine maintenance. I don’t know when she will be back at sea. It’s the Captain you’re after, I assume. And then, you’d be after the admiral, Admiral Roberts, who gave the order - again, I assume. I don’t know where the admiral is. You’ll have to find that on your own.
And you will help me.
Tell me why I will. From my point of view, as a Champion and nothing else, is that you’re a scoundrel, a pirate. One of the best, true, but still just a pirate. You’ve got a few ships at your command and you want to take on the world’s strongest navy. One deal gone wrong doesn’t mean I have to get revenge. This is the strongest freehold and I intend to keep it that way.
It’s the only choice I have. It’s the only choice you have.
Don’t be stupid. You can live the life of a Pirate King, of a Champion of whatever city you want, if you so desire. You can live here, work your way up. You don’t need to throw away your life. But that look in your eyes…
If they sacked Lord Byron and they didn’t honor the deal you had, then what does that tell you about how they think of Solton? About your freedom and sovereignty. So you need to get your ships out of the Bay.
I need to think about it.
You have a day, maybe two.
***
On the beach at sunset, Sanna spars with Cyra, one of her Elite Generals.
Florian and Tykon, her other two Elite Generals, watch from a shaded table. Elite General is Florian’s official position, though he is most often referred to as the Admiral. Tykon is a Thunderer that is in charge of the Aerial Corps, and Cyra is a Masked in charge of Intelligence. There’s trainers and assistants buzzing about. No spectators allowed, though, but Florian waved me through past the guards.
They haven’t undergone fusion and they’re not using any powers, just old-fashioned hand-to-hand combat. I assume that’s the reason Sanna isn’t sparring Florian. Wouldn’t be fair otherwise, even with the cybernetic arm. Comes down to height and weight. Fusion, or even elemental power-ups, is what levels the playing field. With the second soulpiece and post-fusion, Sanna ascends to the level of a Demi-God. It’s why no one will wage war on Solton. Other politicians play somewhat low-stakes games, economic and political games.
I walk barefoot on the pleasantly warm sand to the Generals’ table, an advanced steel table that appears to be capable of projection, and take a seat.
Good news for you, Florian speaks. Drakon persuaded me, so you’ve got my support. But there’s a catch, as there always is. Tykon?
You will need to rescue the Iron Fleet. The Bear Island Fleet is, of course, preoccupied with the Bay of Thieves.
And where was the Iron Fleet attacked and who were its assailants?
Well…
Well? Out with it.
It’s a suicide mission. The Iron Fleet was attacked by an Elder somewhere off the coast of the Horn—
Sanna slams her hands on the table, surprising the three of us. And when were you going to tell me?
Got word of it earlier today, Florian says, unflinchingly. He crosses his arms and leans back into his chair. He appears relaxed, almost sleepy. Now, it is time to tell you. And we’ve arranged a rescue for the fleet. The captain here agreed to do it.
Sanna sighs. At what cost?
Your full support in the assault against the Lionheart, I tell her. So you’ve got to withdraw the Bear Island Fleet.
We can’t…
But it makes sense, Cyra says, joining in on the conversation. Someone over there ousted Lord Byron and reneged on our deal. The Royal Guardsmen should have arrived by now.
And you think it’s a good idea to lend our support in an attack?
We’ll be ready if they retaliate, won’t we, Florian? Cyra looks to a half-asleep Florian. And they will retaliate, but they’ve already committed an act of war.
What now? Are they responsible for the Elder that attacked our fleet? asks Florian, alert now.
Yes, they are. They were experimenting on spirits and for that, I have undeniable proof.
Experiments that could lead to rage? There’s a change in the faces of both Florian and Tykon when Cyra nods. Both seem concerned. And Sanna finally sits. Cyra connects to the table with her augmented glove and with a few taps, she pulls up video footage of a lab. There are no logos or colors that denote who the researchers belong to, but their sunken eyes and heavy metal wristbands explain it all. Lab monkeys sentenced to death by exhaustion.
The camera footage pans to glass capsules that look like they contain a blazing fire. A few minutes pass before the researchers make a determination to stop the experiment. In turn, this kills the “fire” and it reveals a common sprite strapped to a metallic chair. Wires run in and out of the sprite’s tiny body. It looks like it’s in agony, it’s pale, and looks close to death. Energy harvest? No, some of the wires are not wires but tubes and they have remnants of a vibrant purple liquid.
They’re extracting the sprite’s blood, Tykon says. The light must be from its struggle to escape.
That’s enough for me, Sanna says. So, this sprite’s pain and all the others in that experiment… the Elders feel it?
Cyra nods. Yes. To the point some are blinded by rage. The last Elder known to be in that area… a primal deathstrig.
Deathstrigs aren’t sprits, they’re kardyus. Sanna says what the rest of us are thinking.
True enough. But remember, the bodies of primal kardyus, the ancients, tend to be taken over by Elders.
That… that’s terrifying, I say. But I keep the rest of my thoughts to myself as to not show them my fear. Because deathstrigs are formidable enough, but a primal that is possessed by an Elder? Suicide. Absolute suicide. But I ask, how do you suppose I rescue your fleet? The only way to deal with that… is to get another Elder involved.
It’s not the only option. You could, alternatively, just hope that by the time you arrive, it’s long gone.
Florian speaks now. You ask us to send our men to death, because of your desire for revenge, and all we ask is for you to do the same. Rescue our fleet and our fleet is yours to command.
Understood, I say.