The Septovices Mission

The Septovices Mission

37th Kynespring 241.3

Chapter 1: Cometh the hour

Silence filled the air of the Ikarian war room as strands of red evening sun illuminated the varnished floor. In the centre of the room sat a gargantuan war table awash with paperwork which made the intricate world map painted on its surface barely visible. Nestled beside the table was the famous yet almost decrepit naval hero. The years of cigars and brandy were apparent in the gentleman’s voice as the half-choked wisp of a voice drifted across the silent chamber from Commodore Wulfbacker. ‘Congratulations Midshipman.. cough cough’. Opposite, a young cadet officer with sand coloured hair tied neatly at the back of his head, was obediently stood to attention before the commodore. He wore an untarnished, deep blue officer’s uniform with white breeches and stockings. He wore the ‘Kingsman’ ribbon on his lapel denoting his excellency throughout his recent training. Lord Yorik Wulfbacker however was an aged man, yet a formidable naval commander - with one arm amputated below his left elbow sporting a small brass ring in place of a hand, which he smoked with. ‘Thank you, sir’ the midshipman replied sternly, masquerading his nervous enthusiasm. A leather satchel containing his few belongings hung diagonally from his shoulder, underneath which he clutched his black bicorn naval hat in veneration of the aged sea bear before him. This man’s name was Leo Meridias. He held the bound edict papers he had been handed with an equal reverence.

The commodore continued –‘We are at war now Mr Meridias as you well know, those archaic Sorcerers and their conjurations have failed to protect our nations interests, failed to prevent the destruction of our fleet in the east. And now the protection of the great Ikarian Republica falls upon we naval men. For years I have asked for guns, and they have sent me crystals and gowned hermits. How the tides have changed now sir eh? Eh?’. Leo’s blue eyes were heavy from the preceding days of travelling, He omitted his weariness and hung on the commodores every word. The commodore poured a glass of port from an elegant bottle showcasing a glass ship within. He drained the glass in one. ‘These orders are from the royal court itself- so neither you or I will know the mission until it is well underway understood?’

‘Aye sir’

‘I doubt service aboard one of our dispatch vessels will amount to substantial cause for honour and glory but you can never be too careful in wartime – hence these orders are most secret’.

The commodore charged another glass and emerged from his chair. Shambling to the nearby tall window he surveyed the sprawling Ikarian home fleet at anchor in the vast sound far below the forts towers. ‘You shall report to Captain Robertshaw, master of the Felix immediately – the ship’s auxiliary boat will take you aboard at the south dock’.

‘Aye aye sir, I assure you I will not let the noble republica down my lord’

‘Excellent… excellent’

A short pause followed. The commodore’s attention drifted away towards his drink. ‘She is a brig - relatively new to the fleet’. The tone in the commodore’s voice was attentive but there was an air of acute distraction in his manner, like something else entirely was consuming his mind.

The Felix was the first of a brand new class of ship built for the Ikarian High Seas Navy – the Animo class corvette. The days of ship of line battles had seemingly come and gone after a long golden age of Naval power dominating the brave new world. She was designed to defend trade convoys from corsairs in the southern seas. Perhaps the ideal command of any aspiring captain as the freedom associated with commanding such a vessel meant solo voyaging and more importantly… prize money, attained from capturing ships to sell for the republica. She was fast and agile like a cat and had claws to suit with fourteen 12-pounder long guns and five 29-pounder carronades on the forecastle and quarterdeck. A carronade is like a cannon but is more easily aimed and designed to be highly effective at short range. In addition to this she had a formidable crew of professional Ikarian sailors and officers and a vicious assortment of muskets, pistols and cutlasses.

