The Safehouse, a squat building wedged between two crumbling Riverport warehouses, pulsed with the nervous energy of everyone hiding in it. Scent of ale-soaked wood mingled with the stench of rotting fish from the outside. The establishment, always crowded with rough men who made living from the trade of the southern sea-port and the upper stream lands, was once a popular public house in the riverside. After the invasion of Hejard’s iron army, no one dared to step outside the city, especially at night, so Macha’s party was the only people the pub had seen in a while.

  “Everyone quiet!” Macha hissed, his warning coming almost as a yell. Damayana and Sandree, who had been engaged in an insufferable, neverending clucking, froze. As did all the surrounding servants. Few tampra soldiers, the best and most loyal of the royal guard, tensed.

  Macha narrowed his gaze toward the bridge of the God of Glory. Massive and long, it was the only structure capable of connecting the two banks of the great Gash River. The statues of their thousand gods, lined up on either side, rose like walls that obscured the surrounding lower areas. The distance between bridge and hideout was considerable, so no one from top of the passage could have sensed any fugitives in such a place, yet, Macha called for silence, as what appeared to be waving up and down above the gods’ heads was unreal.

  Sandree approached, like a black cat through the darkness of the room, and checked through a corner of the grimy windowpane. “What in the seven hells is that thing?”

  “An armored vehicle,” Macha whispered.

  “It looks like a giant crab made of metal.”

  Macha’s lips pulled aside, a subtle sign of amusement he had no mood to extend. “A crab with an enormous gun.”

  The barrel was indeed huge. As wide and long as the trunk of a palm tree. A mechanical cubicle, large as a wagon, walked over the bridge on four spider-like legs, its enormous gun sweeping side to side. With each step, the floor shaked, and the constant roar of the engine, even muted by the distance, made the window’s glass tremble.

  The monstrous war machine turned its cannon across the bridge, aiming at the north side of the river in where big ships could not reach. Then it stopped. After a moment of calm, a blast lit up the night, followed by a thunderous blast. The entire building creaked, and the ceiling released a shower of dust on everyone. Sandree spooked, her trembling hand reaching to grasp Macha’s forearm.

  “As long as we don’t open any light we are fine,” He said, giving a brief glance to Damayana, who lowered a reddened face in response. “That aberration is pretty far.”

  “Then why did you make us quiet?” Sandree asked.

  Macha held back a smile.

  Sandree raised an eyebrow, waiting for an answer he didn’t want to give. His way out came with the heavy squeak of the back door. Kuraban’s broad frame filled the doorway, and his loud stomping confirmed his arrival. The scent of sweat and leather clung heavily on him. To a point, it felt more challenging than his own presence. He swept his gaze across the room, a mix of concern and grudging admiration flickering across his face. “Those little rats of yours,” he rumbled towards Macha. “They move like shadows. Better than half my soldiers. How do they manage it?”

  “They know these streets better than anyone,” Macha replied, his eyes nailed to the bridge and missing the entrance of a few of the machas he had been able to recruit with gold and promises.

  Kuraban approached his wife, his entire stance softening, his calloused hand cupping her cheek. The two hugged, but Kuraban’s eyes opened soon after, settling over the Count one more time. “My men are ready, and the gangs too,” he said, still holding his wife tight. “Your rangers are next door, with my best guys. They slowed down because of a patrol, but they will reach soon.”

  Macha watched with relief as the crab machine moved away from the bridge. After a sigh, he turned around in time Damayana spoke, her voice broken and frail. “Don’t make me go with them, love. Let me stay. Please, I beg you.”

  “We’ve already talked about this. You can’t stay. We’re going to war, and there won’t be a safe place in the entire city.”

  Dama adjusted her distance, her hands gripping the fabric while her arms pushed away in an equally rough and gentle manner. “Why are you so eager to die? Uh? War, you say? Have you seen those machines? Half of your men have surrendered, and the other half don’t even know what’s happening. The city has completely fallen. What we have to do is flee north, where they haven’t reached yet. Organize your counterattack there. Let me help you. My presence—”

  Kuraban spun around, fists and jaw clenching with similar force. “I said no!”

  Damayana struck him with a side punch, a pitiful blow bouncing off his powerful chest. Kuraban sighed, then puffed his lungs to make the next punch’s target bigger. She struck him again, many times, all with the same effect as the first. As her blows faded with helplessness, his breath-hold dissipated with a softness only she could direct on him. “Woman, you love having this mass of a man around you all the time, don’t you? But seriously, it’s dangerous. I want nothing to happen to my little mouse.”

