TSA: 011 - Spring blossoms red

A warm welcome.

{Excerpt}

…A renowned fraternity formed by a small group of merchants in Crotha during the late 1400s is believed to be the first true merchant guild in Udoris. Following the annexation of a Crotha after the Great War, the growing confederation of merchant guilds came to dominate trade around the Gulf of Verum, with their influence soon extending along the Northern Seas; all the way from Gold Bay in the west to the Caspian gulf in the east. By the next few decades, the confederation—or the Chamber of Commerce as it is known today—had mastered the process by which trade was conducted, and in process, codified the rules governing the conditions of commerce.

As a result of this maturing, Udorian businesses grew larger and became more permanent. By the end of the century, merchant colonies could be found in all Udorian capitals; from Neude to Bycrest, and even, all the way up to the reclusive Arien capital, Hatford. Over time these partnerships became more commonplace and led to the development of large trading companies. These developments also enabled the rapid growth of other organisations such as the Sanctuary of Scrolls, as well as a large coalition of Verumitte mercenary companies known today to many as the Warriors’ Guild; both of which remain to this day, in close partnership with the Chamber of Commerce…

...

Excerpt from Jonas Diane's second book on Udorian powers - 'Capitalism, the mother of a modern civilization'

{END}

• [13.02.1624]

Maidenpool.

THE birds were chirping, the bees were buzzing. In the trees, new leaves were fussing; a symphony of life was all around as nature's chorus resounded. The snow gradually melted away to reveal a vibrant palette of greens and yellows. Birds returned from their winter migration, filling the fields with wild songs and melodies. The air was filled with sweet perfume as the flowers began to bloom; their petals unfurling; reaching for the sun; thawing, burgeoning.

Aden sighed as he looked away from the swiftly thawing Strega, his gaze, forlorn, and visage, just a bit worn. “So, do we have an agreement?” Vaiu asked, playfully prodding him in the waist.

“This is daylight robbery,” the duke replied, exasperated.

“Yes, it is.”

“Blatant banditry, that's what this is.”

“I concur,” the matriarch giggled back, twirling a lock of her hair between her fingers. She seemed to enjoy seeing him frustrated.

“...Can you make a few concessions? For old time’s sake?”

“No.”

“...Fine.”

"Aden," The Matriarch tutted, "you are making it seem like I am taking advantage of you."

The duke turned to look at her, his left brow crooked.

Vaiu giggled again. Turning back, Aden shook his head in self-depreciation. “When His Majesty hears of this...”

“The Queen agreed, didn’t she?”

“Her Majesty is desperate,” Aden shot back, his brows scrunched up in irritation, “You do know it’s in bad taste to take advantage of her desperation when your people had a hand—however unintentional—in this debacle.”

Vaiu shook her head at that. “Aden,” she said with a small shake of her head, “you know very well things can never be so simple. I cannot give my sister any more excuses to denounce me before the Elders; your refusal to marry me after so cruelly duping me of my virtue has done irreparable damage to my status as Matriarch. Rabia causes enough trouble as it is already. Should she manage to convince the Elders that the Creed’s interests are not my first and only priority, I can only begin to dread the consequences that would befall us all.”

Aden fell silent. “...I am being inconsiderate,” he sighed moments later, running his fingers through his hair. “I am sorry, forgive me.”

Vaiu sniffed. “You better be,” she said, crossing her arms as she turned to look away, “you can only scarcely begin to understand how much I have done for you already, you ungrateful bastard.”

The duke sighed again. Just as he opened his mouth to placate the woman, he noticed a figure approach them from the corner of his eyes.

“Your Holiness,” the approaching woman—a priestess—intoned, bowing at the waist as she extended a tiny scroll towards the Matriarch, “A message for you.”

Aden observed, intrigued, as Vaiu's pouting expression gradually morphed into a frown as she read through the letter. “Is anything the matter?” he asked, noticing the hesitant glance she shot at him.

“...Apparently,” Vaiu began, her brows scrunched up in confusion, “over the winter, your son razed Mallowston Fort to the ground, raised a peasant army of about five hundred men and is preparing to do battle with the Count at his harbour.”

Aden’s face darkened at the news. “...Sean did what?”

“No,” Vaiu said, appearing equally befuddled as she handed the parchment slip over to him. “Not Sean. That one had long mutinied and defected west to Quilton; not before robbing you blind of both gold and men though. Levi, your true-born, was the one who ordered the razing of Mallowston Fort after he was threatened by Earl Gilbert to surrender Faywyn.”

“...Lies,” Aden muttered in disbelief. “Sean would not… Levi could not,” he said, shaking his head in denial.

Vaiu said nothing. Her silence spoke volumes of its own.

“Where is the Count now?” the duke asked, his face suddenly growing pale. Vaiu glanced at the priestess by her side.

“Your Holiness,” the woman supplied, “three vessels bearing the Hera family crest were sighted sailing upstream past the harbour just a few hours ago. They should arrive at Mallowston sometime before or around noon two days after tomorrow.”

“...Fuck,” Aden exhaled, his face paling further. “Fuck!”

***

• [16.02.1624]

Mallowston.

Count Josh stood at the quarterdeck of the Dandelion, watching with a hint of wistful nostalgia as the brig tacked its way upwind against the Strega's thawing flow. Thin, broken sheets of ice crashed into the vessel’s bow and sides with a muffled crunching sound as it sailed along, westerly winds urging it forward. Ahead, the Serenity and Endeavor churned against the great river's gurgling flux; the deceptively gentle current ebbing every once in a while along the sloops’ serpentine path.

