The slim man stepped across the threshold, and the door swung closed behind him with a tiny squeak of old hinges that seemed loud in the morning calm. When the cool ocean breeze behind him had ceased, a pall of stale sweat and brine teased the stranger's nose from under his hood despite the early hour and the almost empty tavern.

The barkeep, a burly man with a misshapen nose, gave the stranger a wary eye and paused with his broom in mid-sweep. Two haggard men in a far corner abandoned their conversation and glared at the new arrival.

The man lowered his hood and revealed a face faintly lined with age, his graying hair cropped, combed, and swept back from a high forehead. His lips curled into a small smirk. "So what does a traveler have to do around here to get served?" he demanded in a sedate but firm voice.

The barkeep returned the smirk and stepped over to the stranger. "Jus' gotta ask like everyone else. The cook ain't quite up yet, so if it's a morning meal ya want--"

"Just some ale," said the stranger. "Not too strong."

"Gotcha."

The man turned and leaned against the bar. He cast his level but soft gaze at the two men in the corner who continued to observe him. One shrugged and turned back to the other, and they were again immersed in their conversation, though one kept taking furtive glances at the tall, robed man.

A tankard thumped to the bar. The man turned. "That'll be two," said the barkeep.

The stranger withdrew two platinum pieces and slapped them on the bar. The barkeep scooped them up and made them disappear as the stranger lifted the tankard, froth dribbling down the sides.

"...still say he looks too much like 'em fer my comfort!"

The words had drifted to the stranger from the corner table. He did not acknowledge them, and instead tipped back his tankard and took several long swallows, his throat bobbing.

He did not hear all of the response, but thought he caught the word "crazy."

The stranger started towards the table. One of the men stiffened and drew himself erect in his seat, his narrowing eyes surrounded by a round face topped with dark, wild hair. His companion simply turned his head, long brown hair obscuring one eye.

They watched in silence as the stranger approached. The dark-haired man's free hand closed into a fist.

"Mind if I join you?" said the stranger. "I have been traveling for many days and could use some company before I move on."

The brown-haired man kicked the leg of an empty chair so that it jutted out from the table. The other man shot a venomous look at his companion, but the stranger smiled his appreciation and sat down. "Well met and good day to you."

The brown-haired man turned to his companion. "Now, see? That sound like something those whatchacallem horts would say?"

"I believe the term is 'Cohort,'" said the stranger. "And no, I am not one of them."

The dark-haired man snorted and leaned forward in his seat. The chair creaked under his heavy frame. "Lemme see yer hands."

"Oh, get off it, Kalro," muttered his companion.

"Shut yer hole, Ghoron," barked Kalro. "I get enough nagging from my wife!"

"It's quite all right," said the stranger as he lowered the tankard. He stretched his arms across the table, palms up.

Kalro grasped them, stared at them for a moment, then slid his fingers across one of the palms. His eyebrow rose anytime he found a rough patch or a callus.

Ghoron peered and smirked. "Satisfied?"

Kalro frowned and threw the stranger's hands down, where the knuckles rapped against the table. "Yeah, they've done work, but not much."

"I confess I was a bit more ... privileged in my youth," said the stranger.

"Heh, ya sound like it, too," said Ghoron. "What's yer name?"

"Tarras," said former Lord Tarras K'riis.

"Clan?"

Tarras shook his head. "Just Tarras."

"Oh, yeah, that ain't suspicious," Kalro grunted.

Ghoron ignored him. "So, ya used ta work for a Sheriff? Or mebbe a Landlord?"

Tarras smiled. "Something like that. Not much call for such things with the Cohorts running everything."

"Don't remind me," Kalro muttered into his beer.

Tarras turned his head. "You don't care for them, I take it?"

Kalro slammed his tankard down. "Whatever gave ya that idea? Fer someone that looks so smart, you sure say stupid things."

"Watch yer mouth!" snapped Ghoron. "Ever think of askin' him if he can get ya away from all these here co-horts?"

"I must disappoint you on that score," said Tarras. "I no longer have any rank or privilege."

"Yeah, thanks to those sea-dippin' Cohorts!" yelled Kalro.

Kalro raised the tankard. Ghoron grabbed his wrist and forced it back down. "You've had enough. Hellfire, the sun's barely over the ridge."

Kalro seized Ghoron's arm and squeezed until Ghoron winced and let go. Kalro nevertheless paused and let out a deep, wheezing breath. From the odor that wafted to Tarras' nose, it was clear this had not been the man's first drink. "Yer jus' as bad as my wife. The bitch would take a dip in the sea with one of 'em if I let her. Then I'd hafta kill her."

"Ya don't mean that."

"Like hellfire I don't."

Ghoron sighed. "C'mon, even the village elders don't believe--"

"You jus' shut up about what I'm supposed to believe or not believe. High time people start gettin' back to their roots. Look, I complained my fair share about the stupid Lords livin' high and mighty and dippin' in the sea more times than a fish, but least you knew where ya stood with 'em. And their toadies didn't go around in no creepy hoods and robes."

"Like me?" said Tarras.

