Spies of the Ch’Daesh chain were gleefully gathering up everything they could find out about Maharani Rashmi’s plans, now that they knew who she had hired, Ramachandra had to know what was going on so she could act accordingly. No doubt they’d be coming for the Harp when they could. Perhaps she should declare war now, while they’re still trying to assemble themselves, and make quick work of their plans. But that would be too simple, and it would put them on notice with the world surrounding it. News could travel that they did that to a defenseless country, and soon have more of Nahn down their throats than they could handle, and they didn’t have the means yet of doing more than just fending off Magara and other errant miscreants that sailed into the area. It’d be quick, but it’d be a fool’s move to do that. If they could wait a bit and make it look more like a formal war, it’d give Ramachandra time to bolster her forces with the Harp, and give Magara a legitimate fight. If they won in a war like that, so clearly declared and between two sides, then the rest of Nahn would just leave them be to fight like they have twin sister nations and castles and whatnot have been doing throughout the world’s history and make it just another small footnote in everywhere else’s history books. No war crime, no problem, right?

Sunset was rapidly draping itself over the islands and the Mahanilamaya Castle in the middle of Ch’Daesh sat with its search lights coming on. Each corner spire of the castle had a large lamp powered by the leftover gem and ore scrapings, whatever magick couldn’t be harvested was turned into a crude light or fuel, giving them just enough coverage to see the skies above them. Ch’Toc sat furthest west, with Ch’Rask directly opposing where Magara was, followed by Ch’Daesh and Ch’Aenor. The islands sat connected by thick, crude, metal bridges and water vessels were hardly in use anymore. The docks were no longer needed and were absorbed into the walkways and overpasses that let the people of the Ch’Daesh Chain travel freely, be it on foot or by things like bicycles or the coarsely made vehicles that transported people back and forth. Most of the transportation money had gone into the building and advancement of sky combat vessels crewed by boorish picaroons.

Ch’Rask was an island rich in all sorts of minerals and gems, housing a thick hoard of arcane, gale, flame, frost, and even some machina was found sparking inside some of it. Just as omni was rare to find in general, and Magara lucky to have it in any abundance, machina was even more rare and in demand as a trade option, with the people of the Ch’Daesh chain using most of it to absorb the magick and bolster their military presence, forging tools and armor and weapons out of the scrap that was left once it had been properly tapped of its magicks and stored by their own engineer’s guild, headed by their own vile court sorceresses and viziers, housing the magicks in grand, locked pots and stores under the castle, taking only what was needed to continue to build and provide for its people to keep them going and fighting. The vast majority of it lay untouched, especially the big jars of the arcane magick. The Harp of Aeons required a rather steady flow of it to keep its evil music playing, controlling those that were already under Ramachandra’s thrall and making more when needed. Woe betide anyone in an unfortunate engineering accident, for you were now hers to summon and arm cheaply and send back into the foray, whether you loved your country enough to want to do that or not. The miners and smelters on Ch’Rask toiled day and night in any weather to keep the arcane gems and ores coming, sometimes having to use the airships to hook huge claws in underwater and dig in the vast stores of corals and sands underneath.

The spotlights scoured the sky, in circles, in figure eights, almost aimlessly at times. They couldn’t see much farther than Ch’Daesh and the outer ends of Ch’Rask and Ch’Aenor, and if they were lucky and the fog and clouds played nice they could maybe see a bit into the Magaran island borders, but it was enough of a threat to make sure their enemies stayed humble. A set of four, unnatural eyes, constantly scanning the horizons and nearby radius, unblinking, as if you could hear them whispering to you that you can run but you can’t hide.

Inside of Mahanilamaya Castle, guarded by countless undead under maddened control of the Harp, lay one human woman among the endless thralls of the reanimated, a vicious and sour looking one, almost more tired and vile looking than the very stench of death that wafted around her and the ghouls that carried its eternal fetor about her. She was used to it, and armed with a pair of swords that never left her hips. On her left hip sat a heavy, keen, khanda sword with a thick guard capable of breaking the bones in of anyone she punched with it at close range instead of cut. On her right hip sat a strange sword unlike most others anyone in the world had seen. It was close a khanda or a talwar, but curved into a split end which she used to catch the weapons of her foes in and break them as she cut them down. It was simply called zulfiqar, or as she affectionately called it, the spine shattering sword. Despite her demonic appearance, her teeth were spread in a wide grin, almost devilish, wearing a uniform not unlike what the Magaran forces wear, but reinforced with different magicks and spun in brilliant crimsons, golds, and oranges, much akin to the sunset and sunrise that they believed that both belonged to them and they had dominion over.

