The gloomy overcast loomed over the crew assembled before the quarter-deck – the front of which covered remains were laying scattered still. The stench of death and the darkness-veiled sun provided a depressing mood. Too many of us stunt still with disbelief, terror-shocked, or deep in different degrees of exhaustion, that we could not guess the purpose of this gathering. The Daybright was a large vessel, and her crew numbered in the thousand. To have the majority of which save the idlers on deck was a rare occasion. And we, blackened with ash to look the part, resembled a pathetic army to say the least. One confused, beaten after a battle that had just ended. Our encounter with the leviathan had lasted the better part of the morning, every second of which seemed an infinity. But all the more taxing was the grief for a friend or lover among us. And still, not one of us, not even those in a defiant mood, would dare ignore the captain’s order. For she was the eldest, the Last of the Dragons, Aurora of the Dawn. Kings and Queens bowed to her. Minstrels sang tales of her legends, even as they would sing of this day when either she or the beast is slain. Not us – we were but tools, toys, and treasures in her hoard, that may expire in her unending conquest.
Even Litzia fell in line obediently with the rest of the Anemone, though filled she was with hatred, vengeance, and guilt. For my part, I stood with the rest of the slaves and sailors, sharing with my fellow-people the dread for what had passed and what was to come.
Flanked by her mates, the captain emerged from her citadel as the lone light in the dark, bringing more fear than hope. All heads turned to her. All talks ceased. Her innocuous front appeared undisturbed by the damage to her ship and crew. She stood akimbo on the raised deck and looked down on us – sailors and alares alike, all who answered in quiet downcast gaze.
“I shall not waste words,” she said, “this ship, this crew, set out this morning to bring down my mark. But even as I speak the beast yet lives. Now five leagues or more it lays windward while we are here idle, dismasted and all sails hung furled. You failed me, your liege. So speak not of rest while your failure is not yet amended. I permit no second failure, now more than ever. Though it is a formidable creature, that is true, yet it possesses something that I must have, something that should be mine, and shall not yield to aught. So this is to be done: ere the night ends, the beast is to be slain. As for the time of the assault I leave to Lex and Rosa Alba.
“Now, for a pressing matter. As my chariot shall not head to port ere the beast is harvested, the diminished ranks of the Anemone must now be bolstered. Thirteen fell, twenty-two wounded.”
And many more were sailors dead. The tentacles’ thunders had ravaged many parts of the Daybright’s hull, and sent many of our shipmates to their death. But unlike the alares, we deckhands were unremarkable even in the end.
“Ala Subsolanus, of which had suffered the heaviest loss, is hereby disbanded, whose former members will now serve under Ala Estival. Pledgeless knights and wyverns in other alae are to pair up before the following battle. Make haste, my warriors, you are allowed five hours of sleep and supper before we gain on our mark. However…'' This time she directed her gaze to the rest of us, that is, the ranks of deckhands instead of the Anemones, “we are short several knights for a battle that will require every last bit of firepower. I shall not take any chance, for good or ill. Capable hands, volunteer now, and for a time you may be granted the honor and privilege to my halls.”
The announcement brought a heavy silence upon the crew. Naively, or desperately, many of us had no doubt envied and dreamed to be one day honored like the alares we ever gazed upon in wonder. That by gaining favor with the captain, one would be elevated from the position of a lowly deckhand to a noble lady. But at the present memories of the disastrous assault were livid in our mind, the corpses still warm on deck. All the more perilous was the role of an alaris on this occasion. Only hours ago we had witnessed the fall of many, mighty and skilled as they were.
“Is she sane,” whispered Thea next to me. “She expected us to make our first flight with a grief-stricken wyverness? Against that monster? It will be but suicidal!”
Here and about similar discontent was quietly expressed.
“It will not be dead by suicide,” I said, “If there are not enough volunteers, she will make her selections and order us to.”
“Be quiet then,” she said, “and keep your head down, though I doubt any of us slaves would be chosen for the role.”
It proved, the wait dragged on and no one came forth.
Finally, the captain gave the anticipated command, “Very well then, Pax, have my officers pick whoever they see fit for the task. The rest are dismissed.”
The mood darkened, and shoulders became tense. The crew now silently prayed that Fate had not their names on her list this day. But if the captain decided it, we obeyed. That is the natural truth. The incontestable reality for every soul onboard the Daybright. Or so I thought.
“I shall not suffer even this!” cried now a voice of clear steel, cleanly it cut through the great tension. And our heads turned. To hear someone contradicting the captain was more astonishing a thing than the leviathan itself.
Our darting eyes closed in on a figure among the Anemone. For my part, I didn’t think much as I looked on. I could not for the life of me imagine another person fitting that brazen act. Natheless it was an unexpected thing. Though a glimpse of which I had caught in the dark passage, the fiery aspect she now so unrestrainedly expressed still rather ill-suited her wonted cool composure.
Litzia lifted her face to meet the captain.
