Chapter 141: The Baron's Pride

Chapter 141: The Baron's Pride

The Baron's Pride

Audrey

Like a leviathan in the skies, the dark object continued to grow larger. What started as a shadowy smudge against the sunset skies now resembled a spear with a bulging shape in the middle. It glided above the mountains and through the clouds, looking both majestic and foreboding.

Audrey was captivated by the mysterious flying object. She strained her eyes and saw that it flapped no wings, yet it flew effortlessly through the air as if held aloft by an invisible sea.

Clutching her fur coat tighter, she finally could discern its hide, which was smooth like the underbelly of a large aquatic monster she had seen on tapestries. Yet, the way its skin fluttered revealed it to be made of lighter materials, like fabric, rather than leather.

She saw a blackened structure underneath the bulging spear and fins at the rear. Then she spotted wire-like rigging that confirmed it to be man-made.

"A vessel," she muttered in disbelief. Then, the instinct to flee or fight kicked in. Turning to her guard, she commanded, "Get thirty men with crossbows, their horses, and the fire bolts."

Her entourage exchanged glances momentarily before springing into action. The mystique cultivated by stories of her deeds—like fighting a half-beast in a pitch-black tent, her eyes glowing golden on several occasions, and last night's ride through the dark—was enough to convince them that she could see in the dark.

"Is there any threat, My Lady?" one dared to ask.

"Best to be prepared," Audrey said as she continued to observe the vessel that began its descent. From such an angle, the object resembled a sleek spear even more, devoid of ornate carvings or metal adornments on its sides.

Although it lacked vast wings, it wasn't at the mercy of the wind. The vessel turned and moved with intent, adjusting its course once again toward the flatter area not far from where she stood.

***

The Black Vessel

The enormous structure overhead billowed with heated air from a small furnace fueled by volatile oil. The skin was not made of canvas or linen, but of silken fabric impregnated with natural rubber on the inside and coated with shellac lacquer on the outside, giving it a sleek, black appearance without the need for paint.

The interior of the structure was vast yet hollow. It contained no metal, except for a thin sheet of bronze shaped like a small umbrella to protect its delicate skin from the direct heat of the furnace fire. The cavernous balloon was divided into several compartments to protect against catastrophic leaks.

To maintain its shape, instead of using wooden ribs like those found in boats, lacquered rattan was employed. It was further reinforced with a net-like webbing made from silken cords.

The sheer amount of silk used was proof alone that the state-of-the-art vessel was an expensive enterprise and that its owner, Baron Avery, was a wealthy and powerful man.

"Easy. Keep it steady," Lord Avery instructed from his canvas seat.

"Descending steadily," Angelo replied. Positioned in front of Avery in their woven rattan basket—shaped like a long canoe beneath the giant balloon—he controlled the vessel through metal cords that manipulated the large fins at the rear.

Old Avery grinned in silence, enjoying the flight, reminiscing about the first time he had flown when he was much younger. Now, his eyes were gentler, but his brows and jawline suggested that violence had been a part of his life.

So high up in the air, the chilly night wind from the mountain didn’t bother him as his woolen trench coat kept his old bones warm. From time to time, he peered down, trying to discern their path, but after sundown, darkness had blanketed everything, leaving only the stars to illuminate the world.

This was why he mostly trusted Angelo, who had experience in nighttime flying.

But now, after passing the mountain, Avery could see bonfires and lanterns glowing like orbs in the distance. Soon, he could make out the shapes of tents. Turning to the rear where the third and last passenger sat quietly, covered in a fur coat, he said, "Petra, wake up, it's time."

The woman yawned before nodding in acknowledgment and shuddering from the cold.

The leviathan of the sky moved gracefully, only slightly shuddering and buffeting from the strong winds coming from the mountain.

Avery had named this marvel of a vehicle an airship. What had started as a curiosity project by his great-grandfather, then forgotten by his grandfather but continued by his father, had turned into a secret weapon.

The airship was now less of an invention and more like a functional military asset. Its black lacquer color, initially intended to airtight the skin and enhance durability, ironically gave the vessel its purpose as a night scout. After sundown, it was practically invisible to the naked eye.

When paired with a mage and equipped with Ekionia Optics, the airship could observe the enemy camp safely. It could easily calculate their opponent's number of tents, bonfires, possible siege weapons, and the presence of horses and carts. The airship was one of many reasons the barony was capable of holding off a force many times larger than their own.

As its original inventor had died over a century ago, taking his fancy idea of noble travel with him, nobody suspected that any threat could come from the air.

Thus, it was a surprise when Angelo, scanning the horizon through his black-painted Ekionia binocular, noticed a woman on the ground watching his every move. "My Lord, there's something you must see."

Rising from his rattan seat, Avery took several careful steps forward, mindful not to upset the balance. He approached Angelo and ventured, "Leaks?"

"No. There's a woman staring at us near the camp's direction."

It surprised Avery, who quipped, "Well, old or young? Is she pretty?"

"Young and pretty, but with short hair."

"What do you mean by that? I love all hair equally, as long as it’s pretty," he lectured with a grin. "So, a pretty mage. This little adventure of yours looks better and better."

Angelo let out a sigh and warned, "She must be a powerful mage to observe us with just her naked eyes."

Avery recalled a snippet of information. "The smugglers did say they knew of a mage in Three Hills other than the Black Knight's Captain. Perhaps this is the one."

"What should we do?" Angelo asked. "Abort?"

"As long as she didn't call her—"

"Two dozen men just came and assumed formation. They got horses and... crossbows," Angelo reported as he peeked through the binoculars.

"Err..." Avery was lost for words before complaining, "Pretty girl should play nice."

