Standing at the first vessel's prow, his boots riveted to the floor and his palms gripping the railing, Siegfried observed the desolate lands that scrolled past on his sides. Sweat traced rivulets in the reddish grime plastered on his face, his light breastplate glimmering faintly under the Zenith's gleam. Juuh'ma stood behind him as was his habit, imposing and taciturn, his gigantic shadow spread over crates, his chains clicking softly with each oscillation of the boat while the squadron's specter stood against the wooden blocks, enjoying the shade the Shield provided her. The ships hadn't yet crossed half their journey when the knight saw a dark silhouette that skimmed the canal's waters. He moved to the left side of the ship to follow with his gaze Feather who passed between the two boats at full speed to dive into the sky to descend in a whirl toward her master located on the main mast.

  There, Siegfried put his two hands around his mouth and shouted.

  "R?chard! What..."

  The knight couldn't ask anything because the young archer was already jumping from his perch to catch a rope. With grace and elegance, he slid down to the prow's right railing. Once on the ground, he headed toward his group.

  "She saw flames coming from the quays. Few but she saw some."

  He extended his left arm so Feather could land on his leather bracer and he continued.

  "She also saw archers posted on the roofs of the city entrances. But I don't quite understand what she wants to tell me by that. And troops. Many. Who swarm throughout the city. No defensive line."

  The knight placed his left hand on his longsword's pommel and went to fetch with his right hand a piece of dried meat from a small skin bag hung at his waist to throw it to the fifth member of his squadron.

  "Well done my beauty," he congratulated her.

  Catching the piece in flight, Feather placed it at the young archer's feet, but didn't shred it immediately. Before, she beat her wings, whirled on herself and snapped her beak. She still had things to say.

  "What is she telling you?" the knight asked his archer with haste.

  R?chard replied while deciphering his goldenbeak's dance.

  "I don't know. It's weird, Sieg. She says she saw no bodies without armor lying on the ground... Ah okay, I think I understood. She says she saw no dead civilians."

  "No dead civilians?" Mei questioned, dubious. "It's strange. What invasion doesn't make victims?"

  "Normally, none. Perhaps they had time to hide," the Shield said.

  "Or that Feather didn't see them because of the smoke..." she retorted.

  The boy let Feather savor her meat. Then, he tapped his shoulder piece so she would land on it and he whispered something to her. Twice, she scratched with her beak the reinforced leather that served as her perch.

  "She has nothing more to tell us, Sieg."

  "Good!"

  The knight turned toward his Shield and commanded.

  "My brother, go get me the lieutenant, will you?"

  "No need, kid, I'm already here," said Dragar as he climbed the stairs to reach the ship's forward deck. "What did the bird tell you, huh?"

  "The city is starting to burn, my Lieutenant. Archers are positioned at height at the city entrances, we don't know what she means by that. They seem to be waiting for our arrival to take us by surprise," Siegfried explained, upright posture and hands behind his back.

  The old man placed his hands on his big belly.

  "It's normal you don't get anything she's telling you, you've never been to the port. But your bird saw right, Port-Foam is split in two by the canal that flows into the sea. A north part and a south, so two entrances, I think that's what she wanted to tell you."

  Perched on her master, Feather chirped.

  "I understand better, my Lieutenant," he replied, nodding. "Moreover, she could see that the city swarmed with enemy soldiers. But one strange thing is she didn't see deaths on the civilians' side. That's all she could report."

  "No deaths on the civilian side, huh?" the old man from the North murmured, passing a hand through his beard in a moment of reflection that lasted no more than two heartbeats. "Well, it's useless to think about it three clarities. Seeing as Solar?s seems to be on our side, it's going to be easier than I thought. Your bird will have spared us unnecessary deaths, you can thank her for me."

  He turned to leap onto the ship's center. He landed in a heavy sound, ran toward the rear dodging his soldiers and the N'zonki who pushed on the capstan. His two axes in his hands, he jumped on the stern's edge to plant them in the wood and hauled himself up like a feline. Squadron VIII watched the scene with astonishment, not understanding how a man so pot-bellied and aged could move as easily as R?chard and Mei.

  Grabbing a rope, he positioned himself on the railing to be able to speak to his units present in the two ships, the second being slightly behind, his big beard and hair floating in the wind.

  "LISTEN TO ME SONS AND DAUGHTERS OF SOLAR?S!!!!"

  His voice swept over the two ships like a gust.

