Armageddon Series

Black Dawn - Chapter 9: The Power of Steam

January 02, 2021 Terry Season 1 Episode 9
Armageddon Series
Black Dawn - Chapter 9: The Power of Steam
Show Notes Transcript

Turim and the others have finally escaped Ys, but Turim is concerned he’s drawn civilians into a war that’s not theirs to fight.

Armageddon TM and its characters and story are copyright Terry Tibke. All rights reserved.

Music & SFX

[In the Clouds] by David Fesliyan, [Echo of Visions] by Conti Music, [Starry Dream] by David Fesliyan, [A World In Trouble] by David Fesliyan, [Orchestral Conflict] by Dennix, [Of Elias Dream] by Bensound

 Soft Wind by florianreichelt, Ambient(light wind).WAV by o_ciz, R15-70-Males hamp rope creaks by 6polnic, BODY FALL - V HVY - DIRT by leonelmail, Horse Whinny, Close, A.wav by InspectorJ, G48-18-Steam Train Vents Steam.wav by craigsmith, WILDTRACK Swamp at night in Minnesota USA by chris_dagorne,  Swamp by abcopen,  Tapping Nail In Wood by Samantha_Dolman, Steam Train Vents Steam.wav by craigsmith

Jake Utter [Voice Actor] - Voices Turim Gliderlance

Andrew Embers [Voice Actor] - Voices Sand Rocketblade

Demetrius Hazel [Voice Actor] - Voices Lasertooth

Kobe Markworth [Voice Actor] - Voices Thunderclap and Gulanis

Sean Valley [Voice Actor] - Voices Strevan Pickaxe and Dithkanir

Hayley Craig [Voice Actress] - Voices Jaffrine Maplebow

Morgana LeFaye [Voice Actress]- Voices Tartara Silverwing

Tallent [Voice Actor] - Voices General Panthis Obsidianfist 

JJtheJetvox [Voice Actor] - Voices Meineken Shadowstar

Brittanie Arwen [Voice Actor] - Voices Sinfa Songbird

The Worlds Okayest DM [Voice Actor] - Voices Pond Grimslug

Ben Habel [Voice Actor] – Voices Lakalith Paledust

Maia Harlap [Voice Actor] – Voices Kithria Wraithchasm

Aaron Anderson [Voice Actor] – Dark Elf
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Chapter 9 —The Power of Steam 


As the rangers lay on the ship’s deck recovering, Turim eased as well. He nodded to Meineken, knowing they’d finally reached some measure of safety. Though the sun had drawn below the treetops on the horizon, it was welcome. It would help mask them in the sky.

Jaffrine rolled over, punching Strevan in the arm. “I thought you were dead! Don’t cause us such distress ever again! My heart beat like goblin war drums!”

Strevan rubbed his shoulder tenderly. “Sorry,” he said, his voice quiet again. “I only had one shot. I had to be sure my arrow would kill the mad creature when it sprang.”

Then Tartara flew to Strevan’s shoulder, sitting there almost leisurely. “You’ve both caused me loads of trouble. It’s lucky these three spotted us on the road.” Her voice was stern, but she was smiling.

As everyone regained their composure, Turim walked over to Sinfa at the helm to discuss their plans. “Well,” he began. “Thank you for your help, but I don’t wish you to feel forced. I’m sure this is taking you far out of your way.”

“Don’t worry about that,” she said with the crack of a smile. “She could use some more testing, honestly.” She pushed a lever forward and took her hands off the wheel. “But how far are we going?”

Turim let out a resigned sigh. “We should probably continue toward the coast of Cornerius.”

“Sure. There’s little point in setting down just yet,” replied Sinfa. “The Cloudracer never gets tired. Honestly, if you have that much need of haste, we’d be wise to continue your journey without delay.”

“How long will it be before we arrive in the ports of Tusokan?” asked Meineken, coming up alongside them.

Turim and Meineken looked at each other. “I don’t know if we have the time to drop you off there first,” said Turim, but decided to wait until they were closer before arguing over it.

Meineken folded his arms.

“How far is it?” Sinfa questioned as her eyebrow rose.

“It would take maybe a day, day and a half, by dragon,” said Turim, tilting his head. “But I don’t suppose you reckon distances well by dragon’s flight.”

“By ship it would take almost six days from Ys to the Bay of Ixidor,” added Meineken.

