5.Death of Chaos
CXXIV
The Great North Bay, Freetown [Candar]
FROM THE GREAT North Bay steam the ships, smoke plumes rising at an angle into the morning sun, the smoke white against the blue-green of the sky above the Eastern Ocean.
On each ship, each of the three gray steel turrets is aligned fore and aft, the two forward turrets aimed along the course ahead, the rear at the wake behind. Although each turret holds but a single cannon, the diameter of each is two spans, enough to throw a five-stone shell more than five kays, or a ten-stone shell not quite half that distance.
Beneath the iron decks, the polished shells are racked and ready, and the sailors hum, or sing. Some look nervously in the direction of Recluce. Others look down, but most go about then-daily routines.
Only the faintest touch of white graces the low waves as the Grand Fleet steams eastward.
In the stateroom reserved for the grand commander, Marshal Dyrsse carefully pours the pale amber wine into two goblets, then offers the tray on which they rest to the fleet commander.
“To success.” The fleet commander takes a goblet and raises it.
“To the success of the Emperor,” responds Dyrsse. “And to duty.”
Both sip.
“Ah, you would deny yourself success?” asks Stupelltry.
“I succeed when the Emperor does. And we have both waited long for this time, for the time to put the black isle in its place.” Dyrsse takes another sip of the amber vintage.“Duty is more important than success. With luck, anyone can succeed. Not everyone can complete his duties.”
“In success, we accomplish our duty.” Stupelltry takes another sip of wine.
Dyrsse frowns ever so slightly, but drinks.
In the west, the faintest of clouds begin to gather, while beneath Candar and beneath the iron backbone of Recluce, the deeps tremble.