  "PORT-FOAM IS ON FIRE MY FRIENDS AND THE CAPTAIN CHOSE US, US, THE GOLDEN LANCES TO RETAKE THE CITY. SO LET'S HONOR HIM BY OFFERING HIM OUR ENEMIES' LIVES. WE'LL CUT DOWN EVERYTHING THAT GETS IN OUR WAY, DID YOU UNDERSTAND? OUR STRATEGY WILL BE SIMPLE, TORTOISE FORMATION BEFORE OUR ARRIVAL TO ENDURE THE FIRST VOLLEY FROM THE ARCHERS POSTED ON THE OUTER QUAYS' ROOFS. ONCE FINISHED, AND AT MY COMMAND, WE SPLIT INTO TWO GROUPS. THE SHIP FROM THE NORTH BANK, WITH ME, THE OTHERS TO THE SOUTH BANK. WE CRUSH THEM IN A PINCER AT THE PORT, DID YOU HEAR? OUR OBJECTIVE IS CLEAR, PROTECT THE CITY AND THE KING'S STATUE EVEN IF WE MUST LEAVE OUR LIVES THERE. THESE SCAVENGERS DON'T KNOW WHAT AWAITS THEM. WE WON'T JUST CHASE THEM, WE'LL SMASH THEM AND TEAR OUT THEIR GUTS AND YOU KNOW WHY? BECAUSE WE ARE THE GOLDEN LANCES. WE ARE THE KINGDOM'S FIRST DEFENSE AND NEVER DO WE BEND BEFORE THE ENEMY. ARE YOU READY TO DIE FOR SOLHEIM, MY COMRADES?"

  "WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!" the Golden Lances roared in chorus.

  "ARE YOU READY TO DIE UNDER MY COMMAND?"

  "WOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOH!" the warriors responded a second time to their chief in a primal roar, weapons raised to the sky.

  These cries had the effect of multiplying the motivation and bloodthirst that already reigned on the ships since the capital's departure.

  "Well said, old man," the knight breathed, also feeling adrenaline invade his body, his low murmur lost in the ambient din.

  He turned toward his squadron to urge them to follow him, a flame of determination blazing in their eyes. They followed the Vaan Hart to the ship's rear where they saw him extend his hand toward the lieutenant.

  "My Lieutenant, do you have a map of Port-Foam?" he asked.

  A grunt came from the one-eyed old man's mouth. He detached a worn map from his belt and threw it with a brusque gesture, the parchment snapping in the air like a strap. Siegfried unfolded it on a crate, his eyes sweeping the lines with concentration.

  "The crescent moon port, the outer quays flanked by embankments, Port-Foam's narrow alleys opening like a labyrinth toward the heart," he enumerated in a low voice while engraving each curve, each height in less time than it took to say it, his fingers crumpling the paper under pressure.

  In turn, he pivoted toward his squadron, already gathered around him.

  "Look well," he began with a cold and strategic voice while pointing with his finger at certain zones of the maritime city on the map. "Port-Foam is a crescent cut in two by the canal, the north bank, the south bank, the drawbridge at the center to connect them, the statue holding the chains where the canal flows into the ocean and the port all the way west."

  He tapped with his index finger the maritime city's outer quays.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  "We'll board to the east. Right here."

  His green irises as bright as verdant fixed on his archer.

  "R?chard, as soon as you get the opportunity, you rush to the south bank's embankments," he ordered, his finger tracing a path on the parchment. "Look here! The map shows us embankments to the southeast, where the city curves, then flat roofs dominating the south quays. No more archers perched up there must live. I want you to silence them as quickly as possible, I'm counting on you."

  His finger sliding toward the center, the knight pointed at a sinuous line on the plan.

  "Then, you follow this path to the drawbridge. Find the mechanism and lower it for Lieutenant Bjornhold and his men. If it's already lowered, you come back to cover us. Your arrows must signal their positions to us. You and Feather will be our eyes if the smoke blurs our vision."

  "You can count on us, Sieg! We'll be like Death come from the sky."

  The knight pivoted his gaze slightly toward the specter who stood at his sides and continued.

  "Mei. At docking, I want you to unleash your daggers on the north bank with the lieutenant. The map reveals narrow passages running along the northeast quays, just before the drawbridge. You slip in, you blend in, and you strike everything you cross without showing yourself. Your first mission will be to facilitate the advance of the Golden Lances unit to the drawbridge. Understood?"

  "Yes!"

  With a slight glance, he scrutinized his specter.

  "How many throwing daggers?"