There was a bustle in the open map room adjacent as two army officers entered with bundles of maps and papers. Then one immaculately dressed man entered. ‘Ready for you now lord’ He articulated and with a bow he withdrew to the discussion in the next room The Commodore rose from the nest of papers he was buried within. A magnificent silver man-o-war paperweight on the desk caught Leo’s eye and held his attention him for a moment. ‘There she is lieutenant’. Leo was suddenly delighted at the thought of serving on a capital ship like this; But then he realised the Commodore was in fact drawing his attention to a cased drawing on the table denoting a manuscript of the ship. Leo concealed his slight disappointment well. ‘…I see sir’ Leo’s inferiority of rank left him somewhat wordless, but his austere words were supplemented by genuine respect for the aged veteran. ‘As you know you shall rank as midshipman until Captain Robertshaw sees fit to accomplish your commission at sea. Remember lieutenant we are at war, so you may not see home for many months.’ ‘or years’ Leo thought as he came to his senses somewhat. The war was what really mattered now, and he would serve in whatever capacity his nation required of him. Silence reigned for several moments as both men gazed out thoughtfully into the sunlit evening. Ilios – the greater sun – was half submerged in the horizon to the west beyond the Hearthstone Islands which guard the gaping jaws of the sound. The commodore continued- ‘From your academy ranking I know you must be disappointed with your assignment. But follow your orders and trust in your ability, and you will find strength boy.’

‘Understood sir.’ Deep down Leo knew Wulfbacker was right.

‘Very good. Do your duty and good luck. Dismissed.’

‘aye aye sir. Thank you sir’ he added as an afterthought. The Commodore nodded distantly his mind drifting away as he settled back into his roost and Leo sharply saluted and turned to march toward the door. Once outside in the long, well-lit hallway, Leo had a chance to reflect on the events of the preceding few minutes. Idris Wulfbacker was a naval hero from another generation. He had served with distinction in the war which had occurred over forty years previous when the Tegean League fought to abolish slavery in the Taren Kingdoms and had now been summoned back into service as a result of the new war which had recently broken out between his beloved Ikarian Republica and the great Taren Confederacy in the east. Wulfbacker’s reputation ensured his presence commanded any room he entered, but his jaded posture and greying hair might not allude to such prowess in his ageing state. He strode out into the cold, fresh air. The guards at the fortified gatehouse looked as if they were freezing beneath their smart shako helmets. The view from the clifftop overlooking the sound gave a brilliant showcase of the fleet at anchor on the calm waters, the stone buildings and smoke of the city at the bottom of the hill by the shoreline looked like a dense rabbit warren of activity but yet seemed so still in the evening sunlight.

He opened his orders and read carefully –

To Leo M Meridias (Midshipman),

You are hereby directed to report for duty and serve in appropriate capacity as an officer of the Ikarian high seas fleet abord the Felix (19 gun brig-of-war). Transport aboard the ship at Number 2 southwest dock aboard supply vessel.

Many thoughts occupied the mind of the young naval officer. After five months of demanding naval training, he had come to the city of Anchor, in Ikaria’s frozen northern reaches on orders to report to the Commander at Fort Ceylan, and now he had received his orders and been assigned to his ship. Leo Mallinson was a slender but powerfully built young man who had grown up on the coast of the Ikarian heartland to the south. While other boys his age and status practiced piano scales and drank wine, and furiously networked their way into the oligarchical elite of the world he lived within. He had looked out across Stromni harbour gazing longingly at the ships sailing out past the cliffs that braced the harbour to faraway lands and decided there was more to life someplace else. Always a lover of world geography and history he would fantasise about their destination, hidden cargo or perhaps a covert mission carrying intrigue to distant corners of Aerth. He hailed from a wealthy family, for his distant father was a successful grain merchant running one of the many great Latifundia farming conglomerations that served the capital and elsewhere. The youngest of three sons, Leo had first put to sea at the age of nine as a cabin boy aboard his father’s ship, the Sun Porpoise, which made a voyages between his hometown and the great Ikarian capital of Valenhold just fifty miles along the Gylden Coast. Over the next Eight years, he would gain his sea legs aboard the small grain schooner, and progressed to the rank of first mate. His father on the other hand was a businessman and was no more of a seaman than the peasants that worked the vast sprawling estate from which his family’s wealth derived. Leo’s imagination had always enticed him to leave home to see the frontiers of his world before there were none left. The day he turned 17 he had applied for the Naval and Ocean-going academy in Telumheart with the intention of enlisting as an officer in the High Seas Fleet. His great love for his country and his ambition to win fortune and glory as a hero had driven him and he had begun his training at the end of summer in the previous year.

