The journey that would have taken an army weeks took Alaric mere hours. The SKYHAMMER cut through the cold air, covering the 400 kilometers to the Capital with terrifying speed.
As the spires of Shersalon came into view, Alaric stood at the glass wall of the command deck.
"We probably reached here way before even Larethin arrived," he mused.
But he didn't descend. Instead, he ordered the pilot to bank left, bypassing the Capital to head towards the route Duke Thorne was taking.
As they flew over the main highway, Alaric saw something interesting. Below them, looking like a trail of ants, was a sea of frantic people moving towards the Capital gates. Even from this height, Alaric could identify the tattered uniforms.
"The Royal Army," Alaric said, a cold smile creeping up his face. "All they do is run."
Minutes later, another force came into view. Duke Thorne’s army was marching in disciplined formation, chasing the rout.
"Bring us down," Alaric ordered. "Slowly. At the rear, near the supply carts."
On the ground, the rear guard of Thorne’s army halted in confusion.
"Sir!" A scout screamed, pointing a trembling finger towards the clouds. "Something is coming!"
Thorne, riding near the back to oversee logistics, looked up. He stared at the massive metal structure descending from the heavens, blocking out the sun.
General Alther and Vice-Commander Bristane both looked horrified.
"Scatter!" Bristane shouted, reaching for his shield. "Incoming attack! Take cover!"
"Hold!" Thorne bellowed, raising a hand.
He stared at the monstrosity with wide eyes, then gave a dry, incredulous laugh. "So... this is what you were talking about, boy?"
"Sir?" Alther asked, sweating. "You know this thing?"
"No need for alarm," Thorne said, calming his horse. "Alaric only let me in on the plan. Stand down."
The SKYHAMMER touched down in the open field with a heavy thud, the landing gears sinking slightly into the earth. The rear hull opened with a hiss of steam, a staircase unfolding automatically from the drop-down door.
Alaric walked out, looking every bit the Lord of the Skies.
Thorne rode up, shaking his head in admiration. "Boy... you built this?"
"Yes, sir," Alaric replied, bowing slightly to his future father-in-law. He looked past Thorne to the white-robed figure riding beside him. Lucia’s eyes were sparkling with pride.
"Why don't you all come inside?" Alaric offered, gesturing to Thorne, Lucia, Bristane, and Alther. "It’s warmer in here."
The airship lifted off again, but this time it didn't speed away. It hovered low, matching the marching pace of Thorne’s army below.
Inside, the atmosphere was one of shock.
Thorne walked through the corridors, running his hand over the steel walls. He was impressed by the brutalist architecture of function over form, strength over style.
"How does it float?" "What fuels it?" "Can it carry heavy cavalry?"
Alaric answered the questions one by one as they sat in the meeting room. Then, he dropped another bombshell.
"I plan to build at least nine more of these after the war," Alaric said casually, pouring wine for the guests.
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"Nine?" Bristane choked on his drink.
"Three for military use including the current one and the rest for civilian use," Alaric explained. He looked at the Duke. "I will give you one for your personal use as well, Lord Thorne, A gift."
Thorne raised an eyebrow. "You would arm me with this?"
"We are family," Alaric smiled. "The rest will be for non-stop civilian transport flights between the Capital, Ironhold, Osborne, Larethin, and Haven."
Alaric leaned back, his eyes gleaming with a vision. "Businessmen will pay a hefty price if they could travel weeks' worth of journey in mere hours."
Thorne understood internally. This boy isn't just going to be some strong hero or revolutionary. He will change the world and how everything is usually done.
He plans to monopolize the sky, Thorne realized. Sooner or later, people would try to recreate this magic. But by flooding the market now, he makes the entire economy rely on him.
"You have thought this through," Thorne muttered.
The conversation ended as they reached the borders of Shersalon. The massive walls of the Royal Capital stood tall, but they looked small from the bridge of the airship.
"Will we immediately try to take over the city?" Alaric asked, looking at the cannons of his ship.
Thorne stood up, looking down at the panicked city.
"No," Thorne replied coldly. "We will wait."
"Wait?"
"They are cornered rats now," Thorne said, his voice hard. "There is no hope for them. If we attack now, they will fight with the desperation of the damned. I want to make sure their will is completely broken from hopelessness."
Thorne watched the gates close below.
"We will siege them. If they don't surrender within one week, we will break through. Your ship has cannons, right?"
"Yes," Alaric nodded. "I can turn those gates to dust whenever you give the word."
"Good," Thorne said.
As the day came to an end, the shadow of the airship hung over the Capital like a guillotine blade waiting to drop.
Inside the Capital, chaos reigned.
A convoy of 400 battered knights, the remnants of Larethin’s proud army galloped through the streets. Duke Larethin didn't stop for anyone. He went straight into the Castle, shoving past guards and terrified servants.
The Castle was in turmoil. Nobles who had supported the Prince were screaming for answers, packing their bags, or trying to bribe their way out of the city.
Larethin burst into Prince Lucian’s chamber.
"Lucian!" Larethin screamed, abandoning all protocol. "What are you going to do?!"
Prince Lucian sat on his bed, looking disheveled and hollow. He stared at the Duke with bloodshot eyes.
"That boy... Alaric," Larethin panted, pacing the room. "He has some kind of flying ship! It launches explosives! It wiped out my army in minutes!"
Lucian looked at him with disbelief. "What? You haven't taken him down?"
Larethin let out a nervous, hysterical laugh. "Take him down? Are you nuts? He killed thousands of my soldiers with relative ease! We are ants to him!"
Larethin grabbed Lucian by the collar. "Where is Priest Lancaster? We need his help! We need to get that god-forsaken thing down!"
Lucian looked almost mad, a deep depression settling in his bones. He pushed Larethin away.
"I don't know," Lucian whispered. "Sir Lancaster... he hasn't communicated with me for two weeks now."
"Huh?" Larethin froze.
"He is gone," Lucian mumbled.
Larethin’s face turned from nervousness to pure, unadulterated rage.
"Boy, what the hell are you talking about?!" Larethin screamed, saliva flying. "I told you from the beginning to stay cautious with him! He played you like a fiddle!"
"Don't you dare disrespect me, Duke!" Lucian shrieked back, his voice cracking. "I am the King!"
"King my foot!" Larethin roared. "Where is your savior now when you need him the most? I knew I shouldn't have trusted you! That guy looked shady from the start!"
Creak.
Suddenly, out of nowhere, the heavy oak door opened.
"Who looks shady, Duke?"
A smooth voice chimed in.
Larethin froze. Lucian’s face instantly brightened, looking like a lost child seeing a parent.
"Sir Lancaster!" Lucian cried.
Lancaster walked into the room. He moved with a supernatural silence, sliding directly behind Larethin before the Duke could even turn around.
"Who is shady?" Lancaster whispered into Larethin’s ear.
SHINK.
The sound of wet tearing filled the silent room.
Larethin gasped, his eyes bulging. He looked down to see the tip of a black sword protruding from his chest, piercing straight through his heart and out the front of his armor.
Lancaster twisted the blade.
Larethin slumped forward, dead before he hit the floor.
The room went dead silent.
Lucian’s face changed from joy to one of absolute horror as he looked at the blood spreading on the carpet, and the smiling priest standing over the corpse.
