As darkness and death sails to the west, light and hope shall sail to the east.

A Forturne Not In Our Time by Pa Ced

From dragonback, Cassandra witnessed the billowing clouds of black emanating from one of the newly christened Dragon Ships. As the wide, mastless vessel sat in the harbor, a rhythmic, repetitive, and thudding chunk pumped through the air on regular intervals. The sound reverberated in her chest as much as it was heard with her ears. It grew stronger as she circled lower and lower, preparing for landing. Each time it occurred, the soot puffed thicker and then relaxed a bit until the next cycle.

Two more of the ships still sat in dry dock, fully equipped with their paddle wheels and towering smokestacks. Deran's latest message indicated that the second and third vessels were ready for launch. His note had been short and matter of fact, not the romantic narrative that she had grown used to receiving from him. But Cassandra took that as stemming more from the urgency and importance of the progress and her needed return than anything else.

She couldn't wait to regain footing on solid ground. While traveling by dragon was expeditious, the course wind on her face from the speed with which the beasts flew had stung Cassandra's cheeks to what she imagined was a vicious red. And the special saddles that strapped over a rider's legs and around her waist were tight and uncomfortable. She understood the need for them from a standpoint of safety, not wanting riders to fall off the creatures and hundreds of feet to their deaths, but she could never get used to being belted into them.

That unease translated into Cassandra forcing her mount down a little faster than it wanted to. Despite the resistance it put up against her requests, emphasized by how she pulled on and manipulated the reigns, the beast with scales of rusty red relented to her control. Both rider and dragon were on the ground in short order, although not in the designated landing area set aside for such.

Cassandra couldn't have cared less. She finished unbuckling her harness, allowing some nearby workers... maybe soldiers, she didn't know... to handle the problem of an ill-tempered dragon that undoubtedly only wanted some food after making the flight from Roatsburg. A trip that tested its range and endurance and probably exceeded both.

Marching her way along the suspended wooden platforms cantilevered above one of the soon to be launched Dragon Ships, Cassandra sought the main building overlooking the shipyard where she assumed Deran would be. Every time she passed a group of soldiers they stopped and snapped to attention, even as she ignored them.

The air had a thick, sulfur smell from the oil-laden coal burned as fuel in the furnaces used for making steel and the boilers Cabbat had designed to power the ships. Black, snow like flakes covered much of the planks and were ground into the wood.

At her destination, she stopped before entering and fidgeted with everything from the fit of her armor to the lay of her hair. Punctuating her preparations with a sigh, she opened the door and entered. Both Deran and Cabbat where there, reviewing full-sized plans spread out on the large, centrally located table.

With a wide smile plastered across her face, Cassandra couldn't help but let her enthusiasm fade when only Cabbat looked up and acknowledged her. The dwarf elbowed Deran in the ribs, as her love was too intent on what he was studying to apparently notice.

"Ow. What-" He glanced up and blinked once, then seemed to recognize Cassandra.

Although he smiled back, it was not as warm as she had hoped for, prompting Cassandra to chide him. "What? Didn't miss me that much?"

Deran shook his head, forcing his expression to take on a softer, more welcoming appearance. He stood up straight and went to her, his arms out. "I'm sorry, darling. I've just had a lot on my mind." He embraced her and kissed her softly, first on the cheek, and then the lips.

Cassandra considered the peck she got hardly what she would have expected, considering their time apart. But, she also knew how the demands of what he was being asked to do could easily be overwhelming. And recognizing that only a few months ago he was handling much more menial tasks.

"I missed you, Love." She said to him, not wanted to end the embrace.

"I've missed you too. Come, let me show you where we're at." Deran led her to the table, keeping his arm around her, but not holding her too tightly.

"Your letter stated that the Dragon Ships were completed? A lot sooner than expected."

"They are," he affirmed. "We've pretty much had every available man on the task. And we've pulled a bunch of resources from other areas to assist. You probably saw the Sea Dragon out there steaming around the bay? We figured launching one first and seeing how she behaved would be best. Cabbat's making some small adjustments based on what he's seen, and the other two should be ready in a day or so."

"Aye," the dwarf confirmed. "Ships are good to go. But those damn dragons aren't taking to them. Been trying to train them for months. Beasts won't stay still long enough. We'll lash them to the decks if we have to, but I'm hoping they'll calm down once we set sail."

"I don't want to try sailing all the way to Fimmirra under those conditions." Deran turned his attention back to the drawings. "But I don't think we'll have a choice. The support fleet is ready to go too. It includes five caravels full of food for the dragons alone."

Cassandra reviewed the designs, although much of what she saw was still beyond her understanding. "I agree that sailing to Fimmirra like this might not be the best. Maybe once the dragons are out at sea, we'll have better luck. I think we need a test first. Work the kinks out."

"You have an idea?"

"The Port of Houlatt," Cassandra replied. "It's up the coast, and rebels have seized the town. I dispatched some troops to deal with it, but we could provide them a second front to aid in the assault. How long to sail there?"