"More spears and even guards in plates." Angelo turned to Avery. "We might get stranded and captured."

"Let's risk it," Avery's face brimming with confidence. One could tell that he was excited as he adjusted his leather glove and checked his boots. Then turning to Petra, who was still comfortable in her seat at the end of the glorified rattan canoe. "This might get bumpy."

Audrey's voice echoed ominously through the murky shadows, but Lansius could only squint as he couldn't understand what she was saying. "I’ll turn them into targets," her voice suddenly became clear. Only then he realized he was in an archery range.

Faceless men lined up, their eyes pleading for mercy, but all they heard was increasingly sinister laughter. Her words then twisted into horrifying commands, and Lansius couldn't utter a word to intervene. This drove him mad with frustration, and as he struggled to comprehend, the scene abruptly shifted.

He now found himself in a banquet hall. Audrey approached with a playful promise, "I'll spoil you when you wake up," her voice a sharp contrast to the terror before.

The festive atmosphere slowly transformed into a grotesque circus of food and wine, where the liquid shimmered thicker than wine, resembling blood. Lansius turned to call for a servant, but instead, the physician appeared, his apparel stained with blood and holding bloody tongs in his right hand.

The maester looked confused upon seeing Lansius and turned to the other men, "Hold him tight!"

From behind, guards came and seized Lansius, who tried to protest, but nothing came out of his mouth and his arms were powerless. Meanwhile, Audrey could only stand weeping, saying, "Give me a sign, any sign."

The feverish phantoms continued to play their macabre madness. Each iteration was more desperate and distorted than the last. Lansius felt lost, running in an endless mental maze before it took an unexpected turn. The chaos faded into a serene scene.

He saw a lonely figure covered in a cloak, sitting with his back straight. The figure had a beautiful beard and hummed a soothing melody while he patiently worked with tools Lansius had never seen before. It was peaceful and mesmerizing to watch.

Then the figure rose from his seat, lifting what looked like delicate metal parts. He walked into an area surrounded by steel cables, hoists, ladders, and all kinds of machinery. The bearded man entered a metal basket that lifted him as if by a hydraulic elevator, where he then began to work on a large bipedal mecha, several models and sizes of which were standing side by side.

It awed Lansius, but at the same time, nothing made sense to him, and he realized that he was dreaming.

Lansius gasped and coughed.

His throat felt dry, his tunic sticky with sweat. His bloodshot eyes darted around, recognizing the ceiling of his own tent. Nearby, Carla slept soundly on a chair. Then, memories flooded in, mixed with pulsating pain and pins and needles. Slowly, he regained his faculties.

"Carla," he tried his voice, which sounded parched. The squire remained asleep. "Carla," he tried again, but she didn't budge, likely exhausted.

Driven by thirst, Lansius moved his body, feeling sluggish. Just then, someone entered unnoticed, like a cat. He turned to look and saw two beautiful hazelnut eyes.

"Lans!" Audrey exclaimed in surprise.

"Water," Lansius said as Audrey carefully helped him back to his resting position. "You're awake. You're finally awake," she breathed, relief washing over her face.

Before Audrey could pour him a drink, he asked, "Have you punished anyone?"

"Punished...?" Audrey squinted as she offered him a goblet. As Lansius sipped it, she explained, "No, we've kept everyone alive. I'm waiting for your decision."

"Good," he commented wearily. "It's funny... I just had a nightmare."

"What kind of nightmare?" she asked, wiping his face and limbs with a wet cloth to clean the sticky sweat.

Lansius exhaled weakly. "You lining up the rebels and shooting them with crossbows until they died..." He stared at her, asking, "You would never do that, right?"

"No, never. I'm not a brute." Yet her tone sounded rather suspicious.

Lansius squinted at her, and she let out a long sigh. "I may have threatened you with that, just to see if you'd react."

Her admission made him chuckle, which ended with a groan as his pain returned.

Carla, who had awakened, excused herself, saying, "I'll be asking for Lady Petra." And quickly left.

Catching her words, he said, "I don't recognize that name. Where are we? How long since I fainted?"

"Slowly, slowly," Audrey said, kissing him on the forehead.

"Is it that bad?" he remarked, noticing how gentle her behavior was. Then something struck him. "Don't tell me I've lost my leg?" He quickly rubbed his thigh, found it wrapped in linen bandages, and felt relieved.

"It's there. No physician dared to cut above the knee." She then took a spoonful of honey from a small jar and slathered it on his dry lips.

The sweet taste calmed him. Only then did Audrey explain, "You've been asleep for three nights. The wound is healing nicely." She then reported, "Sir Harold has moved the main troops back to three villages safely, Servius is recovering, and the Nicopolans from the bulwark are also recovering from their plague—"

"They don't join the rebels?" he asked, surprised.

Audrey smiled. "Most Nicopolans respect you. What happened that night was just a case of a bad egg in a basket."

Lansius exhaled deeply, relieved from the guilt and burden.

"Before he left, Sir Harold sent select men as reinforcements and to resupply us. So, the situation is under control."

"How many were killed and injured?"

"Thirty-one were killed. We captured sixteen, but four didn't make it. More importantly, we lost seventeen men, mostly Nicopolans who jumped to Servius' defense. And double that number are injured," she replied without hesitation.

He gazed at her, asking for confirmation, "No purge?"

Audrey shook her head. "No purge."

Footsteps were heard before Carla returned with a lady in a light purple doublet and long brown hair.

"You might not know her, but she treated you," Audrey informed him. "She's Petra, a Saint Candidate."

The title jolted Lansius. He was injured on a secluded mountain pass in Umberland, the last place he would expect a Saint Candidate to appear.

***