Horizon of War Series

Chapter 229: Iron Tide Rising

Iron Tide Rising

Corinthia

The three Dawn airships flew low over the sprawl of Corinthia City when a ballista bolt caught them by surprise. The massive projectile, larger than a spear, streaked past them. It went wide, but its sheer speed and force were enough to send a cold dread through the crew. It had the range to reach them; that was all that mattered. For the first time, someone had found a counter to their novel airships.

Against all odds, it was the Corinthians, a backwater province in remote Lowlandia, that possessed such a weapon.

"What is that?" one of the troops demanded, his voice shaken.

"They were ready for us," another muttered, suspicion heavy in his tone.

Angelo stopped his descent and wrenched the fuel control higher, preparing for an emergency.

A cry rang out, snapping everyone's attention. "I found it!" the lookout shouted.

"What is it?" Angelo asked, craning his neck while keeping a steady hand on the fuel control.

A veteran Dawn troop leader snapped, "Why didn’t you spot it sooner?"

"It’s nestled inside the main castle building, the donjon," the lookout responded. "It's shape is also so different that it's hard to—" He stopped ominously, his mouth slightly open as he pressed his face deeper into the leather eyepiece of the large Ekionia optics.

"What do you see?" the troop leader asked, already bracing for bad news.

The lookout’s voice trembled as he cried out in panic, "I spotted two more! One is the same size as the first, but the other is slightly bigger. They're aiming at us!"

"I see it! I see it!" a tough-looking man screamed, half-panicked.

"There's two!" the troop leader shouted, pointing at the incoming projectiles. To Angelo's horror, both were streaking toward their position.

Already prepared for an emergency, Angelo yanked the controls hard, desperate to veer away. But the massive airship was sluggish, resisting his command.

Watching the large control surface shift with little effect, the troop leader gritted his teeth. If they could not dodge, they would stand their ground. He took his spear and stood ready, poised to strike the incoming projectile. Even if it was futile, he refused to back down. His men followed, gripping their weapons with grim determination.

At the last moment, the burner, now at full power, surged with maximum efficiency, unleashing a searing burst of heat that sent the airship into a sharp ascent.

Everyone held their breath as the closest silvery spear-like projectile shot past them, too close for comfort.

Angelo forced the airship into a tight turn. He glanced back, expecting the other two ships to follow. Instead, his stomach dropped as he saw the Bane of Lubina losing buoyancy.

"No! She's been hit!" several cried, confirming Angelo’s fear.

The Bane of Lubina, the famed airship that had participated in the liberation of Kapua, crossed the Great Plains to Korelia and joined the Midlandia campaign where she helped capture Reginald, was now in dire condition. Her balloon’s middle section started to sag, a clear sign of a puncture. What had once been fully inflated now drooped at the center, slowly collapsing.

They watched as her crew struggled to keep it steady, battling against rapid air loss. The young mage pilot desperately tried to maintain flight and generate more hot air, but the ship had already begun to plummet.

"The first one has already finished reloading. It's going to loose its bolt soon!" the lookout’s frantic cry snapped everyone from shock.

Angelo frantically reached for the fuel mixture control and released the thin metal clip that acted as the safety before pushing it further than ever before. He enriched the fuel mixture as much as he dared, forcing the burner fire to glow white-hot. The fuel would burn at an alarming rate, and the burner would eventually die from clogging, but he needed every ounce of power to save the airships and the fate of this entire campaign.

"We need to turn fast!" the troop leader shouted.

"I can't gain speed without venting hot air and losing altitude!" Angelo snapped. It went without saying that against the current threat, dropping lower would be as good as suicide.

"One bolt in the air! Incoming!" the lookout warned.

"Hold on!" Angelo shouted, tapping into his source. Magic surged through him as he exerted himself, forcing the airship into a sideways tilt. The gondola swayed violently, jolting the passengers. Meanwhile, the accumulated hot air lifted them higher, straining against the wind as they fought to escape.

"I saw another!" the lookout howled as the second silvery bolt streaked toward them.

Angelo’s head spun from the abrupt and massive surge of magic, but he forced himself to focus on the threats racing toward them.