Kalro's eyes shifted to Tarras, and for a moment, the former Noble Lord beheld fear in them. Seconds later, anger blazed instead. He nodded slowly. "Yeah. Yeah, like you." He tipped back his tankard and swallowed the remainder of his beer in one go. He slammed it down on the table and shot to his feet, the chair tipping back and clattering to the floor. He clenched his fists and stared in silent challenge at Tarras.

"Kalro, stop acting like an ass!" Ghoron snapped.

"Hey, now, none of that in here!" the barkeep declared. "You wanna fight, take it outside."

Tarras was not versed in what to do. From the way Ghoron cast furtive glances at him while twitching in his seat, the former Lord guessed he should remain where he was in what he hoped was a silent rejection of the challenge.

Kalro stared at Tarras, his teeth clenching until cords stood out along his neck. Finally he kicked the fallen chair aside and stomped out of the tavern. Ghoron let out a windy sigh and scrubbed his face with a meaty hand.

"My apologies if I had provoked him," said Tarras in a somber voice. "It had not been intended."

Ghoron waved a hand and shook his head. "Naw, not yer fault. Though ya might wanna consider some different travelin' clothes, or you're gonna just spook more people like him."

"So he's not the exception, is he?"

"Folks are more traditional in these parts. Kinda the same up and down the coast from what I'm hearin'."

Tarras risked a tiny grin as he heard the door squeak open and closed once more, followed by a whispered conversation. "But not you?"

Ghoron paused, then shrugged. "Dunno. Guess I jus' figgered there'd be more fanfare with it, ya know? 'Til then, I'll assume I'm doin' right by mine."

Tarras did not understand, but he nodded just the same.

"Hey, hood-guy!" the barkeep called out.

Tarras turned his head. "Yes?"

"Your name Tarras?"

"It is."

"Someone wants ta see ya outside."

"Aw, crap, if it's that drunken Kalro again--" Ghoron began.

"Nah, some tall guy with a weird little beard on his chin."

Tarras took one last swig of his ale and set down the tankard before he stood up. "Well met, Ghoron, and again, my apologies."

Ghoron smirked and saluted him with his tankard. "Well met, Tarras."

Tarras welcomed the fresh air as he exited the tavern. He had even grown enamored of the tang of salt from the sea that hung in the otherwise crisp and dry air, something that he had only tolerated in days that seemed long past. He waited as a horse-drawn cart ambled past, holding his breath until the plumes of dust kicked up by the wide, spoked wheels had settled.

Tarras glanced to either side. His gaze lingered where the road curved past the edge of town. Two Cohorts stood on either side, nodding at the arrivals as they passed through the town gate. He watched the cart approach, and saw the driver snap the reins harder.

Tarras lifted his hood and crossed the road. He found the worn trail that wound into the thicket of trees. His gaze drifted along the ground, looking for the sign. Finally he spotted a line of three rocks crossing the path at an angle. To the left was a large boulder. To the right was a gap in the trees and a steep decline.

The former Noble Lord turned right and eased himself downward. Small furry creatures in the towering trees chittered in protest at his passing. At the bottom, tucked into the shadows of a rocky overhang, stood two men.

Both were lean of frame, and the taller one stepped forward. His black hair was tinged with even more gray than when Tarras had seen him last, or so he imagined. The goatee was scraggly but not yet a full beard, as if he had only recently dispensed with grooming and trimming it. In all other respects, the man had abandoned much of the pretext of his high-born status. His attire, while neat, was not much more than a village magistrate might wear.

"When you said to meet you by the tavern," said Rennis, "I did not expect to find you inside the tavern, let alone talking to the peasants."

Tarras lowered his hood and smiled. "Good day and well met, Rennis."

Former Overlord Rennis D'glounaas frowned and sighed.

Tarras turned his head towards his companion. "And I assume this is the esteemed Trennan."

Trennan D'vaard had managed to retain much of his dapper, aristocratic look. His clothing was nearly of Minor Lord quality, though somewhat threadbare. The tunic was impeccably neat, and the cloak trimmed to a perfect fit for his frame. He held his head high and his body erect, as was proper for a dignified Overlord.

Trennan nodded once. "My Lord."

Tarras shook his head. "Not anymore."

"You will forgive me if I insist on the proper nomenclature," said Trennan, his voice as crisp as the air. "I feel we will forget such things at our peril when we eventually extricate ourselves from this mess."

"I admire your optimism, Overlord."

"Oh, just listen to the both of you," Rennis snapped. "First Trennan insisting on using titles, and you, Tarras, mixing with the peasant rabble. I thought we were supposed to remain hidden."

Tarras was about to respond, but to his surprise, Trennan did for him. "I would not be so quick to dismiss the 'rabble' as you call them. I will remind you that it was one of them that informed me of Freya's scheme."

"I assure you, I have not taken leave of my senses, Rennis," said Tarras. "The Cohorts would be least likely to look for someone like me among the peasants. Also, it gives me a chance to establish a rapport with them."

"What? Why?" said Rennis.

