Monthly Short Story for January: A Havenbrockian Intervention 3

Hello Commissioned Pioneers! :D As promised, I’d like to present to you the third of the four owed Bonus Stories! This story, being Wearing Power Armor to a Magic School’s 24th side story!

I’m still in the process of catching up with the rest of the owed bonus stories! But rest assured I’m still hard at work trying my best to catch up! I had to deal with quite a few assessments last month, including practical clinical assessments that I’d prefer not to get into haha. But in any case, I’m still trying my best and I’ll make sure to deliver the rest of the bonus stories as soon as I can! :D 

This particular chapter marks the current ‘conclusion’ of Thalmin’s battles, though not the war! Moreover, the entire Havenbrockian Intervention saga was meant to lead up to this point, a point wherein we truly see the power of… well… that’s all I can say on the matter right now. Anything else will be major spoilers for the chapter! So I do hope you guys enjoy! :D 

Boarhound’s Hole. Starling’s Passage. Old Barrister’s Valley. North-Eastern land bridge between the Capital Lands and the Northern Territories. Havenbrockrealm.

Thalmin 

Anger.

Frustration.

Indignation.

These were just some of the emotions swirling through my core as I met Prince Tislan’s bard-in-a-tavern gaze. That ear-to-ear grin that threatened to consume what precious little space there was for my fist’s targets.

How the man could stand there with any iota of confidence was anybody’s guess.

How the man was able to maintain this visage amidst the destruction around us was likewise beyond me.

How the indignant fool was able to feign that positivity as he stood boot-deep in the viscera of friend and foe alike… it was not just beyond me, but entirely beyond this realm of comprehension.

I wanted to strike him down where he stood.

I wanted to strangle him until I choked every last drop of faux optimism he had.

Yet a part of me couldn’t help but to wonder if the man had simply broken in the heat of battle. But I knew that’d be giving the man too much credit. For there was scantily a mind with which to break when it came to Tislan and Talnin.

I opened my mouth, a fury welling within threatening to spew like dragonfire.

However, it was Uncle Grisniar who managed to break the silence first, taking firm footed steps towards his unruly spawn as he did so.

“Armageddon?” The man bellowed out through a gravelly breath. “Look around you, son. The only armageddon present is one targeted at our kin!” He roared with indignant fury, one that bordered to outshine my own.

“Father, please—”

“I have bestowed upon you a task which you seemed best suited for. Nay, Prince Thalmin has bestowed upon you, by way of his mercy and wisdom, the role of backline commander — to maintain order amongst our manaless ranks until such time where further orders are given. By coming here, you have broken the chains that bind. You have gone against the wishes of your betters, your superiors, and dare I say it, your pack leaders.” He growled out, pulling out every available insult, even ones as archaic as the latter.

“But father—”

“So unless you have truly something worth reporting, I will consider this an insult so grievous that it may as well be treason.” 

“Father, as I was—”

“DON’T MUMBLE IT OUT, BOY! SPEAK! SPEAK LIKE THE MAN I RAISED—”

“I have committed to our cause, a power far greater than you—” The ornately dressed lupinor paused, raising his finger to single the man out. “—and you—” Continuing to do so with me. “—and you, and you, and you, and even you—” He continued, until there was no one left to point at. “—can ever hope or dream of matching.”

His frustrations were as palpable as my own, no doubt born of a dressing-down from Uncle Grisniar.

But whilst I had my reservations on how the man acted, it was not my place to interfere or comment on the affairs of the matters outside of my own house. However, I would step in. If only out of duty as commander, not family. 

“Enough.” I managed out through a pained growl. “Our time here is done. We must gather our forces and regroup at the mouth of the valley.” I commanded bluntly. “Every second we waste is another life lost. Let us move.” 

I marched past Uncle Grisniar and past even Prince Tislan, much to his chagrin.

“I assure you Prince Thalmin, that will be entirely unnecessary.” The lupinor spoke, prompting me to stop in my tracks, if only to crane my head back to shoot the man a look of utter contempt.