Everyone aboard the flagship watched as both silvery lances veered low, arching as they lost power and missed their mark. A cheer erupted, men taunting the enemy, a coping mechanism against the overwhelming danger. But Angelo’s attention was elsewhere.

He scanned the skies and found the Bane of Lubina continuing to lose altitude. Its balloon shriveled as massive volumes of hot air escaped. The burner glowed brighter than it should, its pilot pushing it beyond safe limits.

Then, to their horror, a third unseen ballista bolt had already been loosed, streaking toward the other airship in formation.

Their hearts sank as they watched the bolt streak toward the Fire of Kapua. The airship took a direct hit, the projectile piercing its thin-walled gondola. Two crew members nearly fell overboard, clinging to the edge for dear life as their battle brothers rushed to pull them back aboard.

The situation had turned critical.

"Are they reloading?" Angelo asked.

"They are," the lookout confirmed, his words tightening the tension in the air.

"Tell us when they look ready to unleash the next bolt," Angelo instructed, wrestling with the controls. He fought to ride the coastal breeze while using what little magic he had left to manipulate the wind as best he could.

Two agonizing minutes passed as the three airships struggled to escape.

"One looks ready. Two are ready—one is loosed! Two!" he quickly corrected himself. "Two in the air!"

Even without binoculars, Angelo’s magically enhanced vision caught the bolts' trajectory. Both were flying straight at him.

"They got us," he grumbled, paling. Someone down there was highly skilled in this unknown art of aerial ballistae.

The two silvery bolts flew true, streaking toward the flagship, which had nothing left to give but a slow, steady climb in a wide turn away from the castle. But the Bane of Lubina had other plans.

From below, the stricken airship lurched into the path of the projectiles.

Noticing its approach, Angelo muttered in disbelief, "What is he doing?" Then he shouted his student's name. "Rob!"

His student pilot had spent the stricken airship's last buildup of speed and final chance to escape to maneuver between the flagship and the donjon, blocking the bolts' trajectory. Instead of fleeing, he bravely placed himself between Angelo and the incoming projectiles.

The airship took a direct hit. One of its nettings snagged a ballista bolt, the projectile half-embedded in its delicate skin. The other bolt veered wide behind it, but the move had already cost the Bane of Lubina dearly. The nozzle had begun to melt, flames spreading rapidly along the airship’s skin. Worse, the ruptured fuel line sent fire through the gondola.

They all watched as the airship became engulfed in flames, thick, choking black smoke billowing skyward.

"Glide and ditch it!" Angelo shouted at his student. His voice, amplified by magic, startled everyone.

But the burning airship lurched into a tightening spiral, turning sharper and sharper as if losing control, until it suddenly straightened and hurtled directly toward the castle.

Everyone onboard the flagship exchanged startled glances, sweat beading on their brows.

"He's heading straight for the donjon," another murmured in disbelief.

Angelo's eyes widened. He stared at the stricken airship, burning like a giant torch. It was fast, gaining speed as it plunged lower, only the front part of the balloon still retaining buoyancy. Then he saw her crew and troops leap overboard, gambling that the lush trees in the castle garden might break their fall. But the pilot remained.

"Rob!" Angelo shouted, fearing what his student intended.

There was no answer. As if possessed, the burning wreck dove straight toward the donjon. Most of her structure had already collapsed, transforming it into a searing inferno of wreckage. Yet, its trajectory was precise. Its speed surged even greater as gravity took hold.

"No!" Angelo cried in anguish. "Jump! Jump!"

Everyone watched, tears in their eyes, as the legendary ship met its final fate.

With breakneck speed no airship could ever achieve, the Bane of Lubina, wreathed in flames, smashed into Corinthia Castle’s donjon. The impact triggered a catastrophic eruption. Her unused incendiary payload detonated in a violent chain reaction, blasting debris skyward as thick black smoke billowed into the heavens.

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Flames swallowed the top part of the donjon, and in that instant, the three ballistas fell silent.

In the opening hour of the Siege of Corinthia, Avery had lost an airship and its mage pilot. The smugglers had baited him into a den of vipers.