"Because we no longer have the power or the means to stop the Inonni. Only the peasants can do that now. As for how, I am not certain yet. But I do know there is some discontent among them towards the Inonni."

Rennis snorted. "I don't see why. The Inonni are doing everything the Nobility used to do. They own the land, collect the taxes, and pretty much let the peasants do as they were doing before. If they had to grumble about anything, it would be about how little has changed."

"True on the surface, Rennis," said Trennan. "But Tarras' words have a ring of truth to them from some of the things I have seen."

"There is something inherent in the Cohorts that frightens a segment of the peasantry," Tarras said. "Something I am not quite versed in. I was hoping perhaps one of you would be able to explain--"

"None of that may matter anymore," Rennis said, impatience creeping into his voice. "Not after the news I bring. I've confirmed what Uridon's merchant clan suspected about the Sixth Fleet. They've gone rogue, Tarras, and they're headed east. Right towards the Urisi."

Tarras' eyebrows rose. "Indeed? Remarkable. I wonder what they hope to accomplish."

"What, you don't think this is significant? A whole fleet, going against the Emperor's orders because they don't recognize his authority! That had to cause some heads to turn in the Urisi government."

"You are not versed in maritime law, are you?"

Rennis frowned. "I'm an Overlord, not a merchant. Of course I don't know it to the letter!"

Trennan stepped forward. "But I do have some knowledge in this area. At least, enough to see Tarras' point. The fleet will have to breach Urisi territorial waters if they wish any sort of asylum. But once that happens, and they are not flying under any given nation's flag, the Urisi are entitled to do what they want. They can sink the fleet on sight or arrest the men and try them."

Tarras nodded. "Quite correct, Overlord. Oceanus has long since been the protector of the ocean and regularly patrols its holdings scattered between here and the Urisi shores. But Urisi waters were to be considered inviolate save for a scant few 'open ports' for shore leave. That provision that Trennan so correctly enunciated is part of that agreement. Oceanus would consider a fleet to be rogue just from the act of breaching the Urisi ocean border and thus wash their hands of them."

"But with the Inonni in charge now, isn't it possible that might not be true any longer?" asked Rennis.

"The Inonni appear to want to keep everything status quo for the time being, including their agreements with the Urisi. Witness how they were adamant about keeping Emperor Z'garon on the throne. It is likely they would be glad to be rid of a fleet of disloyal sailors."

Rennis smirked. "Oh, so you think so? So why did the Emperor order the fleet intercepted before it could reach Urisi-controlled waters?

Trennan frowned. "He did what?"

"How did you come by this knowledge, Rennis?" Tarras asked in an earnest voice.

"I would have thought he would have told you himself."

Tarras shook his head. "The Emperor no longer Farviews me for advice. The first time he did after the occupation, it was clear that the Inonni were listening to his conversation. He did not wish to say anything that would give the Inonni any clue as to my whereabouts."

"I had to hear it second hand, and for the platinum that was paid for the information, it better be the truth."

Trennan turned towards Tarras. "Lord Tarras, does this put a new spin on this incident?"

"It may," said Tarras. "I am now plagued by a memory I cannot quite grasp. The Sixth Fleet is supposed to be significant in some manner, but I cannot recall how."

"Well, that was the fleet that bombarded Duric's forces during the civil war," said Rennis.

Tarras shook his head. "No, I knew that. This is something else."

"I still have some connections in the Imperial Navy," said Trennan. "I had been reluctant to call upon them for fear of discovery, but I will take the risk and find out what I can about the Sixth Fleet."

"Thank you, Overlord. I feel there is something important about this fleet."

"Then I shall set about my task at once. Good day to you all."

Tarras and Rennis stepped to either side to allow the former Overlord to pass and watched as he climbed up to the path. Rennis turned to Tarras. "I better get going as well. I will see you in another quarter moon."

Tarras touched his arm. "Before you go, I have a question for you. This will sound a bit odd, but you as an Overlord have had more direct contact with the peasants."

Rennis nodded. Overlords had acted in a capacity similar to Minor Lords, or Landlords as the peasants called them. They owned the land upon which the peasants worked, and the peasants in turn had supplied the Manor with food and other necessities. Men such as Tarras had maintained several more degrees of separation between them and the peasantry.

"I have heard a phrase the meaning of which escapes me. It is obviously a colloquialism of some sort. Do you know what is meant by 'sea dipping,' or 'taking a dip in the sea?'"

Rennis snorted and grinned. "Are you serious? You've never heard that phrase?"

"Never."

"It means, roughly, 'to have illicit sex.'"

Tarras smiled. "Ah, yes, now some more of that conversation makes sense. Though I find the phrase curious. Do you know its origins?"

Rennis shook his head. "No idea."

"And again, I feel this is something I should know. Perhaps age is finally causing my memory to fail."

"I doubt that. Vanlo was far older than you before he retired, and even then it was only because of the Inonni."

"Or perhaps it is the stress." Tarras raised his hood. "In any case, good day to you. We will meet again soon."

Rennis grabbed his arm. Tarras stopped and turned his head. "Yes?"