It was Justitia who answered in her stead. “Fatigue clouds your eyes and your mind, wyvern, that you see not to whom you speak. Fall back in line!”
Aurora said nothing. I wondered if she was as amazed as us by the defiant move, or simply curious.
The refusal was made apparent without delay. She seemed now tempered steel, cold as always, but deadly unbending also. “I shall not suffer this treatment,” she repeated. “First you sent us to battle – to our death, gave us not the chance to mourn for our fallen, and now you would have us forge our pledge anew with a stranger at your command?”
We awaited calamity at every word fall, so clear the consequence of this act seems to every soul. In the end, Aurora’s answer betrayed no excited emotions, “You comprehend my intention, wyvern. Now act on it.”
“I refuse.”
It was incomprehensible. There had been times when the captain had feigned benevolence before springing her wrath upon a poor soul. But at the present, I did not sense such lurking malice, only an unaffected stoicity.
“That is regrettable to know. And yet you will obey my command all the same. I advise you to do so, as it displeases me to compel my servants with aught than speech.”
And she could. Not by means of violence or threats, it dawned on me. Litzia bore the mark of Raiser Achaen. If it were to be invoked by her mistress, she would have no choice but to obey, and her will would not matter in the slightest.
“The pledge is sacred. It is not to be forced,” was Litzia’s response.
I could not see the wyverness’s face, but it seemed to me she was arguing for the sake of it – to idiotically vent on one of the proudest, cruelest and most spiteful beings in the sky. Even then, if it was any other random sailor, they probably would have been tossed unceremoniously overboard already. Even knowing the captain’s soft spot for her alares, I found it hard to believe she had tolerated such a great length of insolence, and yet seemed willing to entertain some more.
“Then do so unforced. Make your choice, pick one you like to be your pledge-sister. Then it will not be forceful. Is that all?”
That spelled disaster – certain doom even. As if only waiting for the word, Litzia pivoted triumphantly on her heel and turned her back to the captain, facing us – the deckhands, and strode like a tornado into our ranks, parting the crew aside in her wake. They shrunk from her path, fearing even a stray glance would draw the hand of death upon them.
No such luxury of anxiety was allowed me. The goal ultimate of her perilous skylarking was obvious to me alone.
I could see her face clearly now: as wild and lost as it was in the dark hallway. Thea’s hand held firm my wrist at the approach of the wyverness.
“You do remember your debt?” asked Litzia.
To be sure, the only price I could repay that was beyond my worth.
“Yes.”
“Then be my pledge-sister, till death do us part.”
A death that now seemed close at hand.
The gloomy overcast loomed over the crew assembled before the quarter-deck – the front of which covered remains were laying scattered still. The stench of death and the darkness-veiled sun provided a depressing mood. Too many of us stunt still with disbelief, terror-shocked, or deep in different degrees of exhaustion, that we could not guess the purpose of this gathering. The Daybright was a large vessel, and her crew numbered in the thousand. To have the majority of which save the idlers on deck was a rare occasion. And we, blackened with ash to look the part, resembled a pathetic army to say the least. One confused, beaten after a battle that had just ended. Our encounter with the leviathan had lasted the better part of the morning, every second of which seemed an infinity. But all the more taxing was the grief for a friend or lover among us. And still, not one of us, not even those in a defiant mood, would dare ignore the captain’s order. For she was the eldest, the Last of the Dragons, Aurora of the Dawn. Kings and Queens bowed to her. Minstrels sang tales of her legends, even as they would sing of this day when either she or the beast is slain. Not us – we were but tools, toys, and treasures in her hoard, that may expire in her unending conquest.
Even Litzia fell in line obediently with the rest of the Anemone, though filled she was with hatred, vengeance, and guilt. For my part, I stood with the rest of the slaves and sailors, sharing with my fellow-people the dread for what had passed and what was to come.
Flanked by her mates, the captain emerged from her citadel as the lone light in the dark, bringing more fear than hope. All heads turned to her. All talks ceased. Her innocuous front appeared undisturbed by the damage to her ship and crew. She stood akimbo on the raised deck and looked down on us – sailors and alares alike, all who answered in quiet downcast gaze.
“I shall not waste words,” she said, “this ship, this crew, set out this morning to bring down my mark. But even as I speak the beast yet lives. Now five leagues or more it lays windward while we are here idle, dismasted and all sails hung furled. You failed me, your liege. So speak not of rest while your failure is not yet amended. I permit no second failure, now more than ever. Though it is a formidable creature, that is true, yet it possesses something that I must have, something that should be mine, and shall not yield to aught. So this is to be done: ere the night ends, the beast is to be slain. As for the time of the assault I leave to Lex and Rosa Alba.
“Now, for a pressing matter. As my chariot shall not head to port ere the beast is harvested, the diminished ranks of the Anemone must now be bolstered. Thirteen fell, twenty-two wounded.”
And many more were sailors dead. The tentacles’ thunders had ravaged many parts of the Daybright’s hull, and sent many of our shipmates to their death. But unlike the alares, we deckhands were unremarkable even in the end.
