B2 – Chapter 31: Take the port!

Tristan saw signs of plunder all around. Broken and cracked boats, stalls that were smashed and their remnants pushed to the sides of streets, and a lack of people. “Where is everyone?” Tristan asked.

The sergeant leading him replied, “Prince Roland’s command – all able-bodied men are to be conscripted for the war effort. The women and children were taken inland, to his castle, for safety. The port is only occupied by our troops.”

That’s not good, Tristan thought. I would wager this conscription was done with violence, and the women and children are being used as hostages to force the men to fight on behalf of a monarch. He reached a hand to his maul that was slung across his back, and spun his essence crucible, pushing the potent magical aura into the weapon as he activated Lucky Instinct. Continuing to spin his crucible, he kept the essence from venting into his body and escaping him by keeping it bound within. Every essence channel was filled with the surging, potent force, and he felt alive and energized.

The walk through the port town was swift, and not two minutes after leaving the docks the group arrived at a large tavern that had been converted to a base of operations. “Wait here,” the sergeant ordered. “And if one of you even thinks about going for a weapon – you will fall where you stand.” He turned to the door, entered, and the door shut behind him. His fellow soldiers who had been walking around the group of Pathfinders, Obadai, and Tristan spread out and formed a simple circle.

Tristan leaned over to Obadai, “Stand in front of me,” he whispered. The man nodded and did as instructed, and Tristan repeated the order to William, but told him to stand behind him instead. When Tristan was fully covered visually by Pathfinders, at the center of the group, he put both of his hands into the gesture for Near Miss. “Tämä ei voi mitenkään osua minuun.” (There’s no way this is going to hit me).

His whispered spell did not seem to be noticed. The sergeant returned a few seconds later with a surly looking man in tow. He was dressed in heavy plate armor that was dented and rusted, a cigar in the corner of his mouth, and a short sword strapped to his hip. “Right! I heard we got a lord visiting us. Someone who thinks they shouldn’t have to help out the war effort.”

Tristan whispered, “Katsokaa kasvojani ja ihastukaa viehätysvoimaani.” (Look upon my countenance and find yourself enamored with my charm). He exited the circle he had formed around himself. “I am Lord Tristan,” he stated as he put his fingers in the appropriate spell gesture next to his eye to finish casting Persuasive Charm.

“What’s that?” the man asked pointing to Tristan’s hand.

“Ah, a greeting from my country,” Tristan replied, not wanting to lob terms such as “Fey Realm” about with someone who did not seem like the sharpest tool in the shed.

The man coughed and spat a chunk of mucus on the ground in front of Tristan. “Well? You have got a group of Pathfinders behind you, but my sergeant says that they are not part of the group that signed up to join us. Which means they are working for our enemies, isn’t that right?”

Tristan tried to keep a calm expression, but he felt everyone’s eyes on him. He began gesticulating with his hands, speaking as he moved them in order to camouflage a future spell if needed. “Well, I don’t know about that. They just paid for passage on my ship, that is all. For all I know they are going to guard your liege’s castle. I, meanwhile, have a ship that needs repairs, and would like to spend the night with my feet on solid ground.”

The surly soldier sneered, “You think you can order us around because you’re some foreign lord?”

“No, not at all,” Tristan replied. “I have money to pay for repairs, and I’m sure a fee could be paid to ensure my ships are not searched, and I am allowed to be on my way. Every man has a price, does he not?”

“You fucker,” the man crushed the cigar in his hand and his hand went to the pommel of his sword. His soldiers replicated the gesture, and Tristan saw movement on the roofs. Archers getting into position. The Pathfinders behind him were slowly putting hands towards weapons as well. “You think that you can waltz in here, pay some money, and that’ll be it? I’m not like my boss who let that wreck of a ship off with a confiscation and a warning. That man lost his post and is digging trenches. You will surrender yourselves, now.”

Well, so much for diplomacy, Tristan thought as he gripped the hem of his cloak with one hand. Pouring his essence into it, he felt the power within him drain rapidly to less than half. Activating Thrice Command stored in the object, he shouted out. “Drop weapons! Kneel!” His ire was focused on the soldiers, and every one of them dropped their weapons before falling to their knees, looking at each other with fear, curiosity, or confusion as they were forced to act against their will.

The Pathfinders sprang into action; tackling soldiers and holding them up in a circle around the whole group; a wall of living shields to prevent the archers from shooting with abandon. Tristan grabbed the lieutenant and dragged him to the center of the circle before the spell wore off. “Obadai,” he stated, “What do you suggest we do given this predicament?”

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“Take the port,” he advised as he began making a complicated series of movement with his hands. Then, he began speaking in Heaven’s Voice, and Tristan focused elsewhere, as he observed the archers re-equipping their weapons and standing up.

The Pathfinders glanced at each other, and then to Tristan. One of them spoke up, “Lord Tristan? Orders?”

“We take the port!” Tristan replied as he pulled the maul from his back and channeled essence into his armor, forming the carapace-like shell of draconic-themed metal around himself. Using his strength alone, he twisted and snapped both of the lieutenant’s arms, and the man passed out from the pain. “Felicity! Archers!”

She flew off with a high-pitched battle cry and began harassing the bowmen who took aim and started to fire. Tristan grabbed Obadai and pulled him close to the circle of Pathfinders, and the hail of arrows either missed everyone or thudded into the captive troops used as a human shield. Felicity is going to deal with the archers, he thought, or at least distract or blind them. As if responding to his thoughts, he heard a scream of pain and a man yelled out, “My eyes!” as he dropped a bow that went clattering to the ground.

We have the ground troops. He pointed to the building, “Everyone, inside. Clear the building, tie up our prisoners.”