She sat kneeling on a cushion next to the throne of Ramachandra, with not much else to do at the moment but guard her in the case of the worst happening and someone somehow bursting through her undead army and into the throne room to assassinate her. A messenger had been by shortly to deliver her a thick envelope. Now in her hand was a pile of reports, freshly inked and written in incredible detail, the language vivid and the information invaluable to them. Her bitter eyes began to warm up a small bit, and her nasty smile grew bigger. She snorted, laughed, and sighed dismissively as she read the messages back and forth in its entirety.

“Something amusing you, Vijaya?” Mahararni Ramachandra asked form her throne, the Harp laying in a special stand next to her grand seat.

“The spies have returned and given us an incredible bounty of information on what Rashmi and her kind are attempting.” The guard, now known by her name, continued to laugh. “We know the spies and messengers already brought it to your attention who Rashmi had hired and when they arrived, but now we know for sure why they’re here and what they’re after. You are indeed right to be wary, the women identified under Rashmi’s command are Siofra Aine Whelan, the swordarm of the goddess Fyrshala. She appears to be the one at the head of the mission. Alongside her includes Captain Susan the Thirteenth, the mayor of a port town on the continent to the northwest of us, she appears to be an expert in trade and piracy and knows her way around an airship and has brought her own with her. Her crew, Nuclear Wing Company D, have quite a reputation to them as does her ship, The Devil’s Grail. The last of them appears to be just a squire sent under Siofra’s command, who looks like she would rather not be anywhere near this nor have anything to do with the situation, a woman named Millia Ezrand working for the goddess Brynshala.”

“We figured that by the last spies and messengers descriptions of them, but getting paper confirmation is always good.” Ramachandra huffed. “But what are they up to? What have our spies unearthed about this foolish trio?”

“They do, indeed, plan on retrieving the Harp. Somehow. They appear to have made maps of the island and the one called Susan has had them begin rapid construction on reinforcements, especially to Panahara Castle and the mines of Kyt Island. Her and Siofra have begun instructing everyone they can on the island on how to fight, using any tool or weapon they can find, and how to be clever in its use. They know they are up against superior machines, but this does not seem to dissuade them one bit. Their sea ships are being converted as we speak, maybe not to fly, but they can definitely now aim high.” Vijaya continued her report.

“Well now, sounds like at least when we do blow them off the map, that they’ll have at least provided a minimum of amusement. I was almost afraid this would be far too one sided for us and we would have the world pointing their swords at our necks for bullying people without defenses.” Ramachandra laughed.

“So what do you propose we do?”

“Let them attempt it. If there’s anything we have in abundance, it’s time and resources. Both magickal and the ever-growing reach of the Harp means I can keep summoning dead privateers and mercenaries from further and further from Ch’Daesh, and have their spirits fly here and reanimate to my cause. Just keep the arcane magicks flowing strong, and let’s let those fools try to put on a show for us.”

“As your majesty commands, Maharani Ramachandra.”

“Oh, and Vijaya?”

“Yes, your majesty?”

“I have a special report here saying that both of your sisters are each helping Siofra rather closely. Well, Durga, not so much. But Arundhati has nothing but love and lust in her eyes for the swordarm of Fyrshala. If you want, I will leave extermination of your two sisters in your hands once we turn the tide and begin the assimilation of Magara.”

Vijaya’s eyes widened and she licked her lips, almost as if she could taste blood on them already. “My spine shattering sword and I would love nothing more than to feast from the innards of those two traitors! Your majesty is so kind to leave their fates in my hands!”

“I knew that would make you happy. Now go, Vijaya, get some rest after passing along my commands to the sorceresses at the engineer’s guild. May sunrise and sunset both belong to us until eternity!”

Hovering above the sky, in a combination of the clouds, the fog, and the smog coming off the machines that made the Ch’Daesh economy possible, The Devil’s Grail used its dark paint job to view the perimeter of the islands as close as they could without being caught. That was the advantage of having a captain that understood a black ship is really hard to see at night and also a crew hardened against these kinds of missions. The ship lowered itself as safely as it could towards the edge of the water closest to Ch’Rask and Ch’Daesh, wearing dark clothing and moving about with an incredible speed.

Susan and Durga lead the front, with various crew members scouting a path through, climbing trees now and again and hanging up small devices within the tallest of the fruits. The ones that were the least tempting to pick, the ones furthest from the prying hands of the mortals, using the incredible stench of the island and the undead to mask their scent.

