"Alright Kids, move it!" Morgiana shouted loud and clear as the rest of the Spriggan's started to take their places atop the remaining bombs.

Twenty three now, twenty four in total. Each one packing five hundred pounds of gunpowder along with a couple hundred pounds of lamp oil, musket balls, nails, broken glass, and whatever else they could find to use as shrapnel. A month ago, just thinking about using something like this would have seemed like a war crime. Now, Drake was climbing up on top of one of the bombs, along with two Salamander lancers, intent on steering it into one of the docked ships, because . . . because if he didn't, someone else would have to.

Lying flat, head pointed downwards over the nose of the bomb, he could see his target, one of three Reconquista battleships clustered together near the southern end of the docks. They were here to sink or cripple as many of these ships as they could in order to pave the way for the fleet's arrival at dawn. All they had to do was make sure the bombs fell on target. Drake's eyes narrowed as he tried to concentrate on just the ship, and tried not to think about how many men must have been on board at that very moment.

"Go!" The Spriggan newbie directing the bomb drops shouted and a sailor chopped through the rope holding Drake's bomb in place. Drake had to hang on for dear life as the bomb shot out from underneath him like a lead weight.

Then his ears were filled with the rushing of wind as he found himself plummeting towards the docks far below. No, not far at all, not really, just four hundred meters. When they'd timed it during practice, that was a mere nine seconds to impact. That was all the time he and his two Salamander wingmen had to push this thing onto course and bale.

One thousand one.

The ship was just a speck below them, one dot among dozens lined up all along the cliffs like the fake ducks at a shooting gallery.

One thousand two.

A little bigger now. Off to his left he could see three shooting stars, two red and one violet as they split away from their deadly payload, gravity would do the rest.

One thousand three.

He could see the ship below him more clearly now, really get a sense of the scale. Damn was it big, and sleek like a zeppelin, or a rocket out of some old black and white sci-fi flick.

One thousand four.

They were veering a bit to the right. Drake extended his wings and pushed at his handholds.

One thousand five.

The two salamanders had been trained to follow his lead, spreading their wings, they nudge gradually leftward just enough to bring them back on track over the ship's deck.

One thousand six.

It was time to bail. At the front of the bomb, just ahead of the nose, a smoldering lighter was held in a lever arm over an ignition hole. He tapped it down and saw a short jet of sparks escape as the fuse was lit. The bomb was primed.

One thousand seven.

Drake let go, spreading his wings and shooting away as fast as he could.

One thousand eight.

He had no direction in mind except away. Away from what was about to happen next as he skirted over shabby looking rooftops and dimly lit streets.

One thousand nine. One thousand ten.

He felt it more than anything else, sort of like when you leaned into a wave and the water slapped back, only instead of cool, he felt heat spreading across the back of his neck. Only as the sound started to fade did he realize that he'd been hearing the thunder of the first explosion, now his ears were ringing.

Then, a moment later, it came again, slightly muted this time. 'That one was mine . . . ' He looked back over his shoulder now and surveyed the carnage.

The bombs had worked as advertised. The docks were painted orange by the light of flames as fire blossomed up through the deck of the first ship, hull splintering from forces it had never been designed to contain. The entire front of the vessel, Drake thought it was a third rater, had been bent forward slightly, and now leaned dangerously over the abyss as it burned. Drake didn't know an iota about ships, but he knew one thing for sure, that one wasn't going to be setting sail ever again.

Drake next looked to his own handiwork and whistled faintly. They'd veered off course, not by much, but by enough to make it a near miss rather than a glancing hit. At a guess, the bomb had crashed into the dock, wedging itself close to the hull before detonating.

The blast had caused the grounded ship to list in its cradle. The entire port side of their target vessel was a wreck of wood splinters, snapped masts, and warped brass fittings. What wasn't already on fire was starting to smolder in the heat. 'Fire wards my ass.' He thought as a groaning -pop- emanated from the hull and an anchor plummeted free over the cliffs, trailing its chain as it went.

A third bomb detonated near the prow of one of the ships, blowing the front third of the warship apart in a shower of sparks and flame and shattering three of the forwards masts. The hull was mostly intact, but with damage like that, it wouldn't be sailing any time too soon.