"Don't even kid about losing your faculties, Tarras," Rennis said in a low voice.

Tarras offered a small smile. "Your concern is appreciated, but I suspect it is not completely altruistic."

"You're everything to this ... movement, resistance, whatever you want to call it."

Tarras shook his head.

"No, stop it. You said you had criticized the Emperor when he had refused to accept the leadership role. You're going to have to heed your own words. You're like a second Emperor to this group. I swear that I heard one of the other Minor Lords almost refer to you as Tarras Z'riis."

"That is wrong. Trennan's attitude notwithstanding, we need to set aside titles for now."

"Hellfire, Tarras, stop missing the point!"

Tarras sighed. "No group like this should revolve around one man. You should be able to carry on regardless of whether I happen to be with you. And if you are looking for leadership, you can turn to someone like Trennan."

Rennis shook his head. "No, Tarras, you're much more down-to-earth than any other potential leader of this group. And you inspire people."

Tarras hesitated, looking as tired as Rennis remembered him that first day they had met after the Inonni conquest. His gaze dropped for a moment, but whether in despair or a simple search for words, Rennis could not tell.

"It is indeed a shame that the Emperor will no longer Farview me, for he would have a great laugh at my expense," said Tarras. He raised his eyes to Rennis' face. "What I have said is still true; resistance groups traditionally were decentralized."

"We're new at this, Tarras. And until we know where we're going, someone has to take the lead. We don't even know yet exactly what we're supposed to do beyond gathering intelligence."

"Speaking of which, have you any on the whereabouts of the other Lords or Overlords?"

Rennis shook his head. "We only know they're alive. I have not been able to find Vanlo, either."

"I do not recall that he was an object of any search."

"It's a personal thing, and too long and too private to explain."

"You stated he had retired."

"He had. But I had hoped ..." Rennis trailed off and sighed again. "Never mind. Good day, Tarras."

Rennis left and scrambled up the incline, sliding down once in his haste to get away. Tarras raised an arm to protect his face from bits of rock and gravel.

Little beyond the creak of the stressed timbers of the old dreadnought and the thump of sailors' feet against the ragged deck stood against the tense silence. The crew performed their tasks with very few words passing between them, each man knowing his duty, despite occasional furtive and sometimes nervous glances towards the man in the threadbare but still ornate uniform standing at the prow, or the distant ships looming ever closer.

Lord Admiral Vortas V'quenna stood as still as the figurehead beneath the prow, the distance-viewer raised to his eye. He eased it across the horizon in silent assessment. Beside him, a younger man in Fleet Captain's colors followed along with his unaided eyes, his confidence tempered only by the nature of their opponent and the memory of an insane Emperor that once had him fire on his own people.

Fleet Captain Boddas V'yed felt the need to say something, but nothing would come to him that seemed at all appropriate to voice to his superior. He instead turned towards the crew. "Double time, gentlemen!"

Crewmen swarmed around the Mage-guns, arranged in two rows in precarious balance along the mid-line of the ship, held against rolling with each wave swell by makeshift wedges against their wheels. Normally the guns would be in this position only when idle, and thus anchored to thick posts with heavy chains.

As Boddas watched, their next task began. In turn, a panel was opened on each gun, and a single blue pearl dropped into the fire chamber. The panel was slammed shut just as the first telltale orange glow of magical charge filled the lattice within.

"Don't waste time watching it!" Boddas barked. "Open, drop, closed, next!"

The men moved with more alacrity, and Boddas watched until he was satisfied. He turned back to the Lord Admiral now that he had something apropos to say. "I believe this will work, my Lord. To their eyes, we should appear to be coming in unprepared for immediate battle."

Vortas stared at the approaching ships as they turned broadsides. Dots of scarlet peppered their deck lines. "I cannot say the same for them, unfortunately," Vortas said, his deep baritone voice subdued. "They are drawing to a defensive line. Four dreadnoughts, Captain. Five frigates." He lowered the viewer. "To our three and four."

"We will catch them by surprise, my Lord."

Vortas stepped down from the prow and scowled at the younger Fleet Captain. "Does it not bother you that we are forced to fire upon our own men? Again!"

To Vortas' relief, Boddas did not offer the same self-righteous smirk as he had the first time they had engaged in such a conversation when the fleet had been ordered to bombard Duric's army, though his words were not much different. "We fire upon an enemy. This time even you cannot dispute that."

"Whatever foreign power has taken hold of the Imperium is the enemy, not these honest sailors!"

Boddas let out a slow breath. His eyes took on a pained look, which he soon replaced with burning but forced resolve. "They are extensions of the will of that foreign power. I have to believe that. I respectfully suggest you believe it as well. It will make this easier to swallow."

"No matter how easier it becomes, Captain, it will still leave the taste of ashes in my mouth."

A whistle sounded from the crow's nest. "Capt'n! We're being signaled by the other fleet."

"Not even your own crew can call them the enemy, Captain," said Vortas.

Boddas looked up and shaded his eyes from the afternoon sun. "What say them?"