***

Inland, the Dawn troops remained hidden in a small forest near the shore, crafting scaling ladders from the outriggers of their boats. They had successfully rowed the last stretch of sea to Corinthia and infiltrated the coast under the cover of night. Since then, they had hauled their boats ashore, staying concealed, eating what they carried, and regaining their strength for the upcoming assault.

Lord Avery’s war plan was to use his airships as a diversion so the ground troops could storm the castle directly. Thus, the need for ladders was paramount. They only had one chance to get it right. While Corinthia Castle’s walls were not particularly impressive, they still needed ladders to overcome them. Failing to overwhelm the defenders simply because they lacked enough tall ladders would be a foolish mistake.

Moreover, despite their airships, they were still only one hundred against at least four hundred, possibly more, not counting irregulars from the Corinthian populace. Fortunately, they had factored in the many men who had gone fishing early in the morning, meaning the city had already lost much of its manpower.

Two hours after sunrise, as the airships appeared, the troops were nearly ready for action. But what they saw next left them at a loss for words. One of the three airships had fallen, plummeting from the sky. The remaining two veered away from the castle.

It was clear. Their aerial supremacy had been shattered.

The troops’ faces betrayed shock, fear, anger, and nervousness all at once.

"My Lord…" his knight tensed, searching for the right words as Lord Avery stood watching his prized airship fall. The castle walls obscured their view, but the explosion was unmistakable.

"Hush," Lord Avery murmured, his voice strangely warm, like a father soothing a child. His expression barely shifted as he muttered softly, "They’ve given us the reason..."

His men exchanged uneasy glances, unsure of what their lord truly meant.

"These Corinthians… this proves they are too powerful to be left unchecked," Lord Avery said before calmly asking his men, "Can any of you tell which vessel it was?"

His knight glanced around at the others, only to receive a series of head shakes. He turned back and reported, "It's hard to tell from this distance."

Lord Avery stroked his graying chin, his expression unreadable. Then, in an eerily calm voice, he instructed, "Tell the men to stop making the ladders. We won’t be needing them anymore."

"Not needing ladders anymore? Are we stopping the attack?" his captain asked, concern heavy in his tone.

"No," Avery replied, "it’s just that we won’t need them."

His eyes swept over his gathered men, their resolve shaken by the recent loss. As their gazes fixed on him, he began, "We rowed against the waves in blind darkness, nearly crashed against jagged reefs, and fought the sea itself."

His voice remained soft as he continued, "Yet deep in my tender heart, I still believed the Corinthians might surrender after witnessing our airships. That maybe, just maybe, they would recognize their folly in the face of superior strength. But now, all hope for a civilized resolution is lost."

His men listened in solemn reverence.

"This was all for naught," Lord Avery continued. "Ladders are for stealthily capturing their leader. That is no longer necessary."

Turning toward the workers gripping their hatchets, he said coldly, "What we are about to do requires no hostages."

He took a swig from the waterskin handed to him by his squire and continued, "I am a reasonable man. I respect their courage and ingenuity. They made my airship burn, so it is only fitting that we prepare a great pyre in return, as a token of respect."

His men exchanged knowing grins, nodding in understanding.

Avery's voice grew firm. "There's no need for a proper battle. We'll do this the dirty way."

Wider grins spread across his men's faces. Avery had unshackled them from the constraints of honorable warfare. Chivalry no longer mattered; only victory did. Unlike the forces of other baronies, the Dawn was trained to kill and capture what remained. They had no interest in prolonged negotiations or hostage-taking.

"My Lord, what about the castle?" the knight asked.

Lord Avery laughed. "The main course should come after the appetizer. Let them hole up inside while we build the pyre to greet them."

With that, he half-drew his sword, the steel sliding effortlessly from the scabbard before he let it rest again. Then, without another word, he turned and strode toward the city's outskirts, his pace unhurried. The coastal sun bore down on him, its rays glinting faintly off the matte-finished plates of his armor.

"Men of Dawn, advance!" the knight bellowed.

Not to be outdone, his captain roared, "Unfurl the great banner!"

"Follow the Lord!" the troops cried eagerly. They gripped their spears and shields as they surged forward, a hundred of Dawn’s finest emerging from their hiding places, ready to exact vengeance for their captured trade boats and fallen airship.