  "About thirty."

  "Good! That'll make thirty fewer enemies," he murmured, satisfied, before continuing his command. "I want your shadow to sow terror in their ranks. Make them tremble. Make them doubt. Then, rush toward this tower."

  He indicated a precise point on the plan, a tall structure near the north port, near the King's statue that seemed to straddle the canal on the map.

  "Intendant St?venson must be there. Your second mission will be to protect her and escort her to the Lances."

  "Understood!"

  Slowly, the paladin straightened, his hands leaving the worn map. He tightened the folds of his ashwolf skin around his hips, the dark fur hugging his movements like a second armor. His eyes found those of Juuh'ma.

  "You and I, we'll go to the south bank."

  No other word was exchanged.

  The colossus knew what he had to do so he inclined his head, barely. An imperceptible movement worth all speeches.

  Siegfried breathed deeply, then his voice rose again, deeper, charged with a new solemnity.

  "I want no hesitation from us. No mercy. We strike fast, we strike hard."

  He paused, letting his gaze sweep each face of his squadron.

  "May the God of Suns witness our fury. For Solheim."

  "For Solheim," they repeated in echo, their voices mixing with the rumble of chains under the hull.

  Observing the scene from the center of the rear deck, a gleam of esteem pierced Lieutenant Bjornhold's raw savagery. He crossed Siegfried's cold gaze, a furtive nod marking his tanned face.

  I wasn't wrong about him, this man is far from being just any chief. His cold blood and his way of commanding his troops remind me of the little one...

  He advanced to place his boot on the wooden railing to remove his axes with violence and addressed squadron VIII.

  "Knights! Know that the Cap'tain is the most stubborn man I know so don't die here. He'd be capable of coming to hell to find you and send you back on mission to Fort-Shadow!"

  "Yes, my lieutenant," they acquiesced in chorus, fists on solar plexus.

  The Golden Lances recovered their shields and formed a protective rampart around the Stoneskins. The colossi's cries who weighed with all their weight on the capstans amplified. On the horizon finally emerged the city, drowned in a tumult of black smoke and dancing flames that masked the colossal statue of the Ancient King, this stone sentinel that dominated the city with all its vertiginous height.

  Two compact blocks of male and female warriors had massed around the capstans, their weapons glittering under the flickering light. Only the lieutenant and Rhak'im remained posted at the ship's rear, ready to command the maneuvers in the battle's imminence.

  On Rhak'im's order, the ships came board to board then the N'zonki ceased pushing on the capstans, letting the crafts glide freely toward the port entrance.

  Taking advantage of this lull, R?chard slightly inclined his head to murmur an order to Feather, who immediately launched into the air. With an agile leap, he jumped onto the south bank ship to prepare for the coming combat, followed closely by Siegfried and Juuh'ma.

  There, the young archer undertook a series of blank shots of stupefying speed, making his bow's string snap in a sinister symphony, as if to adjust his aim with surgical precision. The Golden Lances warriors exchanged stupefied looks before such velocity and agility. At this precise moment, they understood that this boy was not an ordinary adolescent, but indeed a living weapon, a formidable asset not to be neglected, as Lieutenant Di Fiorenze had so rightly emphasized.

  The ships approached the east's outer quays, their flanks scraping the banks in a tortured wood creak.

  Port-Foam burned.

  From the quays, Siegfried saw the smoke rise in thick columns above the roofs, twisting in the leaden sky. What Feather had spotted as a few fires had spread. The flames now licked the warehouse facades near the port, climbed along the thatch roofs, spat through broken windows. The hot air carried the acrid smell of calcined wood, burned canvas and melted tar. Ashes whirled, carried by the offshore wind.

  And the cries. Even at a distance, the two hundred knights of Solar?s could hear the cries.

  Screams muffled by smoke, desperate calls that resonated between invisible buildings, somewhere in the alley labyrinth that opened before them. The flames' crackling formed a sinister backdrop to this symphony of chaos.

  On the quays themselves, a few silhouettes ran, civilians fleeing toward the water, the only zone still spared. A handful of fishermen bustled near their boats, hesitating between fleeing and staying. Further, at the entrance of an alley, Siegfried glimpsed armed shadows, massed, who didn't seem to care about the flames.

  They already control access to the city, he thought.

  Mei scrutinized the flat roofs that bordered the quays, exactly where Feather had seen the archers and silhouettes stood out there, bow in hand.