However, it had been a long and dark winter across the war-torn Republica. For three and a half months the Ikarians had fought with the Taren Confederacy, an alliance of slave cities led by warrior clans. Despite being allies with The Ikarians during the wars that had preceded, disputes over the spoils of war and reparations had escalated to relations souring considerably. Now Taren Versuccius, a powerful warlord, had united the Taren kings and raised an immense land army against the Ikarian Republica. The naive midshipman’s ambition had led him to hope for war in which to prove his mettle. But his wishes had come to fruition far earlier than he had expected when the reports trickled through about the massive surprise attack on the maritime colony of Nautica as the first frosts of the month of Corendus were settling on Terra Tegea and winter drew in. The coastal city had been sacked despite staunch reinforced naval forts and powerful protective magic, with the loss of over ten thousand men, and fourteen heavy warships – a fleet which had remained undefeated throughout its existence. Through the gloom of winter, the Ikarians, united with allied city states from Arkaya, had bravely fought a losing retreat against the barbaric onslaught. This resulted in the capture of another great ancient city at the defeat of Gunnar Chine just weeks ago. However, they were still a long way from the Ikarian homeland and speculation of the country’s citizens in taverns and parlour rooms was that the Confederates would soon accomplish their territorial ambitions and peace would reign once again. Those within the Navy were however privy to the reality of the sustained offensive and unease was prominent, especially among the green recruits of Leo’s academy class. Questions had to be asked. Why had the greatest navy in the world been defeated at the hands of the technologically inferior Taren confederacy? How would the comparatively tiny Ikarian army now defeat the united Tarens of Septoventa in pitch land battle if they invaded?

But now in the cold breeze of Ikaria’s northern realm, Leo was poised as he gazed out across Anchor bay. The last of the white caps topping the mountains to the south were beginning to disappear, revealing vast, barren, pale green slopes beckoning the new life of springtime. Leo was fearful but he was prepared to do whatever was required of him to fulfil his duty. It was this determination which had led him to excel during his fleeting training and he only just kept his fear buried. He realised full well what fear might do to the mind of a young serviceman. Especially one who had never been in battle; never seen the flash of cannons fired in anger or smelled the gun smoke tinged with the intent of death. But still across the Ikarian heartlands there was but a whisper of fear. Despite the great defeat at Nautica, the Ikarians were living in an age of finery and detachment. Wealthy land barons and conceited wine merchants thought little of quarrels in the far reaches of the world. The Ikarian Republic had been the most powerful nation on Aerth for over two-hundred years, and throughout the third-era sporadic wars had kept the Republic’s Army and Navy occupied. To many this war was nothing more than an unpleasant commotion. How could the noble, free folk from great Terra Tegea ever fall to the barbaric slavers from the desert land of Terra Septoventa far to the east? Of course, the reality in Leo’s mind now was much less simple, and he viewed the apparent complaisance of his country with deep concern, as he briskly walked downhill away from the fort and towards the quayside in the centre of Anchor. Leo also had many new questions on his mind. The foremost was why had he been assigned to such a minor vessel as the Felix after the hard work he had invested during his training. He knew he had a job to do and would do it well, but from what he had heard a large proportion of the good officers in the fleet had been wiped out at the battle of Nautica. wouldn’t his abilities be better suited elsewhere in the wounded fleet?

It was a strange time on Aerth.

The second half of the third era had heralded massive social change on Terra Tegea. In the Ikarian Republica, on the continent’s east, the commercial Latifundia estates were using weather magic and mass production to drive independent farmers off their land and force them into the cities, moneyless, causing a housing and employment crisis across the nation. The few labourers that remained on the farms were paid pennies for back breaking work, which inevitably lead to massive inequality between the bureaucracy and the working classes. Commerce guilds controlled almost all the wealth enabling them to create huge navies for the state that were used extensively to protect Ikarian trade routes and overseas interests. Although on the face of it a republic, the Ikarian Republica was in fact as constitutional monarchy derived from King Theon Amberi who established an elected council in the year 1254.2 after uniting 3 great Ikarian Kingdoms and conquering another, thus beginning the 3rd Ikarian Era on Aerth.

But by the year 241.3 Ikarian imperial power was at an all time high and the nation had developed hundreds of colonies on the vast, sparesly populated Terra Orken far to the east… the Taren Clans inhabited the continent of Terra Septoventa on the trade routes and benefitted hugely from the profitable slave trade that had erupted following the expansion of the Ikarian economy outside the bounds of law-abiding society. The semi-nomadic Taren culture didn’t allow for huge population growth, however, a slave driven infrastructure persisted heavily.