Eleven targets and they'd already knocked three out of the fight in under a minute. Naturally, that's when things started to go not so smoothly.

Flares were launched from the ships, mundane fireworks and mage conjured lights silhouetting the Sabrina. The bombs had proven a bit too much for even three Faeries to carry, so the Clipper ship had to maneuver carefully to remain directly over the docks.

It took time for the Sabrina to line up on her next target, a nasty looking third rater bristling with readied guns. The next bomb was cut free, plummeting towards the target with its three Fae bombardiers. They made it about halfway down before suddenly scattering, the bomb beginning to tumble as if struck.

"What the hell are they doing?" Drake grunted to himself. The bomb fell unguided and unlit, crashing into the cliffs before falling to the sea, far, far below.

He saw the cause as he was watching the next group parting ways with their bomb. They didn't let go, they were blasted loose as a ball of compressed air burst into a miniature windstorm. Someone on the docks was on the ball, a wind mage by the looks of it, more likely several. Go figure that someone would actually be on the lookout.

"Looks like they're not going to make this easy for us Darling." The disturbingly calm voice of Shirishi drifted down from above as the dark magic user came to hover beside him. He couldn't see her face beneath her helmet, but she'd dropped the high class tone of voice now that they were stuck in it. Beneath them, in the streets and towers, alarms were beginning to sound. Bells rang, chasing one another across the city.

"Yeah." Drake looked around quickly, thankful once again for his superhumanly acute night vision.

The sky was almost empty. Only a handful of ships and what might or might not be dragons in the distance. That's why they had chosen to attack well before dawn. For now, he and Shirishi were just two dots floating off at the edge of nothing. Nobody had noticed them, yet, but that wasn't going to last much longer.

"We always knew something like this was going to happen." Drake grunted. "The Rebels can't be complete idiots if they got this far.' They'd gotten lucky with the first three ships. But every extra minutes was one more minute for the Rebels to wake up, figure out what was happening, and throw together some sort of defense. "Time to go collect our skull cracking pay."

"How vulgarly put." Shirishi frowned, but at least she wasn't joking or calling him 'Darling' anymore like she was prone to do when things were less serious. Damn straight it was serious, and it was about to get a lot more serious, deadly serious.

To the East, Drake caught sight of dark silhouettes passing in front of the moonlit clouds. The air patrols were turning to investigate, and it wouldn't be long before the patrolling frigates and small coastal ships started to respond.

Drake tried to stay calm, they'd planned for this. They had the element of Surprise but there were always a few hero units on the other side to deal with. Kurotaka's job was to put the bombs on target, no matter what. The Salamanders and Knights could handle the Dragons.

"We're heading back to the docks." Drake grunted before folding his wings and dropping a bit lower over the rooftops. Hopefully, if they kept low, the air patrols wouldn't notice them.

Closer to the ground, the alarm bells were louder and the shouts of the people in the streets below filled the air, night watchmen, and residents shaken from their slumber by the noise. This city wasn't just a military base, if they weren't careful, a lot of people could end up getting hurt. All it would take was one errant bomb, lit and blasted off course by a mage, or one of their own artillery mages getting too loose with their spells . . . Drake tried not to think about that.

Skimming over the rooftops, they left the panicked shouts behind them, heading towards the explosions and the opening sounds of battle. The first explosion had been the cue for the Knights to take flight, the horse sized Halkegenian flying mounts diving from the deck of the Sabrina to join the fray.

The twelve Griffins and lone Manticore spread their wings and banked wide, sweeping outward to meet the approaching Dragons. Drake wished them luck, they were going to need it. Tristain's Knights were going to be outnumbered in the air until the Salamanders could gather up and join them.

The military sections of the docks were in complete chaos. Fire was consuming the damaged ships and the light cast by the flames was shrouded in a haze of smoke. Men, sailors and soldiers, ran about like ants, desperately fighting fire before they spread to the other ships or the wood shingled buildings of the Port.

The shouts of Officers mixed with the cries of pain and fear from the wounded. Drake thought he would be sick. This was war, real war. But it wasn't his problem.
+++

Somehow, despite the element of surprise, a few isolated Rebel soldiers were struggling to fight back.

It started with the watch officers who had responded after the first bombs had fallen. Bombing was not an unheard of tactic in Halkegenian warfare and sailors trained to respond to the possibility almost reflexively.