The crewman in the crow's nest leaned forward, his eye straining against the distance-viewer to make out the flashes of light through the wavering thermals that danced upon the foaming sea. "Stand down ... and come about ... prepare to ... be boarded ... by order ... of Emperor Duric Z'garon."

Boddas turned to Vortas. "My Lord?"

The Lord Admiral sighed. "I have never in all my years done something as duplicitous as this."

"Except, perhaps, to convince another fleet to countermand the Emperor's orders concerning a certain Overlord Manor?"

Vortas frowned, but it faded upon seeing Boddas' earnest face and subdued eyes. He nodded once. "Carry on."

The Captain turned. "Signalman!"

A crewman surged forward. "Aye!"

"Send: We will comply immediately. End message. Then signal the other ships to trim their sails to quarter speed."

"Aye, Capt'n!"

As the signalman scurried to his post, Boddas inspected the Mage guns. His boots vibrated with the combined thrum of their charging fire-chambers, and the men stood ready by each one.

"Tarps on!"

Like a single wave, the men tossed their tarps upon the guns so that they hung only loosely over the barrels.

"One gust of wind from the wrong direction ..." Vortas began.

"The weather Mage assures me it will remain at our backs. We have left the worst of the spring storms behind. We have the best possible conditions for this battle, my Lord. The men have been practicing for this moment for the past moon."

"A battle that should never have had to happen. Great gods, Boddas!" Vortas hissed. "This world has truly gone mad."

"Escaping to the Urisi was your idea, my Lord," Boddas said in as delicate a voice as he could muster.

"And sometimes I feel I have simply met one insanity with another. Is what we are doing any better than the alternative?"

"If the alternative has the slightest possibility of us receiving orders anything like those from Z'haas in his final days, then, yes, my Lord, it is infinitely better."

Vortas was shocked into silence. This was the closest that the young Fleet Captain had ever come to admitting how much he had been rattled by his final orders from the former Emperor. Boddas had been told to raze the town that had been forced to provide false information to Boddas' fleet on the whereabouts of Duric's men.

Vortas had assumed that Boddas had agreed too readily to commit treason simply for the glory and excitement of battle. It was as much a relief as a shock to hear that Boddas' intentions were far less shallow.

"And as for the duplicity, Lord Admiral," said Boddas. "Think of it this way: it will make this unwanted and inglorious battle move that much more swiftly, so we can put this behind us for good. There will be little to stop us from reaching Urisi waters."

An uneasy calm had settled upon the crews of the Oceanus Ninth Fleet when they received the quick response from the rogue fleet and saw her ships trim back their sails. They confirmed and reconfirmed with their spotters that no flicker of Mage-fire energy could be seen on any of the approaching ships.

Not a single man, from sailor to Fleet Captain, wanted a fight. In the chaos during the final moons of Z'haas' reign, several fleets had been at sea far past their rotation times, and the Ninth was no exception. They were looking forward to the familiar shores of home, decent liquor, and a soft warm body with whom to share a bed. Playing escort to a fleet of treasonous sailors was not the most ideal excuse to be homeward bound, but beggars would not be choosers.

Hopes rose when the ships grew close enough for the spotters to see the tarps draped over the Mage-guns, so much so that they were not concerned when the ships failed to bring their sails to full trim at the expected time.

Thus their captains ordered the men away from their guns and readied them for melee should it be necessary in taking the rogue ships. And thus when the rogue fleet suddenly unfurled their sails and came hard about, the first warning shouts forced the men to scramble back to their abandoned guns.

On the ships of the Sixth Fleet, tarps were tossed off and fully-charged Mage-guns rammed into place. By the time the Ninth Fleet could man the guns and train them on the rogues, the guns of the Sixth Fleet belched scarlet fire that raked the sides of the Ninth Fleet's ships.

Dreadnought was matched to dreadnought for the first three of the Ninth Fleet, and two frigates took on the fourth. The remaining two frigates simply barreled through, peppering whatever ships of the Ninth Fleet happened to be close at hand.

Two dreadnoughts of the Sixth -- Boddas' ship Blaze and one other -- left their targets listing in the water, flames roaring towards the azure sky and staining it black with smoke, the waters littered with the bodies of the dead and dying. They pitched hard to one side as they slammed the rudder home to avoid colliding with the wrecks.

Their adversary let off a final, wild volley from what few guns remained. Boddas' ship took two hits at the deck line, exploding one Mage-gun and breaking off the lower support for one of the sails. Both the Blaze and her companion roared between the burning hulks in a maneuver that was as desperate as it was inspired. With the wind again fully at their backs, they broke free of the melee and sailed on.

The third dreadnought of the Sixth erred in her turn and half their guns fired into the space ahead of their target. Yet the guns that had struck mortally wounded their victim with a gash at the waterline, but failed to set it ablaze. Return fire roared over the deck, breaking one of the masts, the falling sail sweeping a dozen sailors overboard. Nevertheless, the ship dove between her target and the next dreadnought of the Ninth, taking one more round of fire to her aft section. Great chunks of wood and metal blew apart from the starboard-aft quarter. The ship listed but righted itself, limping away one with one less set of sails as her target's bow dipped under the water towards her doom.