“You speak of armageddon. I will give you the benefit of a doubt that battle fatigue has simply frayed you to your nerves, Prince Tislan.” I spoke in as composed a tone as I could muster, taking in a deep breath before glancing back at the people who had begun the process of stowing what valuable provisions were left.

“Make sure the bodies are ready for transport. I will personally move them if need be.” I quickly added, before suddenly being hit by an overwhelming sense of dread.

My heart came to a stop, as did every fiber in my core.

This… this power, this massive surge and disruption in the manastreams… it could only have been from—

“That traitor, Risling himself.” Uncle Grisniar uttered darkly. “I am sure of it, Prince Thalmin.” He turned to address me with a severity rivalling the turbulent ebbs and flows that nipped at our manafields.

“Then we must make haste, now.” I commanded, turning to the two bodies as I forced my frayed constitution into action. “Prince Tislan, I order you to—”

“I assure you, Prince Thalmin, there is no need for—”

“WE MUST LEAVE NOW!” I bellowed out, causing the smaller man to flinch and reel back, his eyes for the first time showing fear whilst his ridiculous armor jingled and jangled all the while.

This fear, however, slowly but surely morphed into a sort of indignation. A sort of shocked discontent that grew rapidly into maligned confidence, a self-assured grin coming to face me in a half-manic chuckle.

“No.” He replied simply, crossing his arms as he did so. “I have faith in my own judgment, Prince Thalmin. And if anything, I shall remain behind to watch your retreat.” 

We locked eyes in that moment, as I saw not the broken expression of a man who’s reached his wit’s end, no.

Instead… I saw an assurance that was as genuine in its intent as my decisions were to retreat.

“Prince Tislan… what exactly have you done—”

KA-BOOM!

I heard the canyon itself ripping apart. The valleys, the hills — everything above us suddenly erupted into a blind fury as dust and debris enveloped every league of space around us.

We were blinded in one instant and then coughing the next, as a flurry of mana beckoned everyone into a panic.

“I KNOW YOU ARE THERE, MERCENARY SCUM. I WILL SAY THIS ONCE, AND ONLY ONCE. SURRENDER, AND I WILL MAKE SURE YOUR ENDS ARE SWIFT!”

I didn’t respond. Neither did Uncle Grisniar, as we both deployed masking screens that kept us shielded whilst we made our hasty retreat.

However, it quickly became clear that even this wasn’t enough. Despite having effectively masked our own presence in the manastreams, the rest of our forces weren’t anywhere near as fortunate.

Either out of sheer panic triggering lapses in judgement or simply out of a lack of skill to do so, most of our magically inclined forces were completely exposed; their auras and manafields beckoned to be struck down by the rapidly encroaching enemy. 

Panicked footsteps hinted at this being the case as the sounds of supplies being haphazardly dropped soon erupted one after another.

We were at the cusp of a complete rout. 

“Calm yourselves—” I attempted to speak out, only to be met with the blood-curdling cries of a fellow lupinor and the crumpling of a body just fifty or so paces behind me.

That death came just in time for the arrival of one, two, three… no… eleven more members of House Risling and Tislan’s forces. 

All of which had landed seemingly out of thin air, and all of which were now on the prowl for our weary and beleaguered forces.

Erupting from the shadows, a voice belonging to a man I’d met only once before, and in circumstances barely better than this, made a chilling declaration.

“Let the hunt commence!”

It was Lord Risling himself.

The rebel leader floated high above the rest of his men — allies and spawn alike — riding atop a beast that was thought to be entirely absent from the unruly northern territories.

The Amphiphore Gryphon… I silently gasped, my eyes taking in the manasteel platemail it wore. My gaze quickly honed in on its helmet in particular, emblazoned with the sigil of the Risling and Tislan combined dynasties — a shield with two creeping vines, snaking its way to a lupinor skull where roses and daffodils erupted in a splendor of rot.

The man himself was the epitome of said rot, his body clad head to toe in stolen Night's Watch armor that Uncle Grisniar was quick to point out.

“Now we know where the King’s second guard was taken…” He noted darkly, right before all hell broke loose.