  "Will this bird therefore never be wrong?" she wondered while on the other boat, Juuh'ma prepared for combat, gaze fixed on the dark alleys that plunged toward Port-Foam's heart.

  There, invisible from the ships but very present, other enemies swarmed. The knights couldn't see them, but they knew they were there.

  A few meters from the quays, Rhak'im raised his left arm.

  "KNIGHTS, GRAB ONTO WHAT YOU CAN!" he shouted with fury before turning toward his sailors to continue. "AT MY SIGNAL, MY BROTHERS, STOP THESE SHIPS FOR ME!"

  He waited. Waited more. More. Then when the boats arrived at the quays' level, he lowered his arm.

  "NOW!"

  The N'zonki sailors pulled on the bars with all their strength. The capstans groaned. The gears blocked in a metallic crash that tore the air.

  The shock was brutal.

  The ships immobilized as if they had just hit an invisible wall. The warriors were projected forward, some clung to railings, others fell to their knees. The wood cracked on all sides, threatening to split. Sprays of water rose high in the sky before falling back as salty rain, soaking the decks, armors, faces.

  On a roof, a shadow moved. A red smoke arrow streaked toward the sky in a strident whistle.

  In response, the Golden Lances raised their shields and the steel dome closed before the sky darkened with projectiles.

  The first volley arrived in a sharp scream, a whistle that froze the blood. Dozens, hundreds of steel points plunged on them like a swarm of angry vesp?dars. The din was deafening: the arrows clapped against the shields in an infernal crackling, a deluge of dull and metallic blows that resonated into the bones.

  Some arrows missed their target. They stuck in the planks with a dull thunk, vibrated a moment, then immobilized. Others ricocheted on shields to streak into the water in an almost derisory plop. Then, as abruptly as it had come, the volley ceased.

  "SHOOTERS, RETURN FIRE!" Dragar roared from the ship's rear, sweeping two arrows aimed at him with a single axe backhand. "BRING DOWN THESE GRISBOUC SONS FOR ME!"

  About twenty archers from Solheim, R?chard included, sheltered under the tortoise, loosed their arrows through the interstices, piercing the smoky air. Several enemies fell from roofs, their cries muffled by the mist, their bodies crashing on the pavement in dull impacts that raised clouds of ashes.

  Weaving between warriors, the young archer exited the formation to notch three new arrows in the blink of an eye. He aimed at shadows posted on the south side, his bow cracking under tension, and mowed down as many enemy shooters as projectiles fired.

  Siegfried took advantage of the lull to stick his head out from under the shields.

  "MEI, NOW!"

  He turned toward his archer.

  "R?CHARD! THE HEIGHTS!"

  With a roll to the left, the boy barely avoided an enemy shot and rushed toward the railing to take support to leap onto the south bank quay. He rushed toward a narrow staircase leading to the embankments, his silhouette vanishing into the smoke.

  On her side, the Noohrikane did the same and slipped into the north banks' shadow, her silent steps barely grazing the ground. She slipped away toward the northern alleys with graceful fluidity.

  The instant she penetrated the city, Juuh'ma placed his enormous hand on his brother's head to pull it under the shields, preventing him from being hit by a second volley falling on the ships.

  "TO THE ATTAAAAAAAAACK!" Lieutenant Bjornhold howled at the end of the second attack in a primal cry that tore Port-Foam's air.

  With a phenomenal leap for a man of his corpulence, he propelled himself over the railing, his two axes raised above his head, his gray beard floating behind him like a war banner. His war cry was guttural, primal, a roar that came from the depths of his guts and that made the air itself tremble.

  He fell back on the north quay.

  The ground trembled.

  The impact was so violent that the pavement cracked under his boots. A cloud of dust and ashes exploded around him, masking his massive silhouette for a moment. The closest looters jumped, turning their heads toward this nightmare apparition, a pot-bellied colossus with a mad eye, covered in scars, who laughed like a madman.

  "HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! COME, GRISBOUC SONS! I'M WAITING FOR YOU!"

  Behind him, the formation broke. The Golden Lances swept over the two banks like a tidal wave of metal and fury, jumping from the ships in a din of boots, armors clashing, war cries mixing in a brutal cacophony.

  Siegfried advanced on his side, his longsword drawn reflecting the light of flames devouring the surrounding buildings, probing the alleys with sharp coldness. Behind him, as always since the day of their first meeting in the Trinkets Quarter, Juuh'ma stood in his brother's shadow, ready to parry any threat. He was his Shield, and the oath he had made to himself could not be broken.

  Not today.