“A great day to be alive, is it not?” the Count proclaimed, digging his fists into his sides as he stared at the rapidly materialising outline that was Mallowston harbour.

“It is, My Lord Duke,” the Dandelion’s helmsman—a noble mid-aged fellow from house Locket—quipped behind him, one nearby knight chuckling in good humour.

Josh chuckled as well, his lips twisting into a wistful smile. “I am not Duke of Faywyn yet, my good man. There’s a lot to be done before I can name myself Governor of Souville; at the very least, I have to get Gilbert wedded to that Timel lass, lest the old boor raises a ruckus again. Ah… so much to be done, such little time.”

The helmsman smiled in response. Josh’s watchful eye observed as the vessel’s crew hurried to bring the Dandelion into port. Then it happened; the first salvo—sudden and brutal. The count tumbled to the ground, screaming, as the Dandelion heaved to one side from the force. Great bluish plumes of smoke erupted in an explosion of fire and metal to reveal the vague shadows of artillery batteries hidden amongst the yard clutter. The Dandelion and Serenity both shuddered as they were struck by chain shots on their portsides; The Endeavor at the forefront of the line fared much worse, as by some horrid stroke of bad luck her mainmast was shorn right through by the artillery barrage. The stricken vessel began listing towards her port side as she and her damaged mast―still attached by the ship’s rigging―were pulled back by the river’s current.

The Dandelion’s above-deck scene was a gruesome horror; a nightmare made real. The air was suddenly afoul with the thick stench of blood and entrails, the ground littered with the broken bodies of noblemen and peasants alike. Severed limbs and mangled torsos lay scattered about; blood staining the wooden floorboard, soaking into the deck like some macabre offering to a deranged god.

“What the fuck is going on!” Count Josh exclaimed from where he lay down on the deck, his visage twisted into a boiling rictus of rage, fear and confusion; his shout barely surfacing above the veritable torrent of screams and pained howls from the Dandelion’s smitten crew.

“An ambush, My Lord!” the helmsman shouted back from where he cowered beneath the ship’s helm.

“No, shit!” the count snarled. “All hands on deck! Load the guns and prepare for battle! … Shit! Belay that! I said, belay that! Raise the godsdamned sail and set anchor aweigh! Helmsman! Steer us out of Endeavor’s path! Now!” Josh shouted as he gestured towards the damaged sloop being pulled downstream towards them; the Serenity, unable to manoeuvre out of the way, immediately collided with her stricken sister-ship, a dull, worrying creaking noise echoing across the river.

Count Josh grimaced at the sight of his men still hurrying to arm the Dandelion’s three two-pounder portside minions despite his orders; the vessel could hold more than three times the armament it currently held but had been partially disarmed to carry more men and supplies the month prior. Out-gunned, the count opted for a complete retreat as he watched the Endeavor get dragged downstream for a few hundred meters before getting caught on a sandbar about two dozen meters from the southern bank.

“Hostile brigs!” one crewmate shouted, drawing Josh’s attention to the two vessels ahead weighing anchor to just below the surface as they let the current pull them out of the harbour. The count blanched as the vessels’ combined gunports rose to reveal the menacing lips of twenty cannons.

All aimed at his vessel.

Josh dove for the deck as another salvo ripped bloody lines of shrapnel through the Dandelion.

“All hands on deck!” the count screamed, intent on fleeing the battle. “Raise the godsdamned sails and set the fucking anchor aweigh!” The Dandelion’s anchor dropped into the icy river, its flared bill catching the strong current just above the surface of the riverbed as it towed the vessel into a hard turn away from its assailants. But the enemy vessels hounded them still; the visibly lighter vessels racing downstream at a much faster pace than the Dandelion or Serenity could manoeuvre. Another salvo of artillery from the harbour itself struck the fleeing vessels; the Serenity suffering the most damage as she began to visibly list to her starboard side.

The Serenity managed to flee downstream for another three hundred meters before she was summarily caught, gunned and boarded by one of the enemy vessels; the second relentless in its pursuit of the Dandelion. Count Josh watched the rapidly approaching sloop in fear. “Make for land!” he shouted, terrified of his fate should the enemy ship catch up. The Dandelion began to careen to the left as it lumbered towards the northern bank. The anchor line went slack as the anchor hit the riverbed, the dandelion running aground about two dozen meters from the riverside a few moments later. The count, his remaining bannermen and the brig’s crew quickly abandoned the vessel, diving into the freezing water to swim towards the shore.

On the river bank, Josh watched aghast and confused, trembling from fear and the cold as the Endeavor’s crew and his defenceless bannermen amassing on the southern bank were quickly encircled by a contingent of enemy cavalry; a massive formation of pikemen in their wake marching towards the scene.

“By Jove’s bloody yard…” the count cussed as he turned to flee into the woods.

***

Levi watched the carnage from his perch on a martello tower by the harbour; the fortification’s single twenty-four-pounder gun had ceased firing given all three of the count’s vessels were either already captured or were currently being brought to heel. Lancelot stood by his side, silently observing the scene.

“...Tell the men to prepare for a hunt,” the earl said, his lips curling into a slight smile. “I take you lot can handle things from here?”

“...Yes. Yes, My Lord,” the viscount replied.