Sinfa’s previously raised eyebrow suddenly dropped, as if she'd completed calculating the distance and speed in her head. “Then I can get us there in about two and a half days, maybe even two if all goes well.”

“Impressive,” stated Meineken.

Turim nodded to Sinfa. She was intelligent. There was no doubt about that. In fact, he’d finally allowed himself to believe her airship probably was the greatest bit of luck they’d come across, even if it swayed the way it did. Even if she’d said she was still testing it.

“I’ve no real misgivings now about leaving the island before Lieutenant Rocketblade returns,” he said. “Or at least, not many. I can only give you my most heartfelt appreciation, milady. But please, let me be clear in telling you; I don’t ask you for it. I can’t. But,” he glanced over to the rangers as well, “We could use the help for a short time if it’s given.”

Sinfa looked at him sidelong and seemed to look over the rangers as well. “The effects of this attack on Genova—I’m pretty sure that’ll spread far if the Dragon Army succeeds against you. And as much as I want your lands free of control, I’m also a little selfish. I need my own island safe too. So sure, I use my ship willingly. Though if I didn’t, I don’t think there’d be anything else you could rely on. Nothing fast enough anyway.”

As he looked around to the five strangers around him, a terrible feeling welled up in his chest. He’d drug all of these people into his own problems. Sure, Meineken had some stake, but the rest of them could’ve easily avoided the Dragon Army for the rest of their lives—unless Ys was overtaken.

“You know, you don’t have to leave the island with us,” he said, turning to Jaffrine and the other rangers. “This isn’t your fight. You three belong here, in the beauty of the wood. Maybe Lady Songbird can drop you off before we leave Ys’ shoreline?”

Strevan looked to Jaffrine and Tartara. None of them spoke.

“Lord Gliderlance,” said Jaffrine eventually. “Don’t think I haven’t considered that. But I hope you’ll let the three of us speak privately. I know a course must be chosen. But you don’t understand all the circumstances. We must weigh each with equal accord.”

“Of course,” returned Turim. “But whatever your other considerations, know this, my friends. There’s only peril, and perhaps doom, before us. So heed my words. Disembark when we reach the shore. Your lives aren’t caught in that doom yet.”

“I think we need to sleep on this decision,” said Jaffrine. “We’ll pass the shoreline of Ys very soon. Let’s continue on. If need be, we’ll charter a ship back from the coast of Cornerius.”

Tartara and Strevan nodded, their faces thoughtful and uncertain.

“The Dragon Army has paid us little heed so far,” continued Jaffrine. “But we also know the dark power that spreads before the Dragon Army as they expand their reign. So, for now, what do we have for rations? We never got our order at the pub.”

They soon left the island of Ys behind. The weather was fair, and the low hanging sun reflected on the Gerathian Ocean far below as they made their way to Cornerius. Sinfa had told everyone she’d be able to continue with little rest for the night and the others could sleep in the few rooms the ship had—though she apologized for not having prepared any food or blankets.

Though Sinfa had to remain at the wheel, in the captain’s dining quarters, the rest shared small rations of dried poyo and kabocha chips that Jaffrine had carried. Strevan also revealed a now partially dry loaf of pumpernickel, which he shared with the others, though reluctantly.

 

Strevan sucked a bit of kabocha off before dropping its purple shell back into his bag. “We could find a lot more food on land than we can in the sky,” he grumbled. “My stomach is rumbling. And speaking of which, why does the ship rumble like that? If I had much choice, I’d rather not be up here.”

Turim still agreed with that, at least.

“When is your stomach not rumbling, my friend?” spoke Jaffrine gently, a hint of a smile drawn on her face.

Tartara put her finger to her lips as if Sinfa could hear them. “Strevan, don’t say that so loud!”

“Sinfa takes offense to those sorts of comments,” said Jaffrine, sitting at a table across from Turim. “She’s worked on this machine since she was a very young girl. Her grandfather began it.”

“So I’ve learned,” Turim nodded.

“Like you, Strevan’s never been upon The Cloudracer in the skies,” Jaffrine said quietly.

Turim smiled, his thoughts on their pilot again. “I was considering tonight. It won’t be right for a lady to remain awake while everyone sleeps. I can stand guard over Sinfa.”

“But Turim,” Tartara protested. “You look tired. I don’t think we should have anything to worry about in the skies in these parts. You should rest.”

“Don’t worry, Commander. I’ll look after her.” Strevan folded his arms and leaned back proudly.