Wind barriers had been erected by the on duty Mages and flares were launched, illuminating the docks, revealing the bombers and their bombs, and inadvertently dazzling the Spriggan bombardiers. Now, others were joining the fight.

Here, a group of armsmen had managed to grab their muskets, volleying blindly into the air to try and shoot down some of the Faeries. Their efforts weren't met with much success, but they did drive away a few Salamander Mages with the daring to try and get in close to finish one of the damaged ships.

There, the crew of a patrolling gunship got one of the swivel guns loaded and turned it on a hapless Salamander Lancer. Disoriented in the fighting and trying to rejoin with his squad, the blast of grape went wide, but two shots hit home, one striking the man in the chest and other slamming into his shoulder. The armored Faery was sent staggering, clipping a sail mast before crashing into the docks in a cloud of dust and debris.

Drake tried not to think about it, tried not to think of the danger even though he was scared out of his mind. The job, they had a job to do. Looking about. Now how to do it? The musket and cannon fire was distracting, but sporadic, and ultimately inconsequential. But there was at least one mage out their who was fighting back too well.

There. Beneath the eave of a port building, a quartet of mages had taken cover and were lending their power to reinforce the wind shield protecting the next ship in dock.

As he watched, their combined wind spells formed a dome that knocked the next bomb aside, sending it spinning off across the docks. The bomb, already lit, crashed into and through the deck of a gunboat attempting to take off before detonating in a blast that blew the whole boat to kindling.

These guys were a problem. They'd have to be quick about this or the Sabrina would overshoot. With the Dragon Knights arriving and the smaller patrol ships and frigates launching from the docks, Captain Thorn couldn't linger long. Especially not with tons of gunpowder sitting exposed on his ship's deck.

Drake nodded to Shirishi and pointed to the mages.

Moving across the roof tops ahead, a slender figure was silhouetted by the flames. Though fully obscured in lightweight body armor, the powerful longbow in her hands left no doubt in Drake's mind that it was Kurotaka's elite archer, Marina. Presently she was hoofing it across the roofs, probably to save her flight energy for when it was really needed. 'Clever girl.' Well, they were going to need that arm and Breaker's Bow of hers soon enough.

* * *

Airman 3rd class Samuels clutched desperately at the loaded musket that had been thrust into his hands and tried to keep his head down as the mages chanted at a feverish pace.

Minutes, just minutes ago, he had been asleep in his hammock, dreaming of home, the farm, and his mum's meat pies. He'd been shaken awake by a sound like the Founder's own judgement that had rocked the Fearless like a child's rattle.

Alarms bells ringing in the darkness chimed in one of the familiar patterns that they had all been trained to memorize. An attack!

Falling from his hammock, he had pulled on his shoes while running to his action station above deck. Their First Officer was as meticulous as ever about drill, especially with the recent sabotage. Months of stand to arms had hammered home what he should be doing. But it hadn't prepared him for this.

The docks were on fire. There had been fires before, even accidents with gunpowder, but nothing like this. It looked like the entire southern quarter was going up in flames. Had a ship's magazine gone up? The shock alone was enough to leave a man senseless. For most, it had.

A few heads were kept here and there, Mage Officers who had seen the worst of the fighting and old sailors who'd been through countless battles. But most of the sailors stumbled about as if lost or dunk, only to be knocked to the deck as the earth shook with another -BOOM- like God's thunder being tossed about right over their heads.

The Chief Armsmen saw Samuels as he looked listlessly about and grabbed hold of him, forcing a musket into his waiting hands and a fistful of cartridges into his pocket. It was only as he realized what he was holding that Samuels understood that it must have been an attack. They were under attack!

"But it can't be!" Samuels stammered as the armsmn rammed home the shot of a second musket and tossed it to one of his fellows. "It's just a powder explosion, isn't it?" Some fool must walked past a ship's magazine with a lit lantern and set off some stray powder.

The senior armsman barked a curse at Samuels. He was a veteran of when the 'Glorious Navy of the Holy Movement of the Reconquistadors' had simply been the Royal Navy of Albion and didn't take well to here any words but 'Yes' and 'Sir' from the lips of a lowly airman 3rd class.