The chancellor at this time was a man called Theodore Leander II. It was his namesake father that had lead his nation into the violent trade wars that had occurred four decades ago where Ikaria and Helia united in a Tegean alliance and sought to abolish slavery on Aerth by blockading the Taren clans behind the supremacy of the Ikarian high seas fleet. The Tegeans then fought together to defeat the Taren navy, after the Ikarian blockade was attacked in 201.3. The Tarens reeled from their humiliating defeat and secretly amassed its land armies from amongst the nation’s great warrior clans.

The air was still across Anchor Bay, but the rushing of the River Moose, now swelled by springtime melt water, cut through the evening air as Leo strode down the cobbled road towards the edge of town. he crossed over the bridge at the foot of the hill and into the town’s confined stone streets. House martins darted between the eves of the houses; twigs clenched in their tiny beaks to be used to build their sheltered nests for the coming spring’s young. The working girls with their inviting smiles flirted and issued lewd remarks from the red-lit open windows of a nearby building.

He savoured the motionless, cold cobbles beneath his feet, knowing that for the coming months he would be contained within an oaken prison. He passed through the almost deserted streets in the Waning light with a heightening sense of anticipation, and his pace quickened with the excitement of his impending future. Arriving at the harbourside with yet more questions on his mind He tramped along the street, the shoreline was scattered with group of naval people working, winding down from a long day of transporting human and material supplies to and from the anchored fleet. He gazed longingly into the glowing windows of a maritime quay-side tavern, from which already sounded the welcoming guitar melodies and sing song of a jovial evening. Long, warm summer evenings he had passed back on the veranda of his country home overlooking the vast ocean playing his guitar to the nightingales in the lemon trees. He drew his boat cloak tightly around his shoulders againsed the cold and pressed onwards down the seafront. The light was beginning to fade over the icy sound. To the northwest, storm clouds gathered above the patchwork white, rolling hills. The line of warships looked triumphant and dwarfed the array of fishing boats returning to the shelter of their berths on the other side of the channel. There at the far end, moored opposite the large naval store warehouse was the slender brig-of-war on which he would spend the foreseeable future. It was a small but sleek silhouette hovering on the calm water. Its lovely lines stood out considerably againsed the backdrop of the battered ships of the fleet.

Eventually arriving at the pier he found a small group of guardsmen armed with long rifles speared with steel bayonets. Two stood alert on duty at the gate while two more sat quietly in the concealed guard house behind rolling cigarettes. A quick blaze illuminated the man's face as he lit his pipeweed from his fingertip. Fire magic was common in less powerful forms. He stood regarding them from the far side of the street for several moments. From their dark blue overcoats and anchor shoulder flashes he could see they were naval marines. Perhaps they were a shore party from his own ship. Looking up he realised that his ship was now out of sight behind several small naval gun-sloops anchored just offshore and he worked up his courage before approaching them boldly. “Halt there sir” voiced one guardsman, untidily saluting as Leo absent-mindedly paced through the open gate.

“Good evening men” Leo countered in a surprised glance, realising his error.

“Hullo sir… what is it you’d be wanting?”

“Reporting for duty aboard the Felix… there should be a boat waiting on the pier?” Leo gestured out into the sound. “I see sir, do you have your papers with you?”

“yes of course”. He removed the imperial edict from his package of papers and handed it to the guard, who glancing at it and quickly grasping its legitimacy replied quickly “right you are sir, straight through here” and smartly stood aside, promptly touching his knuckle to his brow in obedience. Leo returned the sign as he passed into the small shoreside encampment which was arrayed with stockpiles of provisions, weaponry and other supplies. The brass buckles on his heavy black sailor’s boots caught the light from the concealed flames of the hanging lanterns which vaguely illuminated the shadowy the crannies of the naval waterfront. He made his way onto the boardwalk which lead down the beach. The lengthy pier which stretched out onto the rippled, deep blue surface of the sound, and his boots clunked on the hard wood as he made his way along. At the very tip of the pier, almost hidden behind two large barrels, was the naval jollyboat Leo was bound for. It was a little vessel, no more than twelve of fourteen feet in length. An aged seaman sat on a barrel gazing out into the bay with a smoking pipe clenched in his teeth. Glancing at the prow he saw the gilded letters Felix inscribed in fine calligraphy, and he gently adjusted the clasp of his boat cloak and approached the sailor. “Ahem” he forced a loud cough to inform the sailor of his presence, however the man was clearly rather deaf, or in a world of his own (or perhaps both). He coughed again rather louder, which promptly caused the sailor to spring up from his perch and burst into a flurry of action. “Beggin’ your pardon sir I was away with the seagulls…”. There was a brief pause while the sailor ashed his pipe and pocketed it, and then deftly sprang into the craft and began preparing to make way. “If you please then sir”. With nothing more than a polite and slightly awkward grin in response Leo neatly and quickly lowered himself into the craft and sat himself on the rear thwart. Suddenly he was unsure of what to say and remained silent as the seaman, his mind consumed by his business, cast off with a shove and sat forrard, facing him, seemingly instantaneously lowering the long oars into the rowlocks.