“Aye,” agreed Tartara, sitting on the table itself. “Me and some of the other rangers went out last night to check up on you, Turim. Found a few more of those dark elves in the woods too, not far from Dwellinghearth. Strevan got plenty of sleep.”

“Hey,” mumbled Strevan, “I wouldn’t go that far."

“Thank you, but now hold on. We all saw the Dark Knights down there, didn’t we?” argued Turim. “How can you say there aren’t any of the enemy about? There was a Wing that came into Genova not a week ago.”

“We haven’t seen any dragons fly over Ys in years,” said Tartara. “There’s no reason for them to start now.”

Both Strevan and Jaffrine gave the fairie a glance—a wordless reminder.

“I told you two, that blue dragon was a mistake!” said Tartara, shooting an icy look right back at them. “And it was his anyway. In any case, it’ll be dark in minutes. See.” She pointed out to the descending sun as it vanished beyond the horizon. 

“I don’t get it. If they’re on Ys, I would’ve assumed it would have been swarming with dragons.” Turim yawned then, a most unfortunate thing to support his argument to take watch.

At everyone’s urging, he agreed to let Strevan stay out with Sinfa.

Turim gave a look to Meineken, just listening to the rangers. They seemed well connected with each other. He wondered what their lives were like living amongst the trees.

When everyone had finished eating, they went to their cabins. It had hardly been enough to call it a meal. But soon they were drifting into slumber on the stiff, dusty beds, as the low whirring and chugging of the airship droned on through the late hours of night.

* * *

On Ys, General Obsidianfist continued to wait for the cavalry he’d sent out to return. Though he considered patience one of his greatest virtues, night fell and he could no longer hold back the anger that had been building throughout the day.

“Pond!” he shouted to his goblin assistant.

Racing from the tent into the open air of the swamps, Pond drug himself up next to the General. “Yessuh?” he feebly answered.

“Apparently, our men still haven’t located the Knight of the Hawk!” replied General Obsidianfist. “We’ve no more time to wait. We have to return to the Spire at once. Prepare your things.”

“You goddit!” the little goblin replied as he traipsed off again.

Standing slowly, his muscles sore from inactivity, the General stretched. Perhaps he’d made a rash decision in sending off the cavalry. But one would assume that so many men could retrieve, or slay, a lone knight in a foreign land. I should’ve tended to the business personally, he told himself.

A last check ensured he was ready to leave. Pond was still breaking down the tent, but the goblin was quick, he’d be finished in a few short moments.

It was then that two Dark Knights rode swiftly into the camp, their horses’ coats covered in foam. Captain Mareshelter was one them, and quickly he rode forward, speaking between deep breaths. “Sir!” he said.

The General folded his arms behind his back, turning to face the pair of riders. He listened intently as they unfolded the events that had taken place.

“The knight escaped us on the deck of a flying ship!”

“And why did you let the Knight of the Hawk escape?” said General Obsidianfist calmly. He was angry, but he wasn’t going to let these setbacks bother him. Not yet.

“When we attempted to capture him, he fled with the assistance of some of the island folk,” replied Captain Mareshelter. “They looked like wanderers clad in green—the Ysian rangers perhaps. After that, we pursued the knight and the ninja, as well as the rangers. The dark elven scum must’ve failed. The ninja is still alive. And he’s now allied himself with the knight!”

“Are you certain of that fact?” asked the General.

“There shouldn’t be another ninja within a hundred leagues!” said Captain Mareshelter. “This one has to be the ninja the diggers were sent to assassinate.”

Captain Mareshelter went on to explain the arrival of the mysterious airship, and their retreat.

“Of the handful who escaped the massacre, Goris and I are the only two who weren’t captured by a whole different rabble of Ysians. They attacked us while we rode. They were organized and they were fast. They ambushed us on our way back here!”

The General fought back the urge to remove Captain Mareshelter’s head again. The story was so outlandish he had to believe it. He’d known about the puzzling woodsmen, though they’d never had to deal with them before. But an airship? That was peculiar.

“Come, there’s little we can do now,” he said. “If we remain here much longer, we’ll cause alarm to Gewurmarch Rottbone. I’d rather avoid that. I’ll send one of the fastest swamp wyverns with a message to Evildrath.”

The wyverns would be able to pass up the knight and the ninja. And Evildrath, the dark elf raider’s leader, would be more than willing to make up for his raiders’ mistakes—unless he’d rather lose his own life.