Ramachandra really had been playing the Harp, hadn’t she? Susan hadn’t seen this many eyes glazed over in bodies hunched and sluggish since the last time she had seen the aftereffects of an orgy at her mansion that one time that Gryan’s stocks were at an all time high value. Or any other holiday on Lark. Or, let’s be real, most weekends on Gryan as well, especially since Tittershams opened. So maybe she’d actually seen it a lot. But not with the weird, shambling bits of skin and muscle coming off the bodies of the beings she thought were guards, but were actually the undead, doing circles around mostly to intimidate anyone into leaving the area. Susan rolled her eyes and pulled out her flintlock, twisting on a special attachment around the muzzle, and silencing the shots her shells made as the entered the backside of the undead. Sure, Ramachandra could probably summon them again later, but later is not now, and now was all that mattered. Durga ran behind her, making sure their tracks were covered, having brought a shortbow and some arrows seeped thick in a syrup made with sleeping magicks.

The two made their way across Ch’Rask and Ch’Daesh, placing as many of the devices around the islands as they could, only taking out the guards closest to catching them. They hid on the wall near the entrance to Mahanilamaya Castle, watching as the gate came down to let someone out of the castle and down the road. The weather was moist and foggy, and one of the thicker, warmer rains began to settle in across the region. From a nearby bush, Susan’s ears and Durga’s eyes peeked around, watching a contingent of engineers and their undead guard make their way, umbrellas done up and covering them, back to the docks to check on the airships. There was little time left to finish enacting their plan, but as Susan and Durga were leaving back to where Nuclear Wing Company D had left them off, Durga’s eyes caught the corner of the head guard protecting the parade of scientists making their way southwards. A familiar face, albeit haggard and changed with the experience that one gains from working under a nation half-ruled over by Hoethmarr.

Vijaya. So she was alive. Durga froze, almost gasping, every muscle in her body tensing up.

Susan immediately wrapped a hand around her mouth and grabbed Durga backwards, hoisting her up by her collar and then pulling her up over her neck and shoulders, carrying her as fast as she could back to the ship. “Idiot! We’ve barely any time! Once we drop our special surprise, we have to get back to Magara! Whatever you saw here will have to wait, that is, if it survives. Now git! You’ve not proven yourself to be a dumb woman yet, and I’m not about to let you start proving it otherwise!”

The rain showed up at the right time, providing them the cover needed for their footsteps, their outfits and weapons soaking but the storm hiding their movements and sounds as the winds and rains poured hot and sticky all over them, slowing everyone on the island down as they pulled up their tarps and parasols and whatnot, going in to change and wait out the rest of the rain before going back to work. Susan and Durga made it back just in time for The Devil’s Grail to take off, pulling them up and onto the deck, beginning the process of lifting off in the rocky conditions.

“We’ve seen worse storms and come out of it just fine, right chief?” One of her crew said.

“That’s right. So let’s show them where the Maharani Rashmi’s coffers are going. Drop the load and get in the cabin, direct the airship directly backwards northwest to Magara, and one my count, hit drop and hit reverse at the same time!” Susan commanded.

On a simple count of three, a thinly shelled set of bombs was dropped around the Ch’Rask island, some landing in the water, some landing in the actual mine shafts, some landing in the smithies themselves. The shells were meant to erode quickly by any element, even if it had been dropping flames or rocks on those thin shells, and the more wasting the shells got, the more their contents leaked. Magara and Ch’Daesh had directly opposing magickal gems and ores at their disposal, and once the shredded remnants of old scrap and gem cuttings and powders made contact with the natural, whole chunks of what was being dug up in Ch’Rask, sparks began to fly. Direct contact with their opposing forces made for a spectacular round of explosions, with The Devil’s Grail rocking hard in the rain and from the blowback of the bombs. With the time saved by hitting reverse instead of turning around, they had bought themselves just enough time to avoid any debris or magical detritus hitting them. The explosion combined with the storm was just enough cover to get the crew back to the Magara docks.

Ramachandra was likely to quickly figure out who did this, but as to who exactly was responsible and how they pulled this off, was not something she could quickly surmise or prove. However, bombing empty mine shafts was clearly a declaration of war, so it didn’t matter. Whenever her opponent made themselves known next, they would be ready to strike back.

And she would be feeding radio information in to Susan the whole time, her ear carrying a piece in it that was picking up the scattered feed of explosions, soldiers scrambling, and what sounded like one very, very frustrated Maharani in the background. Her hard work inventing what she had the people of Gryan invent what she called radio bugs had paid off. This mission would determine their worth.

For now though, the pirate captain laughed, the sunrise glowing in front of her as she made her way to Panahara to give her report. If anyone was going to make the entrance for the side of good, with Siofra distracted, it would have to be Susan and her vast knowledge of weapons and toys that required not a bit of traceable magick on them to use.

Dawn had finally risen on the first day of the war.



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