Cataclysm Conquest | Chapter 12: An Unexpected Reception (First Draft)

Monday, November 28, 4 S.E.

The Ulysses pulled in toward the greatly expanded coastline of what had once been Michigan. The Lake they now sailed, nominally known as Lake Michigan, had been greatly reduced by alterations in topography—and what had once been a Great Lake was little more than a glorified, vastly reduced large river of water, wide enough for the Ulysses to sail through freely, but no longer bearing its former grandeur.

James observed the change from where he stood with the Marines, their Captain Morgan Grant, and the Lion Princess herself, peering out at the passing, brand new coastline that defied their existing maps.

“Bloody hell,” the Marine leader muttered, standing close to James. “The yanks got hit as well.”

James nodded grimly in reply. Their transit through the Seaway had been eased by expanded mass in the rivers and transit points, and then the other shoe had dropped upon cruising into Lake Michigan: what the System had given, it had also taken away.

“The world isn’t what we remember,” James said grimly. “Forget the sea monsters and the storms, the entire world is changing. Those earthquakes in the first few months must have done some terrifying tectonic work across the planet.”

Morgan took his turn to nod in agreement and glanced at the Princess, who James had noticed was standing apart from them, gripping the railing and peering out at the coastline.

“Think the Emissary made it?” Morgan asked hopefully, glancing toward their charge and then back to James. “Trekking across miles of unknown new territory to reach some little Kingdom that may not even know we’re coming isn’t my idea of a bloody good time, Jim.”

James shrugged a little and stepped forward, peering out at the coastline.

“Hells if I know, Morgan. Bloody world’s gone mad, old chap, and we’re a day ahead of schedule thanks to the Seaway’s changes. We’ll be lucky if we even find a good place to drop anchor and get Her Imperial Highness safely off-loaded. We don’t exactly have a plethora of dinghies.”

One of the great limitations of post-System maritime operations was the ostensible lack of smaller craft, due in large part to the inoperable nature of standard combustion. Aetherium engines were not small things, and they were largely incompatible with everyday vessels. The Ulysses was moderately sized for what she was, but bigger was far easier than smaller when it came to Aetherotech.

“Maybe they’re waiting for us further in the Lake,” Morgan added. “Poor buggers probably didn’t even realize how badly the changes—”

A sudden blast of the Ulysses’ immense horn, rumbling out in a body-shaking growl of pressure and filling the area with its thunderous declaration, drew the gazes of those on the deck—barring the Princess—toward the bridge, where Lieutenant McCairn was waving his beefy left arm toward them.

“Unknown force spotted, Captain!” the Scotsman bellowed. “They’ve got the right bloody flags, aye, but it’s not what we bloody expected! Should be coming into view soon!”

James grimaced at the announcement and turned back toward the coastline, squinting as he searched for what the Scotsman was talking about. His eyes swept the area fruitlessly as he sought the mark, but nothing remained visible. Very likely, McCairn had used the telescope from the superior elevation of the bridge to spot the figures in the distance, and they were outside of even Tempered eyesight for the moment.

Five minutes of sailing later, however, he finally saw what the Weapons Officer had been bellowing about.

When he did, he swallowed.

A massive collection of armored soldiers was assembled on a distant-but-approaching peninsula, jutting out almost a mile from the mainland, and looking to be perhaps two miles wide at a glance. Instead of a simple receiving force, an entire army was stationed in place, with the mid-morning sunlight reflecting clearly off of polished armor. Flags flapped in the coastal breeze of Lake Michigan, and James spotted at least thirty-four distinct banners billowing in the wind, all of them dwarfed by a thirty-fifth banner bearing an immense black dragon rampant on a red background, and embraced by a golden laurel.

At his side, Morgan let out a low curse.

“The yanks came through,” the massive Marine said warily. “But that’s not what I thought I’d see, James. That’s a bloody massive force for an escort mission.”

James nodded in muted surprise at the declaration and glanced at Morgan. “Maybe it’s their main force,” he suggested skeptically, looking back toward the peninsula. “The good news is that the Ulysses should be able to get close enough to extend her ramp. I’ll go check in with my First Officer.”

Morgan nodded, and with a bow toward the silent Princess, James hurried away.

*

Twenty minutes later, James stood at the port side of the Ulysses central deck as the ship slowly navigated in toward the peninsula, his eyes sweeping over the assembled forces, taking special note of the various smaller banners and the line of resplendent, winged-pauldron and winged-helmet individuals in two blocks of fifty at their fore.