The eleven fresh new combatants flooded our path with the wrath of a family scorned.

Lazy streams and leaky waterways soon erupted into brackish flash floods, carrying our exhausted and wounded mages towards their certain doom down towards the mouth of the valley.

This prompted both me and Uncle Grisniar to quickly leap up, gripping our claws into the narrow ledges along the canyon’s sides, clinging on for dear life as the rapids intensified.

What had formerly been the flat lands of the valley had quickly started filling up, forcing those still capable of emerging from the waters to clambor to either side of the canyon and valley walls—

FWOOOSH!

—before that too became a death trap.

Flames erupted along the cliff sides we’d clung onto for safety, causing us to let go, abandoning our desperate and futile attempts at climbing up and out of the valley. 

“GEOMANCERS, RAISE EARTH!” Uncle Grisniar yelled, calling for what was left of our backline forces to combat this aggressive new push, conjuring up and raising the earth high above the newly encroaching rapids.

This move, however, would be short-lived.

“GUAGH!” 

As one by one—

“HELP—”

—I watched helplessly from the wayside—

“BASTA-AGH!”

—as soldier and mage alike fell to the blade—

SHHNNKK!

—water—

Garrbbllle…

—and fire alike.

“AHHHHHHHHH!”

I tried to reach for them, to cast something in order to save them.

However, I was quickly stopped by Uncle Grisniar, who vehemently pointed downstream and our remaining forces much, much further down from here. 

The same forces that Tislan had abandoned out of some self-absorbed bout of lunacy.

“We have to regroup. We must—”

CLATTER!!

A loud clattering of metal against metal erupted in front of me as I witnessed three of House Risling’s men arriving on our little floating island atop this rapidly flooding valley.

Each of them wore full knight’s armor, their heads covered and their eyes shielded from the both of us.

I raised my sword alongside Uncle Grisniar as we steadied ourselves for the fight to come.

Though our chances were slim, we could still make it out of this.

WOOSH! WOOSH! WOOSH!

Or so we thought.

“Ah! Such a fine quarry… if it isn’t the runt of the litter himself.” Lord Risling spoke with a lackadaisical guffaw, tossing his cape to the side as he adjusted his footing on the gryphon’s saddle. “I am not typically a man of mercy.” He paused, before grinning maliciously, pointing at the armor he wore. “You of all people should know that, runt. However, I am feeling particularly… charitable today. Thus, I present to you my offer: surrender and become my prisoner. Or, resist, and become my unwitting prisoner regardless. Either way, my wish shall be fulfilled. Though if you don’t mind me saying… it would be wise for you to pick the former, so as to at the very least avoid the shame and humiliation of loss.”

I paused, refusing to acknowledge the man as the dead air following his ultimatum. 

“Too stunned to speak, runt?”

“No matter how loud the wind howls, a castle does not acknowledge its existence.” I responded dryly, causing all present — even Lord Risling’s own men — to slowly turn up towards him.

Without a visor, his expression was obvious to all. And what it was… was just as well expected.

An incredulous scowl, wrapped in an all-too-confident glare.

“Perhaps it doesn’t.” He acknowledged snarkily. “But a castle is built up of brick and stone all the same…” He promptly remounted his gryphon, holding its reins tight. “And I shall enjoy tearing you down, brick by solitary brick…” 

I gripped my sword tighter, as did Uncle Grisniar, as we both gave each other one last understanding gaze.

This was it.

Our last stand.

With a single nod, we both raised our swords high, poised to conjure every spell we had left in our repertoire, committed to draining the local manastreams dry if we needed to.

We made the first move, Uncle Grisniar charging for Lord Risling, and my blade poised for the gaggle of three fools.

Things became… difficult to follow after that.

As I felt my body and blade becoming one, my sword smashing through the throat of the first mage, before ultimately being stopped by the platemail of the second, and a searing pain to follow soon after.

Then, I heard a thud, followed not by the screams of a gryphon but by the pained gasps of an elderly lupinor.

It… was already over.

It was over before it could even begin.