Pond was packed and ready to go. Why can’t my Dark Knights be as useful as this little one? thought General Obsidianfist. Still, these tidings the captain’s given are strange. They must be conveyed to the Gewurmarchs at once.

Then, with a wave of his hand, Pond and the two Dark Knight riders fell in line behind the General. Their footprints became all that remained of their camp at the edge of the Fallow Marshes. Deep in the stinking, dark, thick-misted swamps, where few went. Slowly, they sank into the fog, and were gone.

* * *

Turim had managed to doze off, but sleep—once again—was one of the last things on his mind. When he woke, he tossed on his mattress for a few moments before deciding to get some air. Taking care not to wake Master Shadowstar, he put his cloak about his shoulders and crept quietly out.

Across the ship he saw Sinfa, steady at the wheel. The moonlight splashed her shadow across the wooden deck, trickling it down the steps behind her. Strevan sat against the hull nearby, listening to her hum and sing a few lines of something that ended before Turim reached them.

 

… but Duragil was not forgot,

his grave it stands alone,

and lies within a secret spot

so marked with silver stone.

 

Strevan looked up with a smile and nod.

Sinfa must’ve heard the stirring, because she stopped as Turim walked toward her. “Were you listening to me?” she asked.

Turim tried to look apologetic and smiled. “Aye,” he said. “Sorry for spying—I heard the song. It was beautiful… and sad. What was it?”

She blushed and turned forward, looking over her wheel. “The song tells of one of Ys’ greatest heroes, the one who freed our island from Gougemire. Lots of people sing the Hymn of Duragil in the village of Pelth, to the north of the island. There are some in Centerland who know it too, and many of the rangers sing it. They’re the ones who taught it to me. But very few know who wrote the hymn.” She looked over her shoulder with a faint smile.

“Do you know?” asked Turim. She’d said it as though she did.

“I do,” said Sinfa. “But to tell you that, I’ll first say that Duragil found promise in the young boy who grew to write this song when others couldn’t see his gifts. The hero and the boy grew to be very close friends—before the dark time of Gougemire. The writer was a ranger. He was with the band that went north to the marshes, and he, along with one other, made it back from the swamps. No one else returned.” Sinfa stopped.

“I’m off to sleep then,” said Strevan, grunting with a stretch as he stood. “If you’re up, Commander, and don’t mind.”

“Of course,” said Turim, “Get some rest. Thank you again.” He looked out to the darkness, staring at the stars as they passed above. A snick of a quiet door closed at the back of the airship.

Turim listened to the wind of their speed and the drone of the propellers. Then he fought off a shiver. He’d grown accustomed to wearing his armor for long periods, and now he felt cold without it—although, he was certainly more comfortable. He touched his gauntlet, thinking of his father again. Would he be proud of what he was doing? Had he handled it as he would have?

“I’m sorry about the accommodations,” said Sinfa finally. “I never thought I’d be flying so many people so soon. I once carried lots of folk on this ship, before it was downed. But ever since the crash, I’ve been slowly making repairs. I just got her back together. Mostly.”

Turim thought to ask of the crash, but decided against it, putting it in his thoughts for later. “So how exactly did you learn how to ‘put her together’?”

Sinfa eyed him, as though she was about to share a secret. “My grandpa was a great man. Few could match his ingenuity and craftsmanship. He and his dwarven friend designed the first steam engine. I used to watch him and read over his design notes when I was a little girl, and I fell in love with everything I read. I kept learning, even after he’d passed on years ago.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” said Turim gently. She called the barkeep, Uncle Critchard. He wondered where her parents were, but decided not to stir that up either.

Sinfa looked at him sidelong for a moment. She seemed to be teetering on the edge of a decision to go further with her own story.

Then she spoke up as she turned back to her wheel. “My grandpa told me all sorts of stories about his dwarven friend Grim, who died for their discovery, killed by some power-hungry elf. So, I decided I had to go to Grim’s laboratory. I wanted to see if I could find anything that might help me build a functional engine. The one left to me by my grandpa… well, it never quite worked right, but I knew I was close to figuring it out.

“I journeyed far to reach Grim. I was barely a teenager, but that burning for knowledge. I felt it. Eventually I found what remained of his laboratory. It had fallen to ruin after the dwarf’s murder. All I could find were some scattered remnants of design plans, and hoped like heck they’d make sense of some of my grandpa’s own notes, and the work I’d already done with the steam tanks.”