"One maybe. But two and three like that?" The scared and grizzled solider waved a hand to the pillars of flame visible even a quarter league away. "This is an attack! Now go lad, gather up the sailors on the docks and try to find the Captain if you can." That was all that was said before Samuels was pushed onto the gangplank, nearly taking a spill off the side of the ship's docking cradle.

It wasn't much to go on, but it was at least an order, something that he could follow. The rest had worked itself out as he ran through the alternating light and shadow of the buildings alongside the docks, nearly colliding with a quartet of officers racing back to the docks from some undisclosed location.

These men were all officers from the newly upgraded ships that had been sent to supplement the squadron. They didn't panic or run, except straight into the danger, dragging Samuels along with them like a stray pup.

Flares launched overhead illuminated the smoke filled skies and revealed a dark shape, a ship, high overhead as a trio of stars plummeted free from its side. The mages had raised their wands and staves, throwing magic like a man would a javelin. Spells of air and water spreading out to batter aside the falling stars.

Now things were burning and exploding about him, and officers were screaming orders or for order. It seemed like most of his fellow sailors didn't even understand that they were under attack. He didn't believe it himself. He rather suspected he was still sleeping and that this was a nightmare.

Yes, it had to be a nightmare. Samuels had no idea what was happening or who was attacking them. He'd seen . . . seen shapes. Snatched glimpses of winged people in the skies above. Not humans. Demi humans? Firstborns? Maybe even the Faeries that he'd been hearing about from the older men. That was the only thing that made sense. Who else would be mad enough to attack the fleet of Holy Albion in its own Port?

All Samuels knew for sure was that they had to protect the ships. And for him, that meant protecting the mages while they cast their spells, the mages at least seemed to know what to do.

The chanting at his back reached its climax as one of the mage officers raised his staff to the sky. He tried to spot what the mage was aiming for. All Samuels could see was three bright stars, like fireflies, braking away from another one of those oblongs. He felt a sense of grim satisfaction as the devilish device was deflected. Surprise or not, these demi humans were no match for the mages and soldiers of Albion.

His confidence welled up and then turned to alarm as the next magic chant turned to gargling. Spinning around, his face went pale as he saw one of the Lieutenant's clutching at his throat. A dark shaft protruding through his neck. The man's eyes widened, nearly popping from his skull as he drowned in his own blood.

Samuels, might not have known what was happening, but as a sailor, he knew what to do when someone was shooting at him. He threw himself to the ground and pressed his body as best he could against a pile of ropes, head peering about for the source of the arrow.

The trained battle mages, alerted by the death of one of their own, responded immediately. All three closed ranks, facing outwards, their chanting changing as they prepared to defend themselves. Another arrow glinted in the fire light, speeding straight, and true, and fast, almost too fast for Samuel's to see if it had not passed in front of a flare. One of the mages raised his staff, catching the arrow with a gale of wind that batted it aside a dozen mails from its target.

Samuels followed the arrow's nearly flat path back up to a nearby rooftop where a lone figure crouched, already notching another arrow. He wasn't going to give them the chance. Shouldering his musket, it was one of the long barreled patterns favored by armsmen, Samuels took careful aim as his Dah had taught him. His finger squeezed at the trigger, but before he could fire, the world went black.

What was this? Not just smoke, but complete blackness. He couldn't even see his own hands in front of him. Was . . . was this magic?! It had to be.

"Damnation! I'm blind." One of the mage officers shouted.

"Use soundings!" Another called back. Samuels heard a high pitched clicking from somewhere nearby.

"Hiding in shadows! Show yourselves you cowards!"

Then, Samuels heard a sound like . . . well . . . it sounded almost like rain fall, hissing and splattering against stone. It left as soon as it came leaving only silence and three ominous -thuds-. He blinked, and suddenly the blackness was replaced by spots, and past the spots, blurs of light, then shapes. When his vision was finally restored, Samuel's wished he could have stayed blind.

They were dead, all of them. The three thuds had been the sound of the three mage officers striking the ground. The cause of their death was hideously obvious. Each man had been riddled with tiny holes, each smaller than a musket ball, and leaving barely any mark of their passage, through their skin, through their robes. Their bodies wept blood like tears.

"Damn it Shirishi." A voice growled and Samuels trembled.