  “Kubar...” she said between sobs. “That Count’s ship travels underwater. I can’t be in enclosed spaces, and you know it. Don’t put me through that. Please, I beg you.”

  Kubar reached for her shoulders and pulled her closer, then he put an arm around her neck and reached to rub over his tired eyes. He turned to one of his men and muttered. “Tell the others we will leave the city and gather forces in Cinta. We’ll—”

  Macha’s senses kicked in and his fist, almost unintentionally, raised. Everyone turned to him and tensed. He couldn’t say why, since the loud footsteps or the spotlights hadn’t arrived yet, but he knew danger was approaching. “Patrol!”

  “Everyone against the wall!” Kuraban hissed. “Out of the windows, quickly!”

  Suddenly, the pub’s lounge turned into a hornet’s nest. They rushed to hide and gather anything that might give them away. In a startling silence, each of the hiders crouched in their holes, leaving nothing behind but empty tables.

  Between the barred door and the window, Macha, Sandree, and Kuraban snuggled against the cold stone wall. Gradually, the sonorous footsteps of the metallic march grew louder. With them, rays of light danced everywhere in search of sedition: spears of light seeking insurrection. The Herjard’s self-reliant automatons patrolled with an unnerving, mechanical precision. Their steps, loud and rhythmic, stomped the cobblestones as hammers hit the anvil. Their metallic forms, angular and imposing, glinted under the only working gaslight of the waterfront. It was just a group of four, but with a thick plate of armor no normal men could ever wear and rifles big as swivel guns and able to shoot countless rounds before reloading, even one was a number no company of men could defeat.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  One spotlight pierced through the window, diligently scanning the interior. The youngest servant, crouching beside Dama, let out a squeal, a soft noise her mistress quickly suppressed with a hand over her mouth.

  Noone moved. Not even when the lights dissipated or when the loud stomping faded. Petrified by fear, no one dared to stand or whisper. The world around seemed to be swallowed by darkness and only the arrival of a blue ranger, much more silent than Kuraban’s, broke what seemed to be a freezing spell.

  The man, pale and scrawny, raised a trembling hand of welcome. “We are all here,” he said, words barely audible. “We can go if everyone is ready.”

  The prisoners arrived, a ragged procession of bodies bearing the marks of prolonged captivity. A sorry sight, a testament to Vega’s brutality. But amongst them, one figure stood out, or rather three. Carried by two others, a man Macha barely recognized bursted in tears as their eyes met.

  “Monlad!” Ced croaked. “Oh, it is so nice to see you. Look.. look what those animals had done to me!” Ced skin had marks and scars of innumerable injuries. But what Ced was referring to was where his gaze fell: Two scrawny legs dangling lifelessly. “They have left me useless. No more duels for me.”

  Macha’s breath caught in his throat. Ced’s face, once full of life, was now gaunt and hollow. His words, once full of pride and strength, were now soulless and desolate. Ced’s eyes fluttered open as his porters brought him closer. “What happened to you, my friend? I see you got your share of punishment. Tell me. Tell me what is new. We have no news of the Blue. Is my Marie still alive? Please tell me everything.”

  “She’s alive. I will update you later about everything else.” Macha’s metal hand clenched into a fist as his arm rose. “And don’t worry about your legs. We’ll get you to Donna. She’ll fix you as well as she fixed me.”

  “Enough of chatting, Sandree’s girl has the boats ready.” Macha followed the invisible line from Kubaran’s finger through the window. Afar and at the edge of the docks, the flickering sparks of a flint announced the boats were ready. Uri’s signal came at the best moment possible. Although he wanted to talk to Ced more than anything, he knew doing so would inevitably bring topics he didn’t want to broach. Ced had already suffered enough without having to endure the news of his friends’ fates. The deaths of Em and Lim could not be hidden forever, but he’d delay the words as much as needed.

  “Kito, Idmund.” Kubaran said, raising his tone too much. “You bring my lady to the other Safehouse. The rest, follow me.”

  The gang’s kids rushed outside while the tampra soldiers armed themselves. “The rabbit kids have the fireworks ready. As soon as my boys secure the waterfront, Macha brings his party to the boats. My best will row you to the magic ship.”

  Dama motioned to speak, but Kubaran quickly placed his large finger over her lips. “Enough, woman. I’ve granted your wish to stay. But from now on, you will listen to me and do what I say, or I’ll throw you into the water myself.”

  “Be careful,” she said, curling into his arms. “And if those monsters come closer, run away.”

  Kubaran let out a laugh that made Macha fidget, eyes widening as they return to scout the outside.

  “Woman! Who is the man who killed a cave bear with his bare hands?” Kubaran let go of his wife, who was immediately and gently pulled aside by two of the Royal guards. “Who can lift the golden bull from the Temple of Uhro?”