Among the two frigates that took on the remaining dreadnought of the Ninth Fleet, the Sixth Fleet suffered its first loss. Flames roared to the skies in a maelstrom so hot that it blistered the skin of crewmen of both fleets. As their mark broke apart from the force of the explosion, only one of the frigates of the Sixth could make the turn and avoid the burning wreckage. The other fell victim to a sudden gust of wind draw inward by the blossoming inferno, driving it into the blazing hulk and fueling its flames.

This left the Sixth's two remaining frigates facing off against the full compliment of the Ninth's five.

One of the Sixth's frigates, the Indomitable, chose at the last moment not to turn broadsides, but to barrel between two of the Ninth's frigates. Just as she passed, her gunners fired only at the frigate whose aft quarter was exposed. A hail of Mage-fire boiled the seawater to steam as it struck, pulverizing the ship's rudder. The force of the impact sent the ship into a uncontrolled turn, keeping her guns from training on the Indomitable.

The other frigate of the Ninth came hard about, but the Indomitable had as well, and opened up at point-blank range against a side of her target that was largely unarmed, as the ship had gunned only her port side in anticipation of a quick standoff. The Indomitable twisted away as her target burned and listed.

Her sister ship, the Vanguard, had not fared as well. Facing three frigates, her captain had opted to fire on the one at the end of the line, then swing in a wide arc away from the other two, intending to outrun them while they transitioned to full sail. Yet his initial charge was delayed due to his need to change course to affect his plans, and by the time he engaged, the captains of the three frigates had been forewarned.

The Vanguard was forced into a more pitched battle with her mark, and while she left her adversary burning and sinking, she took damage that slowed her down. The two remaining frigates of the Ninth, now under full sail and undamaged, closed for the kill. Worse, they were closing on an even more badly damaged Sixth Fleet dreadnought. The two fresh frigates would be more than a match for it as well.

All ships of the Sixth had the same orders: break through the line and full speed ahead. Do not look back and do not go back. The captain of the Indomitable chose to violate both edicts and swung his ship around to intercept. He caught one of the Ninth's frigates before she could catch up to the Vanguard, and left her too damaged to keep up. But the Indomitable had taken her first wounds, her sails damaged and half her port-side guns destroyed, the very ones she needed to engage the remaining frigate. With her top speed reduced, her target would be too far ahead by the time she could come about to use her starboard guns.

The Indomitable nevertheless came alongside her target and fired what port guns she still had. When her target started to pull out ahead, she wrenched to one side and rammed her bow into the aft of her target, shearing off the rudder.

Wood strained and splintered as the side of the Indomitable was gouged by the aft of the Ninth Fleet frigate. Mage guns were snapped like toothpicks, and one brewed up in scarlet flame that licked at the mainsail before it could be pushed overboard.

The Indomitable swung clear of the now crippled Ninth Fleet frigate. She joined the Vanguard, and the two drew abreast of the limping dreadnought like protective guardians to the roaring cheers of her crew.

The celebration had yet to start aboard the Blaze. Men scrambled over the fallen beam, muscles straining to lift it, while others tore away splintered wood and metal with little regard to themselves, peppering the deck with blood from their lacerated hands. Lord Admiral Vortas dove into the fray himself, assisting a crewman in pulling back a large fragment of a fractured Mage-gun barrel.

Suddenly, the men stopped. Vortas looked down and heaved a great sigh. Several of the crewmen turned away, stricken. Others bowed their heads, turned towards the sea, and offered a short prayer.

On the deck, Boddas lay still, his face pale and streaked with blood from a caved-in section of his skull, his lifeless eyes staring up at the sky.

The Cohort stood a few steps back from the foot of the dais, waiting in quiet meditation, and lifted his eyes to the Oceanus Throne.

The sword still lay across its seat, the blade still stained with the blood of a Lord General that thought to usurp the throne before Duric. No one had seen Duric place it. One morning, soon after the completion of the conquest, the Cohorts had spotted it, but the Emperor had not been forthcoming in his reasons.

Master Kyllos had met the revelation with a single, tired sigh and shake of his head. The Cohort remembered the moment well. It had followed the final plea for Duric to sit upon the throne as was proper for an Emperor. Even then, the whispering had already started among the Imperial staff, and the Inonni had taken great pains to see to it that it did not go beyond the bounds of the Imperial Palace.

"The instigators already have one living banner around which to rally," Kyllos had said. "They do not need another."

The Cohort lowered his eyes when heavy footfalls echoed in the empty, drab chamber. He bowed his head as a gesture of respect when the footsteps stopped before him.

"Yes, what is it?" said Emperor Duric Z'garon in a tight voice.

"My Master wishes to know if you have heard of the success of the Ninth Fleet," said the Cohort. "He estimates that they should have intercepted the rogue fleet by now."

"And he could not come himself to ask me this?"

"Master Kyllos is quite busy these days. There is much to coordinate. Oceanus' lands are vast and the people spread out."