“Hmmph.” I heard through one muffled ear. “What a shame.” Lord Risling continued, his tone drenched in an ill-gotten nectar. “Victory is ours, men. Call the pegasi and—”

BRRRRRRRRRRRTTTTTT!

bbbbBRRRRRTTTTTTT!!

“W-what… what in His Eternal Majesty was that?” One of the fools spoke, his breath shaking, mirroring the dread currently welling within me.

My heart sank, but I knew not why. My whole body shook involuntarily from the utter tearing of the manastreams.

Indeed, Lord Risling’s gryphon began bucking and cawing, its wings flapping in sheer panic.

“We have to leave!” The other fool spoke, his armor rattling as he sprinted up and down the little floating island we were on, clearly in a state of complete and utter panic.

“CALM! CALM YOURSELVES!” Lord Risling commanded, mirroring my own commands not a few moments earlier. “One of you, call the pegasi so that we may—”

THUUUMPPPPPPPP

My heart stopped and my body buckled at an explosion of mana that suddenly enveloped the valley.

I could feel my manafield just barely holding on, as the manafields of those nearby barely holding on to life were quickly washed away, accelerating their deaths, with some even harmonizing.

The world went silent.

Then all hell broke loose.

I forcibly turned myself over to look at the skies, watching as Lord Risling’s pegasi forces fell one by one, each neighing in a fit of grievous dread before slamming into either the newly created river or one of the tops of the cliff faces to either side of us.

The gut-wrenching sounds of pegasus and rider alike slamming into the dirt sent shivers up my spine.

My frazzled mind raced as to exactly what was happening.

Though this search for answers wouldn’t take long, as what I saw next explained everything. 

High above us, floating ominously, was a ship — a construct of manasteel and enchanted wood, with sails that soared impossibly high above it, blanketing the valley behind its shadow. 

This darkness beckoned a silence that suddenly enveloped the valley, with only the sounds of the rushing rapids and the frantic flapping of the gryphon’s wings interrupting the otherwise otherworldly scene.

“Retreat.” Lord Risling spoke under a stuttering breath.

“M-my lord—?”

“WE MUST RETREAT!” The rebel leader practically screamed out, pulling hard on the reins of his gryphon as he attempted to ascend up and out of the valley.

The panic, dread, and sheer terror on his face was palpable, as he struggled to control the beast he rode.

This same panic was reflected amongst his men. Those few who had been able to overcome the sheer dread cast by the aethraship quickly followed their liege close in tow, using whatever enchantments or mounts they had left available to them. 

Their ascent was haphazard, their paths unsteady as panicked breaths and flapping wings echoed throughout the valley. 

Then, as suddenly as their retreat began, it stopped.

Replaced instead by a blood-curdling cry of both lupinor and beast alike, preceded by a massive disturbance in the local manastreams.

I watched in bated breath as the haughty rebel and his mount was suddenly set ablaze, burning to a crisp just at the cusp of the lip of the cliffside above us.

My eyes winced at the brilliant beam of concentrated light that had been focused on the pair from the bow of the vessel.

Moreover, I had to hold my eyes and manasenses shut as the unrelenting onslaught of flashing lights from the aethraship focused on each and every individual mount, flyer, and warrior that remained within and above the valley.

Though my eyes were shut and my senses forcibly shielded, there was one sense that could not be as easily ignored… especially as the battle soon came to a close, and the detritus of war slowly wafted their way towards us.

The acrid smell of singed fur, feathers, and ashen meat was difficult, if not impossible, to ignore.

Tthe scent was so overpowering that I couldn’t help but to get up from my downed state, straining against slash and stab wounds alike.

It was at that moment, as I began examining the battlefield, that I noted the waters below rapidly receding, and the effects of Lord Risling’s aggressive actions abruptly dissipating too.

Though beyond that, I had to also take into account the dragon in the dungeon — the great wooden and steel beast that hovered overhead.

A vessel which would’ve rivalled even our grandest of seafaring capital ships, brought to bear in the skies above us. 

