Aeroz’s primary battle corvette, Matdarka, hovered lazily over the gaping mouth of Urgator trench, casting an ominous shadow over the bedraggled town. A small hover war-vessel weighing around a thousand tons, she was capable of transporting a hundred soldiers and crewmen. Built with basic armament for self-defence, it had advanced scouting and spying capabilities. The black and crimson banner of the Knights of Evalon fluttered high above the flying deck, the symbolic sword piercing the overcast sky in an attempt to elicit rain to abate the heat of summer. 

Though Aeroz had larger battleships at its command, only Matdarka had sallied out of the city in search of the alleged raider scout — Zovhara Ashfrost. It had been two months since the search had begun, and the crew were exasperated, desperate to return home. Their investigation in various towns and villages within the Jurisdiction of Aeroz had led them to a dead end, and Zovhara remained elusive. 

Of the seven Aerozan Confederacies, only one, The Order of Saint Awynyth, had voted against this hunt. Keeping Abbess Anandil Homa’s adventures a secret and protecting their Goddess’s identity, they had withdrawn from participating in any activities related to the propaganda with an excuse that they did not support warmongering. 

The six other Confederacies had acceded to Parpa Dourne’s accusations against Zovhara — the trouble-maker that was the cause of several incidents in and around Aeroz — and had decided to take a two-pronged approach. 

The first was called The KOE Contingency. Led by High Knight Gyvaen Ram, this team had departed on an expedition on Matdarka to learn more about Zovhara and any other of her kind. 

The MART Initiative, on the other hand, was a motley army of Mechanov war machines and vehicles, and the remaining KOE warships. This battalion had been deployed at the feet of Aeroz’s southern defence wall in case the Raiders threatened an all-out attack.

High Knight Gyvaen Ram marched down the navigator deck of Matdarka; her body armour clinked and squeaked as she headed straight for the bridge. The crew glanced nervously as she walked by, avoiding her gaze — her eyes were the only visible part of her body. None had ever seen her without her helmet or armour. 

She was frustrated, they could tell. It was most likely to do with her inquiry — the rowdy, ungoverned Urgator denizens were a nuisance to all. Stomping past the central workstation, she went port side and turned left, entering an enclosed wing that served as the captain’s cabin. 

The crew sighed in relief as she disappeared behind shut doors. 

Gyvaen slumped down on a sizable leather couch in front of the captain’s desk. It would be a while before the captain returned; he was last seen in the armoury making sure the inventory manager was not skiving off and making merry with the Urgatori ruffians. 

An old holy symbol, made from black marble, hung on the wall — the symbol of Lady Awynyth — a triangle whose edges ended in circles. All ships had one in the captain’s cabin. Every moment Gyvaen had spent here in the last two months, she had stared nostalgically at the symbol, reading the words engraved at the bottom. Most of it had been chipped and faded away, all that remained was ‘...in the heart of discord. Only the courageous…’ 

I should know the rest of it! This is my religion! But she could recall nothing from the sermons she used to attend in her childhood. Her career had overshadowed everything else, even her faith. 

This Zovhara nonsense is a fad! She was always suspicious of MART’s motives, and this did nothing to temper her concern for the fate of Aeroz. Her last interrogation with a loose-tongued Urgatori named Glaar Dinbarg had been frustrating. All that the toad-faced merchant from Esio had cared about was credits! He was as insulting as he was filthy! 

Frustrated with all that had happened over the last few hours, Gyvaen decided that waiting for the captain would be a further waste of time.

‘Get me someone from the MART Initiative!’ A command to the system. She instantly heard beeping, which meant a direct connection to Aeroz had been initiated. 

‘High Knight Ram, it’s a pleasure,’ came the familiar voice of Parpa Dourne. 

Not this guy again! 

‘With all due respect, Parpa,’ Gyvaen’s voice was strained from overuse. ‘It’s been forty days since I’ve set forth from Aeroz, and last seen the face of my children. Outlaws, vagabonds, thieves — all have been questioned and there has been no sight or sound of this Zovhara! As a formal proposal from the KOE, for the third time this week, I implore you to reconsider this matter and urge the remaining Confederacies to cogitate the more immediate threat we face from the Raiders!’ 

‘I have spoken to them at length, High Knight,’ Parpa’s voice crackled from the system. ‘Your recommendation of an all out attack against the Raiders has been deemed reckless. I…’

‘The KOE’s Mission Statement is not reckless!’ she straightened herself. Though she was stern, she made sure she did not sound rude. ‘Aerial monitoring of the Raider’s bases have helped forecast their movement for the next three months! Specific attack routes have been outlined with backup strategies and risk assessments. We have even provided a complete record of how the military budget will be utilised with room for surplus in case of repercussions!’ 

‘So KOE’s solution to everything is violence…’

‘Tactical raids on their camps to rescue our citizens is not violence, Parpa Dourne!’ 

Silence again. Gyvaen hated it… it always meant Parpa was conjuring something abysmal to hurl at her. 

‘What about the cave?’ Parpa said finally.

Taking a deep breath, she whispered, ‘What cave?’ 

‘The one that blew up recently. It came through in your preliminary report from Urgator.’