The Cohort expected a crude barb here. Perhaps a comment, as inaccurate as it would be, that the peasantry was somehow "resisting the occupation." Both key words of that phrase, the Inonni felt, were wrong. There was no resistance, and this was not an occupation.

Instead, the Emperor's face took on a more somber look. He reached into a pocket of his cloak and withdrew what appeared to be a small, round chunk of charcoal. Only when the Emperor had balanced it upon his palm before the Cohort's eyes did the lingering blue tinge and traces of the runes inscribed upon the former Farviewing pearl become visible.

Duric's eyes hardened. He slowly turned his hand over. The remnants of the pearl disintegrated into black dust as they hit the floor. "The Ninth Fleet's commander."

The Cohort looked down. "Most unfortunate."

"That's all you have to say? Is that all this is to you and your Master?"

The Cohort looked up. "Would this not be a source of happiness for you?"

Duric's eyes blazed.

"You never wanted to stop the rogue fleet, my Emperor. Even the fool can see that."

"I am never happy when men die," said Duric. "And if you believe that I could be, then perhaps we are not the barbarians so in need of enlightenment that you make us out to be."

"We have never said--"

Duric turned on his heel and walked out of the audience chamber. The Cohort did not allow himself so much as a sigh. To show frustration was to take more burden upon himself than he deserved. It was the fool that believed he could take on the troubles of the world; only the wise man could discriminate between what he could affect and what he could not.

The Cohort bowed his head despite the gesture going unseen. Even if Duric would not adhere to protocol, it did not excuse him from it. He left the audience chamber, maintaining his steady and smooth gait, showing neither reluctance nor eagerness to share this unfortunate turn of events with his Master.

Master Kyllos had taken a small office for himself, nothing more than what a Senior Clerk might take, and left the door unadorned where his title would normally be. The Cohort entered and found his Master hunched over a small desk, a thin pair of spectacles perched upon his nose, his quill scratching across parchment.

"Master, I bring news," said the Cohort.

Kyllos finished the sentence he was writing before his age-spotted but still limber fingers lay the quill across the parchment. He slipped off his spectacles and regarded the Cohort with eyes that grew more tired in the short silence. "It is not good news."

"The Ninth Fleet has failed. The surviving ships of the rogue fleet are likely sailing for Urisi waters. Oceanus has no other fleets that can intercept them in time."

Kyllos drew himself up straight in his chair and placed his arms along the hand-rests. "And only this morning our Mages had confirmed that the man we need is attached with that fleet."

"Then it is true, Master? We are that close to eliminating the instigators?"

"Close, but not close enough." Kyllos pushed himself to his feet. It pained the Cohort to see his Master looking so drained, but he kept his face steady and resolute. "I had hoped that the Emperor's memories would be sufficient, but it seems the gods have chosen to test our resolve and our dedication once more."

"Ah, I see."

Kyllos gave the Cohort a small smile, which warmed the Cohort's heart. "You appear to have been enlightened."

"The Emperor was in a foul mood even before delivering the news of the destruction of the Ninth Fleet. I am sure he did not like having his memories extracted to assist in capturing his former associate."

"He was not, but he was not harmed. The Mages have refined their techniques. They can overcome resistance without harming the mind. All the Emperor received was a mild headache when it was over."

The Cohort nodded once. "What is you next move, Master?"

"We cannot allow the instigators to continue," said Kyllos in a stronger voice. He folded his hands behind him and stood erect as he stepped out from behind the desk. "We knew taking such a vast nation under our guidance would be no easy task, but we had not considered dealing with a band of men with lingering influence and a charismatic leader acting in direct opposition to our plans."

"It was a good plan, Master," the Cohort said. "Even you cannot think of everything."

Kyllos uttered a soft laugh. "I seem to recall having spoken those words to Jollis at one point. We come full circle yet again. Hmm. Perhaps we spin inside them too much and now is the time to break out of them."

"Then you will not let this man go?"

"We cannot. We have found everyone else we can. The Urisi must hold this man for extradition."

The Cohort said nothing, but laced his fingers together before him.

"You have a thought," said Kyllos. "Or a question. Please, speak it."

"Forgive me, for I do not wish to impugn your knowledge, but is my Master aware of maritime law in this part of the world?"

Kyllos smiled. "What is your name?"

The Cohort was momentarily nonplussed. Rarely were names exchanged between Cohorts and their superiors. The tacitly enforced anonymity of the Cohorts was an aid to their advancement, for it made it easier to see who stood above the others and were worthy of the next stage, that of Journeyman status.

And the name bespoke of the path the Cohort wished to follow. "I am called Yonlas. It means--"

"Beyond the horizon, yes. You set your sights well. Jollis has spoken well of you. You have worked closely with him, have you not?"

Yonlas was further stunned to hear this praise, and it took him a moment to answer. Kyllos betrayed no impatience in his face or eyes. "Yes, Master. It was a vast honor and pleasure to do so."

"You have picked up some of his mannerisms. This is not a bad thing. Yes, I am aware of maritime law. This is why the failure of the Ninth Fleet is most distressing. We must overstep the diplomatic bounds that Oceanus had established with the Urisi and risk appearing as true conquerers. I will begin drafting a statement within a few days for the Emperor to deliver to the Urisi."