***

Corinthia Side

The Corinthian defenders were still reeling from the explosion that struck their donjon, the main building that housed the Great Hall, the Lord’s chamber, and many other functions. Chaos had engulfed the castle complex as men scrambled to contain the raging fire threatening the Great Keep. With hastily formed bucket lines, they battled the blaze, but it was relentless. Their faces reddened from the heat, their clothes and limbs blackened by soot, yet the flames only grew fiercer, devouring everything in their path.

Outside, bodies lay sprawled across the grass, both allies and Corinthian guards alike. These poor men had manned the three ballistas, gifts from their new allies. They were likely thrown from the stone openings when the airship crashed and exploded.

Some had been heard screaming as they plummeted to their deaths. Others, less fortunate, had survived the fall. A few ballista crew members writhed in agony, their mangled bodies and scorched limbs leaving them in unbearable pain. Their injuries were so severe that the castle physician stood helpless, uncertain how to treat them.

But there was no time for grief. The castle was still under threat. A group of ten, perhaps a dozen men, had leaped from the stricken airship into the garden next to the courtyard and fought their way to the rear gate, barricading themselves inside. Fearing unnecessary casualties, the steward ordered his men to contain them rather than attempt to dislodge them. Instead, crossbowmen were posted to guard the exit, ensuring they would not escape.

Meanwhile, the donjon continued to burn. Despite the Corinthians’ heroic efforts, the heat became unbearable, forcing them to begin their retreat from the inside. It soon became clear that the Great Keep and the Lord’s entire residence could not be saved. In great distress, the steward ordered the vault and all valuables to be evacuated.

Then, at that desperate moment, movement stirred from the forested area near the shore. One hundred, possibly more, armed fighters emerged. Defenders on the towers and battlements shouted in alarm as their rear was exposed.

"It's the Dawn's banner!" a man in the tower cried.

Another guard urgently added, "They're aiming for the city!"

"By the Ancients, our men are on the eastern side! Call them back!" the steward howled. "Call them back!"

"No need to worry," a smooth voice interrupted.

And they all saw the Lord of Corinthia had returned with his squire and servant. Tall and charming, with long slick hair and a polished suit of plate armor, he moved through the chaos with an air of ease.

"My Lord," the steward greeted as the young noble approached. His tone was respectful, yet one could see the unease in his eyes, unsettled by the man’s confidence. "The donjon is burning. The enemy has breached—"

The Lord clapped a strong hand on the old steward’s shoulder, attempting to reassure him, but the gesture came off awkward. He tried again, pulled him close instead, and lowered his voice. "I said, no need to worry. Our allies have agreed to help."

"Those pirates?" the steward asked, his voice laden with doubt.

"Come now, you shouldn’t badmouth our allies. They’ve been nothing but helpful."

"They brought this upon us, forcing us to support thinly veiled piracy and dragging us into a war against greater powers," the older man argued. "No amount of gold will restore your family’s ancestral home. That Keep stood for centuries, and now it burns."

The young Lord shrugged at the accusation, his gaze drifting toward the burning donjon. "Old relics mean little to me." He turned back to the steward, who seemed taken aback.

Before the older man could respond, he continued, "Fortunately, our allies are rich beyond measure. They’ll certainly agree to a loan so I can build something better. One that suits a growing power like me."

"A loan? And how do we repay such a debt?" the steward asked, the inferno behind them glowing against the midday sun, its heat searing his worn, skeptical face.

"Corinthia is their treasured ally. They need our strategic position to keep the vile Dawn trade ships from ruining everyone’s economy," the Lord stated as if it was something obvious.

The steward shook his head but now was not the time for argument. "My Lord, where are these allies? I don’t even see your new bodyguards."

"They are currently preparing a counterattack," the Lord reassured, waving a dismissive hand. "They plan to let the Dawn forces push deeper into the city, and then they’ll strike their rear. It will be spectacular."

The Lord then laughed, just as one of the Great Hall’s burning wooden beams groaned and collapsed in a cascade of embers. It was an ominous sight.

"In a year’s time, I will build a new one," he mused aloud.

The steward could only offer a weak nod, his gaze lingering on the destruction.