Of course he would pick up on that! The Matdarka had detected tremors coming from Urgator — that was the only reason they had come this way. This town was never on their radar, being too far off and bordering the Jurisdiction of Aeroz, it actually was in Xerbia. The tremors meant that there was a considerable explosion, and an explosion meant that there were chances they could find Zovhara.   

‘Investigations are underway,’ she sighed. 

Parpa continued, ‘Once there is concrete evidence…’ 

The security alarm of the ship drowned the rest of Parpa’s sentence. Mechanically, Gyvaen armed herself with her carry-on pistol and rushed out to the bridge.

‘What’s happening?’ she barked as she made her way to the centre. All the crew members were gaping at her as if she was the cause of this ruckus. ‘What are you all staring at?’ 

‘Well, me, of course,’ came a squeaky voice behind her. 

The barrel of a gun greeted Gyvaen as she spun around and recognised the face of Glaar Dinbarg. The bastard followed me here?  

‘How did you get in here? Guards!’ 

‘Guards?’ The toad-faced merchant giggled, his voice becoming mockingly high-pitched. ‘You shouldn’t have come to Urgator “high knight”.’

‘I’ll take it from ‘ere, dearie.’ A curious looking Mechanov woman appeared behind him. Gruesome scars ran across her face that she tried to hide behind lank grey hair that fell lifelessly from her head. She wore a long trench coat and adorned herself with heavy jewellery hanging loosely about her neck and arms that gleamed in the diffused sunlight pervading from a skyview window overhead. Leaning against the wall of the galley, she held a smoke pipe between her steel fingers and looked at them sideways.   

Gyvaen was having no more of this nonsense. Seeing that Glaar was distracted, she twisted his arm and kicked the weapon away with her knee. A sharp cracking sound and a cry from the Esionian merchant meant that she had broken his shoulder, and he crashed onto the floor like a helpless catch at the end of a fishing line. 

‘Just who do you think you all are?’ Gyvaen growled, pointing her gun at the Mechanov, who did not bat an eyelid. 

‘Your guards are dead,’ she said, blowing out a cloud of smoke. As if in response, more armed assailants poured onto the bridge, surrounding the remaining crew. ‘If you think takin’ me out will settle this mess you’ve gotten yourself into… well… think twice!’ 

Peering through the rhomboid windows of the bridge, Gyvaen noticed bodies of soldiers lying dead where they had been stationed. Flashes of lightning and the rumble of thunder in the darkening sky brought ill tidings of a storm headed straight towards them from the west.

‘Why?’ Gyvaen turned back to the Mechanov, looking at her in abject terror. 

‘Has your vessel never been hijacked before?’ replied the Mechanov in a calm demeanour. ‘Well, well. We were lucky to find hackers in Urgator to shut down your system. And then… we simply walked in. Our friend Graal ‘ere was promised riches when we picked him from Esio. He knows a thing or two about pickin’ locks and such. Poor thing’ll need a mechano arm.’ 

‘Hackers? Lock pickers? Who would want to work with you?’ 

‘Who wouldn’t?’ the Mechanov chortled. ‘We’re the winnin’ side, love. Aeroz trembles at the mere mention of the Overlords!’  

It dawned on Gyvaen that she had made a very big mistake indeed coming to Xerbia. Of course the Raiders had an upper hand with the outlawed!

The Mechanov walked casually across the bridge, past the stupefied High Knight and began loading coordinates into the system. 

‘Bloody vixen!’ Gyvaen managed, lowering her weapon. ‘Where are you taking us?’ 

‘None of your concern, dearie,’ replied the Mechanov, taking her seat on the captain’s chair. ‘And next time, address me as Sacsha, won’t you?’ 

The pattering rain softened the mud trail that led travellers westwards into the Urgator trench. Two great Xerbian behemoths stood grazing on the plains, their sinewy muscles twitching sensitively to the raindrops. Their long manes extended along their backs under their saddles, and continued on to form long bushy tails. 

Their riders stood beside them, staring at the desolate landscape and the unexpected presence of an Aerozan war vessel that disturbed the tranquillity of the plains. The ship was pivoting slowly, turning westwards, showcasing a magnificent array of terra-magnetic turbines.  

‘It’s leaving,’ said the pudgy one, lowering the hood of his black coat. Yellow fur mottled his face and he sported a shabby beard. ‘Now, why would they do that?’

‘We’re late,’ replied his fellow traveller, who was dressed exactly the same but appeared to have a rather frail figure. 

‘We should head for Urumoi, brother.’ The Poban, yanking the reins of his mare, clambered clumsily onto his mount. 

‘And miss out on all the fun?’ replied the hooded figure, flashing a devilish grin from the shadows of his hood. 

‘What?’ the Poban barked. ‘You mean to follow it? That monstrous thing?’

‘You catch on quick,’ came the sly reply. ‘Stick to the mountains and follow the vessel to whatever end?’ 

‘Arh… fine!’ the Poban grumbled. ‘To whatever end!’ 

Mounting his great horse, the hooded traveller urged it forward with a shrill i’ye i’ye. It cantered ahead obediently. ‘Don’t be so sullen,’ he called back, ‘we may yet taste victory.’ Then slapping the rear of his behemoth with the palm of his hand, he galloped away. 

‘For sure!’ the Poban said in an undertone, rolling his eyes. 

Following the south-westerly road, the travellers disappeared into the oncoming storm.