Deran thought. "The rest of the fleet could probably make it there in a day, perhaps two? But the Dragon Ships are slower. Three or four?"

Cabbat chimed in. "I think once we are out to sea, and the engines have got their momentum going, it'll be a three days max. But say four to be safe."

Deran nodded, as did Cassandra. Then Deran said, "I must go and make some preparations." He kissed Cassandra on the cheek. "I'll probably be awhile. See you later tonight?"

"Yes." Cassandra smiled. "Sure."

When the door closed after Deran left, Cassandra stood there only staring at it. "What's up with Deran?" she eventually asked.

Cabbat was back to looking at a drawing detailing one of the mechanical systems he designed. "Man's got a lot on his mind."

"I get that, but-"

"It's a lot of pressure you've put him under. He's not like you."

"I know-"

"Do you?"

The question stunned Cassandra into silence. Her own mind raced to reform her thoughts back into words. "What's that mean?"

Cabbat shook his head, not looking at her. "Lot's going on around here. The men talk."

"About what?" There was an implication to the way Cassandra spoke those words that included an implied, "that's an order."

"About how Deran is only commodore of this fleet because he's sleeping with General Nightwing."

Cassandra's entire thought process paused as her mind took a moment to work properly and respond. "That's crazy. Deran is completely capable-"

"You and I know that, sweetheart. You and I know that. I'm just telling you, it ain't been easy for him around here."

Sheala paced around the aft deck as Reane scanned the shoreline. Back and forth. Back and forth.

"Will you please stop that?" The clip-clop of her friend's healed boots on the wood grated on Reane. It distracted her from concentrating on what she could see through her spyglass.

"I've been wearing these stupid dresses for the past seven days, Reane. Seven!" Her pacing and the annoying noise continued. "We've been sailing up and down this coast looking for the advance party and haven't even seen a sign that they're here. I don't like it."

The rippling emerald gown Sheala had squeezed herself into reminded her of the one her mother had worn the day their family had been ambushed on a similar mission to the Elven Kingdoms. Now she wondered if it had been a good idea, considering the limited success they were having. Two days ago, by some stroke of luck, the Oracle avoided detection by an Imperial scout ship heading north up the coast on the horizon. Apparently a combination of the rising sun and the densely wooded shoreline had helped conceal them. But it was too close for anyone's comfort.

The only comforting thought Sheala could cling to was that her father's medallion hanging on her neck gave no warning of any danger. But the relief was minor as her mind raced.

"I'm sure we'll find them soon." Reane tried to ignore the interruption Sheala was causing her.

"They had a ship. You would think we could find a ship!"

They'd already sailed down the coast once searching for the vessel that had gone on ahead of them. Reane had decided to take the action after arriving at the designated inlet and seeing no sign of the soldiers and sailors who should have been waiting. She was hesitant to reach out with her mind and seek out the thoughts of anyone nearby. If she touched the wrong one, there was always a chance she'd give away their location. Especially if the mind she reached belonged to a wizard or someone versed enough in arts like telepathy to know something was not right.

So she opted for a more traditional, although admittedly slower, means to seek their companions. Reane hoped they had not been spotted, much less captured. If they had, the events of today would be in danger of mirroring those of the past.

Sheala shifted conversation to another complaint, stopping her circuit of wearing a path in the wood. "Why can't I wear something more comfortable to ride in?"

"Because, Sheala, Ambassadors don't ride horses."

"Why not?"

"Because, it's undignified. That's why we sent a carriage ahead."

As her clip-clop pace resumed, Reane continued to scan the ocean and the shore. She had just moved beyond one particular area when something she saw caused her to go back. Checking the spot one more time, she thought she could make out something orange floating and waiving barely below the surface of the water.

"Two o'clock starboard!" she called out. "Get eyes on that!"

"Aye, Captain!" the Oracle's lookout replied. "Fimmirran banner! Looks like attached to the top of a ship's mast!"

The confirmation caused Reane to shift her focus to the shore.

Sheala was now at her side, looking in the same place, but with her bare eyes. "What?"

"My guess is, they scuttled the ship. Probably thought it would be too easy to spot."

"But they're nowhere near the rendezvous point. I mean, we're two days further south."

"Well, they must have had a reason." As Reane searched the shore, something bright flashed. And not just once. It repeated itself three times at regular intervals. It was a signal. "Someone get me the small hand mirror from the dresser in my quarters!"

Another, "Aye, Captain," resounded, and within a minute one of her crew was handing her the item she requested.

"Here," Reane collapsed the telescope down and half shoved it into Sheala's hands. Then she took the mirror, looked for the right angle, and reflected back three flashes. Just as she had seen.

What followed was a burst of lights varying in intensity and length. Reane immediately recognized them as a smuggler's code. The signals were quick, and whoever was on the other end was skilled in sending messages using the technique. Still, the message was short:

> Is The Storm coming from the east today? <

Reane responded in kind with the appropriate response.

> The Storm arrives from the west. <

"Jos!" Reane called out. "Drop anchor! Prepare Long Boats and our landing party!"