Though to compare it to a mere seafaring vessel would be to do this craft a disservice — for unlike the wooden, lifeless ships that patrolled our oceans, this one possessed a trait that put even the greatest of our capital ships to shame: its manafield. 

Or more specifically, its hundreds upon hundreds of individual manafields, what I could only describe as organized chaos — as each one contributed to the constant maelstrom that nipped and tore at the local manastreams. From its vertical masts, through to its horizontal sails, down to even its keel that practically oozed mana from whatever manastores it had within it.

It was this overwhelming breadth of enchantments that triggered the sense of impending doom across the valley. 

As the arrival of such a mana-hungry beast more than likely broke the local streams, its very presence causing all those unready and unprepared to become but buoys in a maelstrom.

My shock and complete disorientation, however, would slowly come to a halt at several details I noted about the craft.

First, by the coat of arms proudly painted across its sails — the helical rings of His Eternal Truths.

And second… by a shrill and boisterous laugh at the very aft of the vessel, from a certain lupinor who straddled its bowsprit like some sort of a feline — Prince Tislan.

The lupinor didn’t speak, at least not at first, as he merely observed us with some twisted sense of satisfaction. A satisfaction that went so far as to force him to break decorum, as he started laying flat on his chest, with two arms propped against the wide and flat bowsprit, as if to mock us for our futile efforts.

“... and the Admirals and Generals did say: Oh woe unto us, and unto the fate of our men. Oh what misery we now inherit. Oh what  a pitiful state we inhabit. Oh how foolish we were to ignore the warnings of our savior. Oh how blind we were, placing pride above faith. Oh, what might have been had we only heeded his words. If only… if only…”  The lanky princeling sang in a lilting cadence, swinging his legs to and fro like a child at play. 

“But just like His Eternal Majesty, I too do not abandon blood nor kin, even if they refuse my aid at first.” He continued, his voice carried aloft by the simple spells he was partial to, in lieu of the more advanced spells he found too difficult to master. “So what say you, my dear cousin and father?” The princeling’s grin grew even further as he now got up from his prone state. “Are you too stunned to speak? Or perhaps merely too stubborn to admit your own follies?”

The ship descended further and further throughout his speech, to the point where the bowsprit was barely ten feet above us.

“You took me for a madman, yet my methods have bore greater fruit.” He concluded, as he marched forwards, towering over us. “I have accomplished what you both have failed to do. I, and I alone, have snatched victory from the jaws of defeat!” 

It took me a moment to compose myself before I managed a proper response, my gaze locked to that of the princeling. “...While I concur with some of your statements, there’s one that needs woeful correction, Prince Tislan.”

“Oh? Pray tell, my dear cousin.” 

“You did not do this alone.” I countered.

“Oh. Oh. Is that what we have resorted to? Schoolpup insults? Semantics? Oh my dear cousin, it is painfully obvious you have naught a leg to stand on!” 

“So says the prince whose legs stand precariously upon Nexian constructs, whose pride stems wholly from strength borrowed and loaned, whose current victory belies debt to a benefactor.” 

The princeling winced, one of his eyes twitching. “So you would allow these treacherous dogs to sack your father’s convoy, tarnish your legacy, and sully our name?”

“I would rather have committed to this conflict on my own terms, son.” Uncle Grisniar shot back, pushing me aside as he confronted his son. 

“Father.” He uttered emphatically. “Out of all the people… I’d have assumed you to be the one to see reason! Day in and day out, I’ve heard nothing but the constant cries for strength, for perseverance, for honor, sacrifice, chivalry, and most of all, victory.” He stomped fitfully, gesturing to the devastation around us. “Have I not delivered what you have always asked of me? Have I not won this battle?” He exclaimed, his voice breaking at certain points. “Or are you not willing to abide by your personal adage? To base one’s judgements on the results of one’s own—”

“This is not your own victory, son.” He growled out, taking careful steps towards Tislan. “Tell me, what did you have to sacrifice for this foolish venture?”

That question caused the princeling’s features to falter, as he began darting his eyes left and right, as if to grasp an answer from which there existed no prompt or notes. “This is a matter best left for another time, father—”

“What did you offer them, son?” 