A man that James identified as some species of pale elf stood at the host’s head, his arms clasped behind his back, and important-looking adornments decorating his white warplate. At his right side—from James’ perspective—stood a human and elf in decorated silver warplate, single-plumed helmets under their arms, while a golden-armored female elf stood on the man’s right, her own helmet under his right arm and bearing two black plumes, while her auburn hair billowed in the wind.

When the Ulysses came to a halt, James eyed the assemblage warily where it stood on the up-angled, wide plateau of the elevated peninsula, clearing his throat before speaking down to them.

“Good morning! I am Captain James Cook, Commanding Officer, HMNS Ulysses, under the authority of His Imperial Majesty, Emperor Henry George Britannia the First, Great Lion of Britannia and ruler of the [Empire of the Lion]. May I ask the name and disposition of your force commander?”

When he finished speaking, silence was the immediate reply, until the white-armored Elf stepped forward, raising his gaze toward the Captain.

“Hail and well met, Captain Cook,” the man said in a powerful, musically masculine voice, sounding a strange mix between southern-state American and very nearly British. “I am Earl Maeron Brightblade, Minister of War to His Royal Majesty, Archon-King Leonidas Achilles Romulus Altera Pendragon, System-avowed [Sovereign] of the [Kingdom of Avalon]; Black Knight of Terra, Slayer of the Nine-Headed Hydra, First Archon of Terran Blood, [Defier of Heavens], [Kingdom Founder], [Royal Champion], The Undefeated, Armybreaker, and [Terran Cataclysm].”

James blinked twice at the introduction and then cleared his throat.

“Very well then, ah, Your Lordship,” he said with proper deference to the man’s given first title. “Are you here to escort Her Imperial Highness, Princess Elizabeth Juliet Britannia?”

“We are, Captain,” the Earl responded steadily. “Countess Diana Margaret Montgomery sends her warm regards and bids you a fond sail back to the Empire.”

James sighed in quiet relief at the last part. Countess Montgomery was known to him, and he’d also known she’d been sent as the advanced Emissary. He turned his head and nodded to Morgan, who let out his own sigh of relief as James shifted his attention to the bridge and gave a more decisive nod.

A second later, the Ulysses groaned faintly as aetherotech whined, and a rapidly expanding ramp of rune-marked grey steel expanded outward from the main deck, descending gradually until the steel impacted the surface of the elevated peninsula. After it had deployed, James turned to the Princess, stepping over to her with a bow.

“Will you permit me to escort you to land, Your Imperial Highness?” he asked dutifully.

Elizabeth finally turned to him after he spoke, and her lips quirked into a faint smile.

“How chivalrous, my good Captain,” she demurred, inclining her head and then striding toward the ramp, while the Marines led by Morgan fell in behind James as he followed her. The Princess calmly lifted her right hand to him, positioning herself to his left, and James took it dutifully, walking a step behind her as the Princess set off down the ramp with her emerald eyes fully focused on the waiting force.

The total descent was close to twenty meters, and they reached the bottom a minute later, coming to a halt before what James realized was an entire race of staggeringly tall people.

Bloody Elves are massive, he thought in wonder, releasing the Princess’ hand and sweeping into a formal salute toward the Earl.

“Earl Brightblade,” he said as the Elf calmly assumed his own salute, right fist over his heart, knuckles to the breastplate, “I hereby officially transition Her Imperial Highness’ safety and well-being to the Kingdom of Avalon. In normal times, I would have sent with her a proper detachment of the Lion Guard, but we were unable to accommodate them aboard the Ulysses.”

The Earl simply nodded at that and the Elf to the left—the Earl’s right—stepped forward with a clank of gilded warplate, saluting fist-to-heart and bowing to Elizabeth as her green eyes gleamed.

“Your Imperial Highness,” the woman said in a musical voice, “I am Exemplar Verity Durandal, Leader of the Fifth Chapter Invictus of the Ordo Aureati. By the command of Primarch Mernyn Sunblessed and Archon-King Pendragon, I will be the leader of your private detail until we return to the Thronehold.”

The golden warriors, their helmets and pauldrons adorned with draconic wings, slammed their fists into a perfectly choreographed salute at Verity’s words, echoing the slam of warplate across the area as they roared “Hail and well met, Your Imperial Highness!” in tandem.

James tried not to gawk at the display as Elizabeth let out a quiet hum.

“I suppose I will be in your care, then, Exemplar Durandal,” the Imperial Princess said calmly, inclining her head. “I do not suppose you have a horse I might ride?”

Verity smiled quietly at the question.

“You may, Your Imperial Highness, but we brought you a proper carriage for the return journey, and Her Royal Majesty Queen Aylar Taleria Lux Fortuna Altera Pendragon has dispatched a small cadre of servants and a private chef to ensure your journey is comfortable. We anticipate returning to the Thronehold tomorrow morning, marching at a steady pace through the night, and have afforded you all comfort for the duration.”