Turim did his best to keep up. “Well it looks like you did it.”

“Yeah,” Sinfa eyed him with a small smile. “I did. I was able to complete the engine left to me by my grandpa—an engine run by steam and fire. The engine that powers this airship.”

She frowned, pulling on one of the levers as they heard something far below deck. “Unfortunately, we’d better land soon. I need to check on The Cloudracer. I said she doesn’t tire, but I might not have been entirely right about that. She’s had a tendency to heat up a bit on long trips, and I don’t want the engine ruined again. I think I have an answer, but I haven’t had time to re-route the piping the way I want. Honestly, the solution just came to me while we were talking.”

These words didn’t bring Turim much comfort. Again though, he pushed his concerns aside. As much as he hated the feeling of relying on someone else, he had to trust that Sinfa would take care of them. These metal—machines, she’d called them—well, that was something he knew nothing about.

Standing toward the front of the helm, he looked out toward their destination. They were close to shore now. But with the darkness, he could most easily tell the difference between the water and land by the stillness of its motion. 

“It appears we’ve drifted a bit southward,” he said, straining to recognize the beach below. “Not to worry though. We haven’t really lost much time. Not far ahead is a city within the borders of Ruma ‘Din.

“I planned to ask you to stop anyway. We need food. None of us brought enough for another meal—which reminds me . . .” he paused, drawing a wrapping with a few pieces of the dried poyo strips from his bag. He handed them to Sinfa. “Here, this is what’s left for you. You didn’t eat. I thought you were probably hungry.”

Sinfa only nodded in thanks, taking the napkin without removing her gaze from the shore. When she looked sidelong at Turim, her eyes were tight and calculating. “You’re a different sort of person, Commander Gliderlance. Have you ever met any kings—or nobles?”

“No king,” answered Turim. “Not since the Council of Races has there been any in Genova. As for nobles? My mother is from a noble house—technically, though she lives on a farm now.”

Sinfa gave a slow, repetitive nod. “Ahhh. That explains something anyway. I’ve never met any king or lord of any land—save the old mayor of Centerland during the Leaf Jumping Festival, once when I was eleven. He wasn’t—at all. But you come as close as anyone to what I’ve imagined.”

Turim wasn’t sure what to say to that. He was just a knight. Just like his father. He was sure his mother would be proud of his manners, but she’d probably fill a room with her gentle laughter if she’d heard that. Instead of saying anything, he went on telling her about Ruma ‘Din. “I should probably warn you—about the city. The elves who live in Cithilnor, where we’ll stop, don’t take kindly to those not of their own kind. The dwarves who rule the country pay little mind to the elves’ plea for a voice in the rule of Ruma ‘Din. It’s made them bitter over the years.”

“Then it’s probably best we acquire our provisions quickly,” said Sinfa. “I’d prefer the airship gets as little attention as possible in such a strange place.”

The Cloudracer soon soared above the country of Ruma ‘Din, south of Pebak’ Din on the southeast peninsula of Cornerius. Farther to the west, they could see jutting peaks of the Dindaron Mountains as they extended ever southward into Ruma’ Din, the mountains barely visible against the night sky. The dwarves called these the Ro’Druin Peaks. Technically, they were the southern tip of the Dindaron Mountains, but there was a brief break in their run from the north. Below the airship was an endless expanse of grasslands spotted with a few rocks and scattered trees. And amidst the plain was a shallow ravine—dark shadows cast into it from its climbing cliffs and the moon behind.

“There it is within the deep—the city of Cithilnor,” said Turim, pointing. “We can land here on the plains, and you can get some sleep until daylight.

“I don’t think they’ll send any scouts too far from the city at night. The lions of Ruma ‘Din are swift to find a meal. The elves venture out mostly in the daylight; their keen eyes provide them with some advantage over the beasts then. But at night, the lions are to be feared.”

Sinfa looked like she was straining to see a lion below. “I wonder what they look like. I’ve never seen one, though I’ve heard tales of them and seen pictures in grandpa’s books. They shouldn’t be able to climb the hull… but still, that’s a little scary.”

Turim pointed to several hills, a few miles outside of the city, where Sinfa could land The Cloudracer. There, it would be concealed from most any eyes. “Patrols from the city guard might still discover the airship if they wander up into these hills, but I don’t think we can do any better.”

“Not much to be done about that,” Sinfa shook her head. “Trust me. Hiding an airship is difficult business wherever you are.”