The prince’s confidence dwindled further, his words devolving into stutters to find whatever excuse he could make to assuage uncle.

“Allow me, Prince Tislan.” An unknown voice spoke softly, prompting the princeling to bow deeply in deference before promptly disappearing onto the deck of the ship. 

Taking his place was an elven figure clad in layers of fine regalia. From clean-pressed white pants to a tunic hidden beneath a single piece of fine plate, every part of the man’s uniform was exactly what Tislan and Talnin loved — the appearance of strength through decorum. 

“Your majesties.” The white-haired elf bowed deeply, his tone of voice laden with a smarmy self-assurance that I’d expected from a man of his station. “It is a pleasure and an honor to come to the aid of our Adjacencies. Indeed, you have provided quite an opportunity for my cadets to attain first shipmanship, so I must graciously thank you for this incredible opportunity. But where are my manners… please, come aboard. We have much to discuss.” 

A ramp was quickly lowered, along with two honor guards who stood at attention at the entrance to the aft deck. 

Each step up the steps was a challenge in itself however, as my body had started to once more feel the full ramifications of my most recent gambit. 

The captain, the vulture he was, immediately noticed this — snapping his fingers and summoning several healers within mere moments. 

“I offer you the services of our healers, your majesties.” The elf spoke politely. 

“Under one condition.” I uttered abruptly, interrupting what was probably going to be another long Nexian spiel.

“Your majesty?”

“I want my men on this ship healed alongside us.” I spoke with no hesitation, causing the Captain to widen his eyes in shock.  

“I assume you mean your mages and nobles, yes?” He attempted to clarify. 

“And our chosen ones and any men you can find.” I answered bluntly, immediately resulting in a look of both disgust and worry. 

“Perhaps you require some rest before such deliberations—”

“You dare question my authority?” I snapped back, bearing my teeth in the process. “If you truly are here to aid an Adjacency, then do so with the wishes of the Sovereign’s hand.” 

We locked eyes in that instant, two egos trapped in a struggle against decorum and authority.

I could feel the elf’s disgust, dismay, and most of all — impatience.

He knew we were both in a lose-lose situation. That neither of us would win following my ultimatum.

However, after a moment of deliberation, it was clear that whatever it was Tislan had promised him had probably outweighed the social shame my orders carried with it.

As such, he relented, returning to the same amiable polite smile from before.

“As you wish, your majesty.” He bowed once more, gesturing towards the two Ursinarealm healers that deferred their eyes away from our own. “We shall discuss Prince Tislan’s terms following your recovery. Until then, I wish you a speedy and expedient recovery.”

With that, the elf left, not even going so far as to introduce himself — a subtle power play — as he’d accomplished all he had to do without as much as delivering on an ounce of expectant courtesy. 

No matter. I thought to myself as I inched closer towards the bow of the ship, bearing witness to the repercussions of the battle from high above.

This… wasn’t anything like the war table. Nor was it anything like seeing the world through the eyes of a flying familiar, or from the back of a flying mount. 

No. 

This… was an entirely different experience, one that couldn’t be matched by vicarious visions, or even atop a mount.

Because the scene from above the battlefield, especially after all had been said and done… was not just eerie, but entirely gut-wrenching.

From high above, there existed a sense of unparalleled serenity. A serenity and confidence granted by the sheer power of the vessel I stood upon. 

I recalled the instantaneous attacks dealt upon each and every mage. 

I recounted the ferocity and lethality of every spell cast and enchantment utilized. 

I could only imagine how… inconsequential and removed it must have felt witnessing that, and even directing that from within this ship.

And I couldn’t help but to contrast that to the visceral magely fights I had to overcome down below.

Fights where the clash of each blade and the death of each opponent was all so very raw.

The fight for survival, and the struggle for victory, was beyond palpable.

And yet… despite all of that, it held naught a candle to the power of a single aethraship.

I stood forlornly for what felt like hours, staring down at a world torn and scarred from the unparalleled ferocity of this symbol of Nexian primacy.