  The soldiers stirred by a speech that increased in pitch. “Who took on an entire company of Gur’s mercenaries with no shield or spear? Who made a bridge in the Ashti river without tools and ropes?” The fist pounded his chest with a force all of Dama’s blows combined couldn’t match. “This one! The pride of Tampra, honor of the Parni. Great servant of great men. Let’s go!”

  Although the soldiers filed out of the pub as if they were going into battle, their deployment surprisingly unfolded in silence. Even with her size, Dama moved with equal ease and speed, winged by her guards all the way towards the back exit. Sandree rushed to hug her, then after a brief exchange of whispers, she returned as Dama crossed the doorway. With a hold on Macha’s arm, Sandree took the front, making Count the last one to leave the hideout.

  The plan’s deployment turned out faster and quieter than expected. With Kuraban’s soldiers running to every corner, the waterfront came alive, almost as if commerce had returned to the captured city. The blue prisoners crossed diligently with an energy and vigor that came not from their depleted bodies but from desire and resolution. Some limping, others staggering, but all focused on reaching the shoreline docks as fast as possible. Macha and Sandree could have run faster than them, but neither of both wished to reach before any other.

  As the fugitives began boarding the boats, Macha gazed at the bridge. His heart, squeezed with fear, found relief to see the monstrous war machine didn’t return. If it did, the next shot would be toward them instead towards whoever believed sailing the shadow side of the river was a good idea. Must have been an idiot indeed, Macha thought. But not as idiotic as the ones going to waters infested with Kraken and Herjard ships.

  As he boarded last, the air turned thick with the scent of tar, and the distant hum of the Herjard ships, their lights cutting through the darkness like predatory eyes, became more noticeable.

  “Gods of mercy, there’s so many!” Sandree whispered.

  They pushed off; Hulls hidden in the moonless night. Oars splashing and wood squeaking the only clue of their presence. The Herjard ships, for all their advanced technology, seemed strangely blind to their intrusion, their lights confined to tight, predictable patterns. Tension mounted with each passing moment, each stroke of the oars, each squeak of the wood.

  Midway to nowhere, a beam carried from a distant ship hit the first boat. It was dim, weak, probably unable to show clearly what it was pointing at. Yet, the Kraken-flagged ship and its crew awaken from slumber with its finding. Tiny flashes flickered from bow to stern. Muted yells filled the deck as boats descended by a rope from the sides.

  “Shit, shit,” yelled one rower. “Faster!”

  Sandree gripped on Macha’s, pulling him towards her. The warmth of her body became a joyful gift in the night's chill. A night which hid his flushing. The gesture reminded him of Damayana and Kuraban, of their strange, yet unconditional love. To that thought, Macha dived in, and even under the whistles of a first burst of shots, he could not get out of his head the beautiful dream that one day himself could have a relationship just as strong.

  With the shots from the kraken ship, all the Herjard’s ships awoke. More lights turned on and scouted the surroundings, passing almost at hand reach. At each swipe of light, the more intense and precise the search. The more closed the trap. Soon, their cover though the dark dissipated completely, and shots aimed closer as the spotlights found what they were looking for.

  The soldiers roared as they all pushed and pulled the oars in unison. “Where is the miracle ship?” said one. “We can’t go back now! Let us in Count! Let us in.” yelled another. “Silence and roar! Faster, faster!”

  On the shore, a huge fire lit up the night, and battle cries joined with explosions and gunfire. With the great commotion in the city, the attacks on them eased long enough, and the lights stopped following for a while. Recovering the curtain of night, the boats cruised darkness even faster than before, spurred on by the certainty calm was temporary. The distraction on the shore was short-lived, and although the battle was still ongoing, lights soon found them again. And to the gunshots, joined cannonballs.

  “Stay down people!” screamed a soldier before a bullet struck him in the head.

  As shots hit the sides of the boats, the prisoners yelled, and the rowers crouched. Columns of water raised as cannonballs hit closer. “Mon’Lad! Where is that wonder of yours?” Ced yelled from under the bundles of crouching men. “Neither long distance nor hiding place saves the little fish from the shark when it’s hungry!”

  As if in answer, a massive hull, dark and silent, rose from the depths before them, its form emerging from the inky blackness as a monster from the depths. The Icto, sleek and long, dwarfed the small boats beside her. The water around churned, surface rippling as the massive vessel broke the surface, swagging its little companions as leaves falling from a tree.

  “All on board. Everyone!” Macha squeezed Sandree’s hand and whispered. “Welcome to the Icto.”