The boat silently slid away from the pier in the gathering twilight. The rocking of the heavy oars and a whispering of splashing water beneath the bow were the only sounds permeating the cold air as they drifted away from the bustle of the town and onto the calm of the water. The ships of the fleet lay in long rows stretching back down towards the fort. They all sat nose pointing out towards the mouth of the sound, sitting sturdily at their anchor cables. The icy water was flat calm and mirrored the masts and rigging of the many boats in the sound. A moment of tranquillity glanced across Leo’s mind as he venerated the last red glow on the horizon to the west. Clearing his mind he broke the silence. “So, how is she?”

“What’s that sir?” the seaman replied while keeping his regular stroke at the oars.

“The ship man – the Felix – how does she sail?”

“Ah aye she’s a fine seabird sir”

“Mmm I see…”, Leo was gazing, absent minded across the bay as they passed between the rows of gun-sloops anchored just offshore.

“Bit cramped in the mess quarters sir but I don’t suppose that will bother you so much wi’ you being an officer an’ all”

“Indeed…” Leo replied rather guiltily, the division between officer and rating suddenly coming into his mind. Much of his training had been long lectures about the chain of command on a republican warship and the importance of hierarchy. This unique world relied on the strength of discipline and hard work to make it one of the best and most efficient organisations in the world. Leo discreetly eyed his counterpart, his ragged white linen trousers and blue jumper were unusually unkempt for a sailor in port. He wandered curiously about the dilapidation of his apparel.

Silence reigned once again as they slid out past the bow of the last boat in the row, and the Felix itself loomed into view across the flat water. No more than one hundred and fifty feet long, she sported eight gun-ports on each side, the guns enclosed beneath the deck. She was painted lengthwise with a wide burgundy band running from her sharp bow to the two rear facing windows of the captain’s great cabin at the stern. She was a brig-of-war, no more than a blockade runner or dispatch vessel, with a main mast and foremast, each clad with three broad yards placed horizontally. Deftly tied beneath each yard were neat rolls of white canvas, and from the wooden puzzle above descended a myriad of rigging, ropes, sheets and stays. From the bow protruded a long bow sprit, beneath which stood the ship’s figurehead, a proudly displayed figurine of a forest Lion, painted in vivid gold and red which was clearly visible despite being at the further end of the vessel and in darkness. Amidships on the port side, another jollyboat sat in the water, beneath a tackle rigged from the main yard arm. The crew had clearly also spent much of their day loading essential supplies. As the small boat drew closer, Leo spotted a dark rippled swathe of water sweeping across the sound from the north. He pulled his overcoat’s lapels together and braced against the cold gust that swept through the rows of moored ships. “Looks like we’re in for some rough weather this eve’ sir”. Leo acknowledged this with a slight nod as he looked up towards the incoming dark clouds. Gently the boat slid beneath the stern of the ship and began to come up on the windward side. the oarsman shipped his oars. The glowing red lamps shining in the two glass windows of the great cabin at the rear of the ship now shone brightly in the darkening light. The boat arrived at the main entryway and a man appeared at the rail and threw down a coiled rope ladder as his companion threw up a rope and secured the dinghy. This was it, Leo’s first deployment, and he was determined to start off strongly. A heightened sense of things gripped him as he gingerly shouldered his satchel, but he couldn’t prevent his nerves from inhabiting his mind as he clumsily clambered up the gunwale onto deck.