“Ala Subsolanus, of which had suffered the heaviest loss, is hereby disbanded, whose former members will now serve under Ala Estival. Pledgeless knights and wyverns in other alae are to pair up before the following battle. Make haste, my warriors, you are allowed five hours of sleep and supper before we gain on our mark. However…'' This time she directed her gaze to the rest of us, that is, the ranks of deckhands instead of the Anemones, “we are short several knights for a battle that will require every last bit of firepower. I shall not take any chance, for good or ill. Capable hands, volunteer now, and for a time you may be granted the honor and privilege to my halls.”
The announcement brought a heavy silence upon the crew. Naively, or desperately, many of us had no doubt envied and dreamed to be one day honored like the alares we ever gazed upon in wonder. That by gaining favor with the captain, one would be elevated from the position of a lowly deckhand to a noble lady. But at the present memories of the disastrous assault were livid in our mind, the corpses still warm on deck. All the more perilous was the role of an alaris on this occasion. Only hours ago we had witnessed the fall of many, mighty and skilled as they were.
“Is she sane,” whispered Thea next to me. “She expected us to make our first flight with a grief-stricken wyverness? Against that monster? It will be but suicidal!”
Here and about similar discontent was quietly expressed.
“It will not be dead by suicide,” I said, “If there are not enough volunteers, she will make her selections and order us to.”
“Be quiet then,” she said, “and keep your head down, though I doubt any of us slaves would be chosen for the role.”
It proved, the wait dragged on and no one came forth.
Finally, the captain gave the anticipated command, “Very well then, Pax, have my officers pick whoever they see fit for the task. The rest are dismissed.”
The mood darkened, and shoulders became tense. The crew now silently prayed that Fate had not their names on her list this day. But if the captain decided it, we obeyed. That is the natural truth. The incontestable reality for every soul onboard the Daybright. Or so I thought.
“I shall not suffer even this!” cried now a voice of clear steel, cleanly it cut through the great tension. And our heads turned. To hear someone contradicting the captain was more astonishing a thing than the leviathan itself.
Our darting eyes closed in on a figure among the Anemone. For my part, I didn’t think much as I looked on. I could not for the life of me imagine another person fitting that brazen act. Natheless it was an unexpected thing. Though a glimpse of which I had caught in the dark passage, the fiery aspect she now so unrestrainedly expressed still rather ill-suited her wonted cool composure.
Litzia lifted her face to meet the captain.
It was Justitia who answered in her stead. “Fatigue clouds your eyes and your mind, wyvern, that you see not to whom you speak. Fall back in line!”
Aurora said nothing. I wondered if she was as amazed as us by the defiant move, or simply curious.
The refusal was made apparent without delay. She seemed now tempered steel, cold as always, but deadly unbending also. “I shall not suffer this treatment,” she repeated. “First you sent us to battle – to our death, gave us not the chance to mourn for our fallen, and now you would have us forge our pledge anew with a stranger at your command?”
We awaited calamity at every word fall, so clear the consequence of this act seems to every soul. In the end, Aurora’s answer betrayed no excited emotions, “You comprehend my intention, wyvern. Now act on it.”
“I refuse.”
It was incomprehensible. There had been times when the captain had feigned benevolence before springing her wrath upon a poor soul. But at the present, I did not sense such lurking malice, only an unaffected stoicity.
“That is regrettable to know. And yet you will obey my command all the same. I advise you to do so, as it displeases me to compel my servants with aught than speech.”
And she could. Not by means of violence or threats, it dawned on me. Litzia bore the mark of Raiser Achaen. If it were to be invoked by her mistress, she would have no choice but to obey, and her will would not matter in the slightest.
“The pledge is sacred. It is not to be forced,” was Litzia’s response.
I could not see the wyverness’s face, but it seemed to me she was arguing for the sake of it – to idiotically vent on one of the proudest, cruelest and most spiteful beings in the sky. Even then, if it was any other random sailor, they probably would have been tossed unceremoniously overboard already. Even knowing the captain’s soft spot for her alares, I found it hard to believe she had tolerated such a great length of insolence, and yet seemed willing to entertain some more.
“Then do so unforced. Make your choice, pick one you like to be your pledge-sister. Then it will not be forceful. Is that all?”
That spelled disaster – certain doom even. As if only waiting for the word, Litzia pivoted triumphantly on her heel and turned her back to the captain, facing us – the deckhands, and strode like a tornado into our ranks, parting the crew aside in her wake. They shrunk from her path, fearing even a stray glance would draw the hand of death upon them.
No such luxury of anxiety was allowed me. The goal ultimate of her perilous skylarking was obvious to me alone.
I could see her face clearly now: as wild and lost as it was in the dark hallway. Thea’s hand held firm my wrist at the approach of the wyverness.
“You do remember your debt?” asked Litzia.
To be sure, the only price I could repay that was beyond my worth.
“Yes.”
“Then be my pledge-sister, till death do us part.”
A death that now seemed close at hand.