Elizabeth parted her lips at that, then pursed them in surprise, merely nodding once more.

“The generosity of your King and Queen is apparently boundless, Exemplar,” she said, and then turned to the Earl. “May I ask whom else stands with you, my lord?”

James glanced at the demure, reserved nature the fiery Princess was conveying and chose not to comment, turning as the human and elf on his other side stepped forward and saluted.

“I have with me Tribune Alexander Jason Maxwell, of the First Cohort of the Fifth Legion, and Tribune Erion Lys Almun, of the Second Cohort of the Fifth Legion.”

Both men bowed when the introductions were complete and spoke dutifully.

“Greetings, Your Imperial Highness!” they said in tandem, before stepping back and assuming the same parade rest.

James found himself stunned by the display and turned toward the Earl, his eyes tightening faintly at the corners.

“My lord, forgive me the query, but you have assembled a grand host here. Is this not a part of your main strength?”

Earl Brightblade blinked at his question and looked momentarily confused, glancing back as if to double-check something, and then shaking his head.

“No, Captain Cook. I apologize for disappointing you, but the strength of Avalon is needed to remain in the Thronehold’s surrounds. I have brought with me the first of two Cohorts of the Fifth Legion’s ten Cohorts, and a single Chapter of the Ordo Aureati, as commanded by His Majesty.”

James did a quick mental calculation in his head based on his original view of the army, and felt his mind buzz. There were about two thousand Legionaries, if they were called that, present, and one hundred golden-armored warriors. If two thousand was only two cohorts, and a Legion consisted of ten, that meant each Legion was ten thousand strong, and there were at least five of them?!

A standing army of at least fifty thousand.

Mastering himself, James nodded politely.

“I understand,” he said carefully. “It must be needed to keep the strongest at home.”

The Earl smiled in agreement with his supposition and nodded in appreciation.

“Yes, I am glad you understand. The Archon-King wanted to ensure the Princess’ safe arrival, but I am the only Ascendant that Dawnhaven could spare. The rest are attending to matters of the Realm, and the Venerates rarely, if ever, leave the City,” the Minister explained apologetically. “I assure you, however, that Her Imperial Highness will be quite safe. Each of the Aureates is at least a Contender, and we have at minimum twenty Contenders with the Cohorts, as well as both Tribunes being of Elite rank.”

James felt his spine weaken with each successive reassurance, and he managed to nod without showing it, his mind racing at the information. An Ascendant? Multiple Ascendants in the Kingdom? Venerates? And each of the so-named Aureates was at least a Contender? He felt his mind spinning and turned, bowing as needed to the Princess to distract himself.

“This is where I leave you, Your Imperial Highness. I offer you my best wishes and hopes for a prosperous posting as Ambassador Plenipotentiary.”

The Princess received his bow with a wry smile, and her eyes twinkled knowingly.

“Oh, I believe it shall be rather enjoyable, good Captain. Do give my Father my regards. I think I shall greatly enjoy myself in this lovely Kingdom.”

James nodded once more, followed by a salute from Morgan and his Marines, and marched back toward the Ulysses as Verity gestured for the Princess to follow, and the Earl turned to motion his forces to begin the return march. The speed and efficiency with which they complied only further alarmed James, and when they reached the deck, he eyed the already-departing army and the carriage nestled at the center of the formation, guarded by the Aureates.

“Morgan,” he said as the ramp began to retract, and the aethertotech engines hummed into life. “I think Britannia has made a terrible miscalculation. Anyone who can send that measure of power on a simple escort mission, with no worry for the loss of power, isn’t anywhere close to irrelevant.”

“You’re telling me, old chap,” Morgan said grimly, watching the retreating force in kind. “Did you hear how casually that elf mentioned Ascendants and Venerates? I thought this was some backwater nation that the Emperor had taken an idle fancy to. No backwater has bloody Venerates, Jim.”

James nodded quietly and turned to the Marine Captain.

“I don’t think there’s a single Venerate in the entire Empire, Morgan,” he said quietly, his eyes drifting toward the bridge. “We'd best get underway quick-smart, and have reports ready for His Imperial Majesty. If this is the strength of the Archon-King after three months, I shudder to think what it’ll look like after five bloody years.”

Morgan nodded in agreement, and by unspoken coordination, the two of them glanced back toward the steadily marching army as it moved across the land in a tide of silver and core of gold.

Thank God for the ocean, James thought quietly, and thank God for distance.

Quietly, in the back of his mind, a more worried voice spoke up.

Distance is just a moat, James, it warned softly, and no moat lasts forever.