"That's darkness magic Darling." A second, feminine voice answered softly.

Holding perfectly still, the young sailor watched, he could see them now. They stood, towering over him, both shrouded in all black. Black cloth, black plate, fine black mail, and black hawk-like helmets. The only part of them that was not black was a symbol shared on their right shoulder, the silhouette of a hawk in flight, inscribed in purest white.

The larger of the two figures kicked the body of the mage captain with the toe of his boot. They were checking the bodies he thought fearfully. Hands trembling Samuels began to fumble for his musket, moving slowly, praying that he wouldn't draw their attention.

A helmeted head turned to face him and he was frozen in terror. The man, the monster, the demon, approached and desperately, Samuels swung the musket up and pulled the trigger. A loud -crack- filled his ears as the powder ignited. The armored figure staggered and let out a grunt of surprise, a hand reaching for his shoulder.

"Drake!" The smaller one cried.

"It's alright, didn't even nick the armor."

A gauntlet closed around the barrel of Samuel's musket and the weapon was torn from his grasp. Swiftly, almost casually, the heavy armsmen's weapon was brought across the armor clad figure's knee. Wood splintered and iron bent as it was broke in two and cast aside. The helmet gazed down at him, where there should be eyes, he saw only shadows.

'Please, Founder preserve me!' The young sailor thought, closing his eyes and waiting for the mortal blow.

Nothing happened.

"Are you sure, Drake? He did try to kill you."

Samuel's opened his eyes to see the figure turning away.

"Don't make me change my mind." The taller grunted. "Besides, he can't be more than fifteen, we're here to sink ships, not kill kids." As they spoke, four long, thin, black wings formed from the backs of each figure, glowing softly with black light. "Now, let's go join up with Marina and Lark."

The two stood, armor glinting in the fire light and vanishing into the shadows. Apparitions whose bodies glowed with supernatural power. Samuel's lips moved in silent prayer for Albion as both spread their wings and vanished into the predawn sky.

* * *

The wind pressing against her upper body, d'Artagnan bucking beneath her, Karin de la Valliere twisted in her saddle, readying her sword-wand to cast. Behind her, three Albionian Dragon Knights were in pursuit, two favoring fire and the third using wind based spells. They were well trained, she noted, coordinating their attacks in an attempt to bracket d'Artagnan with their fire.

But the Manticore was smart and had seen this tactic before. Through their familiar link he seemed almost bored. Without any prompting from Karin, he folded his wings and spun downwards, only spreading them again just above the roof tops of York's warehouse district.

The Dragon Knights followed, but with difficulty. Dragons were a great deal larger than either Griffins or Manticores and trained to use their breath weapon in support of their rider, allowing a trained Dragon-Knight pair to attack in multiple directions at the same time. But what they gained in power and endurance, they lost in speed and maneuverability.

Karin began to grow impatient with her pursuers, but was loath to fight back just yet. Her 'Heavy Wind' deserved a better target than just three Dragon Knights, and once these Knights saw what they were facing, they would respond accordingly and not give her a second chance to catch them as a group.

A fireball grazed past her followed by a wind spear thrown by the lead mage. Turning about, she answered the attack with a hail of her own vacuum blades, peppering the lead mage and his mount. The mage attempted to parry the spells, deconstruct them, and turn them back on Karin. But between the power of the individual blades, and their numbers, he was overwhelmed. The magically conjured air constructs sliced through flesh and muscle and chipped at bone, barely slowing as they slammed into, stacked up against, and overwhelmed the Knight's wind shield.

They severed the dragon's left wing cleanly at the wing stem and took off the Knight's wand arm. The Dragon roared in pain, but was silenced as a vacuum blade severed its throat. The Knight also roared out, and was silenced as another blade severed his head. Sharing the same fate to the end, Dragon and Knight dropped from the sky, colliding with the cliff face, bouncing once and plunging into the mists.

The sudden loss of their leader did nothing to deter the remaining two Knights who instead of retreating, raised their wands in unison, signaling for more of their comrades. Three more Knights answered the call, two approaching from the front and one chasing up from the rear for a total of five. Good, Karin thought, satisfied, this would be an adequate number.

She spurred d'Artagnan forward, batting aside the fireballs and wind arrows launched by the two mages to her front shooting past them.