Yonlas' fingers flexed. "You will not let the Emperor speak for Oceanus directly?"

"Not on a matter this delicate. I will seek his counsel, and perhaps some of his words, but the intent must be from me. I so wish for Enlightenment to come to Emperor Z'garon soon."

"May I make a suggestion, Master?"

"Of course."

"Jollis possesses a Farviewing pearl to a Urisi ambassador who was instrumental in clearing the path for the Inonni arrival. I suggest you call upon him to assist in this task. He may also be of assistance in dealing with these instigators."

"Ah, you wish to work with him again."

Yonlas' fingers laced tighter. "Forgive me if that motivation sounds selfish, Master."

"It is the fool that misses so obvious an opportunity when it presents itself, and the wise man is the one who continues to seek further wisdom from others," intoned Kyllos. "I will contact him soon."

Yonlas smiled. "Thank you, Master."

A shrill whistle sounded as Vortas' boots struck the deck of the Indomitable. "Lord Admiral on deck!"

Vortas' gaze wandered towards the bow of the ship. The prow had been splintered to the hull, its figurehead gone, and the deck itself torn up near the wheel. He turned towards the crew sent to meet him, a half-dozen sailors in dress whites and blues, standing in two rows of three at attention.

"As you were," said Vortas.

As the crew dispersed, Vortas gazed at the main mast near the aft port quarter of the ship. Several crewmen were busy hammering temporary cross-beams into place over the gaping holes left by the barrage that took out the guns on that side. Near the hull, the charred timbers still smelled faintly of charcoal.

Vortas looked around. "Where is your--?"

"My apologies, Lord Admiral," said a crisp if slightly breathless voice from across the deck. A man with disheveled sandy brown hair and steel blue eyes set in a cherubic face marched towards Vortas.

Vortas eyed the small tears and char marks that slashed the man's uniform. "You are Gedric?"

"Yes, my Lord. Gedric V'riis. I was assigned to Captain Boddas' fleet just prior to the civil war."

"What was your experience before joining the Sixth?"

Gedric held his body more at ease. His words flowed more freely, less rehearsed. "Mostly pirate control in the southeastern waters."

"Really? I hear that's quite a job. I would imagine you have seen much action."

Gedric's grin was cautious and restrained. "Yes, Lord Admiral, I did."

"Why did you give it up?"

"They wanted to make me a Fleet Captain," said Gedric in a neutral voice.

"And you objected to this?"

"I didn't feel it was for me. I believed I would become too far removed from the action. So I asked to be transferred to the Sixth, thinking--"

"Thinking you would see some action," Vortas completed the thought. "I'm sure you were a bit disappointed."

Gedric paused, and Vortas had the impression from the young man's face that he was looking for evidence of a trap in that question. "In more ways than one, my Lord. I suppose that is why I agreed to follow your plan to break with Oceanus." He hesitated a moment before he added, "And I believe I have quite found my niche in this endeavor."

Vortas heard the strain in his voice. "Captain, I came here to tell you what incredible skill you exhibited in our engagement with the Ninth Fleet."

Gedric did not smile, but the corners of his mouth twitched and his eyes became bright. "Thank you, my Lord."

"Normally, I would call you to task for disobeying my orders about not turning back."

"I could not leave the other ship behind, not with three fresh enemy frigates in pursuit. Not to mention the dreadnought Persistence was so badly damaged she could barely make even quarter speed."

"Understood, Captain." Vortas glanced at the bow. "What damage have you?"

"Not extensive, save for the port-side guns. We split some timbers at the waterline, but we have that patched and the water pumped out. We'll need more cloth to patch the sails, however. Until then, we cannot make top speed."

Vortas observed the men once more. Such coordination was admirable. The crew operated like a single large mechanism with finely-crafted parts. Each one knew his duty, and like perfectly aligned gears, their actions meshed with the others.

"Captain, I need someone to command the Blaze now that her captain ..." Vortas trailed off. He let out a slow sigh through his nose.

Gedric's jaw tightened. "Yes, my Lord, I understand."

"You have a man you can trust to command the Indomitable?"

"Several. My men know their duty."

"And do you know yours?"

Gedric paused, his gaze falling to the deck for a moment. "Unfortunately, I do."

"I do not take such a field promotion lightly, Fleet Captain V'riis," said Vortas. "Even under these extraordinary circumstances."

Gedric drew his head up higher and forced his back straight at the sound of his new title. Nevertheless, muscles corded on his neck, and his eyes wavered. "I understand, my Lord."

"You must be certain that you do. I know you do not want this post, but I must have someone I can trust. I cannot take the position myself, as I must now concentrate on being less a military officer and more the diplomat. Boddas was impressed with your record; he noted that several times to me in the past. And recently I had grown to trust his judgment."

"I will do the best I can, my Lord," said Gedric.

Vortas sensed no waver, no hesitation. Yet the young Captain's voice sounded hollow. He was unsure how that would bode in the trials to come.

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