Then the young, stalwart lord turned to his men, throwing out his gauntleted arms. "Come to me! We have a battle waiting for us! Let's not keep our allies waiting!"

...

The Battle of Corinthia City

Pained by the loss of their prized airship, one hundred enraged Dawn troops stormed the city, cutting down any who dared raise arms against them. Steel clashed against steel as the token defenders, fifty soldiers and dozens of armed citizens, made desperate stands in the narrow streets, only to be overrun by the disciplined warriors from Dawn. The air filled with the screams of the dying and those who fled the carnage.

Despite the chaos, there was a method to it. The Dawn attacked methodically, advancing until they met resistance. If the enemy was weak, they crushed them; if strong, they withdrew to lure them into ambushes, where flanking forces struck from unexpected angles.

When the Corinthians refused to take the bait, crossbowmen were brought forward, or, when necessary, slingers armed with alchemist fire. The Dawn's troops used them without hesitation, and soon, thick smoke curled from thatched roofs where resistance had been fiercest.

Using this method, they tore apart the two hundred defenders emerging from the eastern side. The urban terrain prevented the defenders from forming the battle formations they had trained for. Meanwhile, the Dawn, well-versed in Nicopolan street warfare, thrived in the confined battleground. In the city's narrow alleyways, their individual prowess and combat skill proved superior.

Before long, only isolated pockets of defenders remained, holed up in tall stone buildings such as warehouses, workshops, and storehouses. Slingers readily rained fire down upon them, forcing them into the open, where waiting Dawn troops cut them down.

More defenses crumbled as Lord Avery consolidated his forces. His men were vastly more competent and battle-hardened than the Corinthians, who had not fought a real war in over a decade.

In a narrow alley, Dawn troops smashed into the last of the defenders' line. With bitter cries, the Corinthians broke formation, trying to flee, but the narrow alley sealed their fate. Shields shattered under heavy blows, and the dull, wet thud of steel tearing through flesh echoed as the battle turned to slaughter.

Blood pooled in the sandy streets as Lord Avery and his men crashed through wooden doors with their boots and iron-clad gauntlets, storming homes in the affluent part of the city, capturing or cutting down any man who bore a sword or armor. Only the frail, women, and children were spared.

Hundreds of defenders and volunteers lay dead, yet the Lord of Corinthia stood unyielding. With his last remnants of knights, seven dozen guardsmen, and armed Corinthians, he prepared for a final stand near the city's forum. His gleaming armor and unwavering resolve made him a pillar of hope for his desperate men.

"Ancients, grant me one more chance," he muttered. He did not flinch from the fight or the bloodshed. He had sent group after group to defend the city, but the narrow streets had become a trap, leaving him with little room to maneuver.

The Dawn troops advanced, steady and confident, their silence more unsettling than any war cry.

Watching them close in, the young lord lifted his voice. "Hold your courage and do not falter. Our allies will come, and with them, victory!"

"Victory?" A voice echoed from beyond the wall of bloodstained brigandines and cuirasses. The disciplined Dawn soldiers parted, revealing a tall, menacing figure clad in a distinct style of plate armor. Streamlined and reinforced for mobility, it was built for endurance rather than ceremony. There were no embellishments, no excess steel to weigh him down. And the wearer himself only reinforced its purpose.

Though flanked by guards with overlapping shields, Lord Avery's athleticism was evident in the ease of his movements. His sharp eyes held no mercy, and even his fully gray hair did nothing to soften the brutal lines of his war-hardened face. He studied the younger Lord of Corinthia with a cold smirk. "Victory is for armies waging war. But there is no war here. I am simply hunting thieves and bandits; robbers who stole my trade ships. Now, tell me, do you deny that justice is owed?"

The Lord of Corinthia lifted his chin, forcing a bold answer. "What comes from the sea is for all fishermen to claim."

Avery snorted, his grin and tone turned grim. "You don’t need to answer. That was a rhetorical question."

The Dawn pressed forward, their measured steps tightening the noose. Avery's conversation was nothing more than a distraction, a ruse to give his troops time to seize the high ground. Now that they had found their target, they were poised to unleash the slaughter.

***