The third mage to her rear hung back for a moment to complete a longer chant, then, channeled a rippling vortex of air forward. The spell took shape in midair, wings, claws, and beak of wind magic, and glowing eyes of ball lightning. A wind construct in the shape of a bird, how very original.

To be able to form and control such a thing, Karin guessed the man to be at least a triangle of wind. For shame it would do him no good. Reaching out with its claws, intent at tearing out Karin's throat, the Tristanian Mantircore Knight simply extended her wand and pushed.

Parrying, the art of deconstructing an opponent's magic and turning it back against them, adding some of ones own for greater effect. Karin had never been particularly good at it. Not because she lacked power, but because she did not, that was rather the problem.

For Karin de la Valliere, the spells of lesser mages were fragile indeed in the steel grip of her will. A normal mage would have had a great deal of trouble overwhelming the enchantments holding the wind construct together, a normal mage would most likely have chosen to disrupt the spell by physical means with their own wind spell. Karin was not a normal mage.

The powerful wind construct struck the tip of her sword and began to come apart as if it were nothing but mundane vapors, dying as quickly as it had been born. The caster began to pull further back, skilled and smart, they were beginning to realize what they faced.

Now was as good a time as any, she supposed as she eased d'Artagnan into a sharp turn and raised her wand-sword high, racing to meet the pursuing Knights.

The air around her began to swirl faster and faster, forming a vortex before splitting and then splitting again. One became two, and two became four. In terms of raw power and complexity, each of the vortexes would have been a square spell in its own right. Combined, they transcended the power of all buy the greatest elemental magics. It was the ultimate embodiment of the mechanics of the holy system of magic that Brimir had passed down to his chosen people. A four fold square spell, the Heavy Wind.

The Mage Knights saw what was coming, but they were as powerless to stop it as they were to stop a volcanic eruption or a thunder storm. It was less a spell and more a natural disaster given malicious purpose. They tried even so, attempting to shield themselves or to escape. It was too little, too late.

The Heavy Wind blossomed outwards, four counter rotating vortexes spreading in a cone of complete destruction. The Knights and their mounts were caught in the gale force winds, slashed by vacuum blades, whipped and battered by debris, and dragged inwards to where the rotating constructs made contact. There, things became much more . . . gruesome.

Flesh, even dragon flesh, was simply not up to the task of surviving in a environment so fundamentally inimical to its continued integrity.

By the time that the Heavy Wind dissipated, the spell had erupted over the cliffs of Albion, carrying with it, stones, roofing shingles, and the bloodied and dismembered remains of five of Albion's elite Dragon Knights. Karin surveyed her accomplishment. An inefficient use of the Heavy Wind, but expedient, and overall acceptable.

Now her attention was turned back to the skies over York where the Griffin Knights were locked in battle along with the Salamanders and a handful of their Spriggan allies.

The Rebels forces at York consisted of more than just ships. Two full squadrons of Dragon Knights, almost forty in all, had also been stationed here and were among the first to respond to the surprise attack. Even now the dragons and their riders were still rising from the stables spread along the cliffs.

The Dragons posed a unique threat, and one that had to be kept away from the Sabrina and her explosive payload at all costs until the Clipper had finished its slow bombing run and fled the area. It was a challenging task for a mere twelve Griffin Knights. Their mounts were less than a third the size of the more powerful dragons and lacked the constitution to endure serious injury and continue fighting. These were weaknesses that the Griffin Knight Corps had long ago learned to account for, but not on this day.

Today, the Griffin Knights were not only fearless, they were foolhardy, eager to avenge their betrayal and regain their honor. As Karin watched, one of her subordinates abandoned his wing mate and dove down recklessly to attack a group of soldiers manning a hastily re-purposed cannon. The Knight lashed out with fire and wind spells, igniting charges of gunpowder and driving off the cannon crew, but as he rose back into the sky, he was born down upon by a Dragon Knight and his mount.

There was no time for Karin or anyone else to do anything as both were dispatched, torn from the skies and slammed into the side of one of the damaged ships. The Heavy Wind felt anger boiling up within her, kept in check only because she found herself on the battlefield. That man had heard her orders, to take no chances and see only to his assigned task. He had heard and he had disobeyed!