Michael Chatfield
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Four Horsemen Book 5 - Old Histories: Chapter 15
🕑 Added 2025-06-02 11:00:07 +0000 UTCPetor stood at the edge of the inland lake, Valter held up the last core, its faint glow catching the morning light. The core crumbling into a glittering dust that swirled like embers before dissipating into the planar gem.
"Ready?" Valter's voice rang out across the clearing.
The assembled refugees stood shoulder to shoulder, packed into the tight grid pattern they'd established. Carts loaded with belongings and crates of supplies filled the spaces between families. Children clutched their parents' hands, eyes wide with a mix of fear and wonder at the display of magic.
A chorus of quiet acknowledgments followed. Valter nodded, then—without further ceremony—vanished in a flash of light, taking everyone within a hundred square meters with him. A murmur ran through those who were part of the procession through the conch's portal. Kids quickly turning on their parents, filled with questions
He turned instead to check on the gun crew, huddled near the conch.
The gun crew stood stiff and wary, their eyes glued to the conch as if it might detonate at any second. Petor couldn't blame them. The conch's shimmering portal rippled faintly, its magic humming like an unstable engine. The traders' lives—and their escape—depended on that single, delicate device operating continuously.
"Still holding steady?" Petor called out. One of the crew, a wiry man named Jallen, glanced over and gave a tight nod. "Aye, sir. No fluctuations yet, but it's touchy. Feels like we're sitting on a bloody cannon."
Petor gave him a wry smile and reached out his senses to the conch. "You'll get used to it, nothing to worry about right now."
Petor kept watch, the sounds of fighting had only grown as mid morning quickly approached.
People muttered from the portal, as the procession slowed slightly before picking up again. Petor glanced over to see Valter wading to shore, water streaming from his dimantium armor.
"So, I guess it works?" Petor asked as Valter approached, boots squelching with each step.
Valter gave a small grin, the expression oddly warm on his battle-worn face. "Yeah. Got us right onto target. Jaxus has the receiving area well organized." His expressions flickered as he leaned forward, "Though Desari's numbers were off a bit, needed nearly fives times the amount of mana she thought."
Petor frowned.
"She got the mass and size right, so the only thing is distance," Valter said.
Petor grimaced. "I wondered why you were using so many mana cores."
"I was going to stop when I got to ten times as much."
"We're going to need a hell of a lot more mana cores," Petor said. "Do we have enough?"
"Enough to move a few thousand, there's nearly a hundred thousand on the island," Valter said.
"We don't have the number of cores we need to move everyone," Petor said.
"No," Valter looked around, studying if anyone overheard.
If they did then a panic might set in.
"How long you think it would take to move everyone?" Petor kept his voice low so none could overhear.
"Two days, maybe three?"
"We're going to need to figure out another way to get people off this island," Petor muttered.
"Or how to get more mana," Valter said.
Petor's communication crystal vibrated.
“Petor here,” he said, holding the crystal up. Across from him, Valter did the same, his expression sharpening.
"Petor, I need your help on the beaches. The Irdun jackasses are advancing. Looks like they're going to attempt a landing." Mya's voice crackled through, tight with tension.
His spine stiffened at her tone. "All right, I'm headed there right now." Petor shoved the crystal away and looked at Valter.
"Someone needs to keep using the planar gem to get out as many people as possible. I'll keep things moving here," he said firmly. "Go."
"Look after yourself," Petor said, pivoting toward the southeastern beaches where cannon fire echoed across the island.
He broke into a run, heading for the nearest trees.
***
Petor activated [Root Road], feeling the familiar surge of magic as he connected to the network of roots beneath his feet. The world blurred around him as he stepped through.
The scent of salt air mixed with gunpowder grew stronger as he searched the ground beneath his feet, feeling the rumble of cannon fire. Smoke drifted across the water from burning ships and rose from the cannon batteries carved into the island under his feet.
He found what he sought—with another pulse of magic through [Root Road], he emerged inside the fortification. The sudden wall of sound hit him like a physical blow. The cannon's report thundered through the enclosed space, enchantments fighting to dull the noise and push the smoke out of the tunnels.
Grimacing, he reached into his storage device and extracted a handful of cotton wadding. He stuffed it into his ears, grateful for even the slight muffling it provided. The vibrations still shook through his armor, rattling his bones with each shot fired.
Spell-light flared from each firing position, casting wild shadows as the cannons belched fire and smoke. The magical discharge painted the rough-hewn walls in alternating flashes of crimson and brilliant white, transforming the ordinary stone corridors into something otherworldly.
People moved with practiced efficiency through the hazy hallway he found himself in. They shouted commands and confirmations, their voices barely carrying over the din.
Sweat had carved clean tracks through the powder residue coating their faces. They hauled fresh powder charges, rolled heavy shot into position, and wielded long tools to service the massive weapons.
Petor moved to the nearest firing position, passing through a door and a Z shaped corridor before he entered the position, a rectangular slit cut across the front of the room, revealing the beach and ocean beyond. The room shook as a cannon recoiled, its barrel smoking, the acrid stench of powder burning his nose.
The cannon had the kind of diameter that Petor could put his forearm across. That is going to suck getting hit by.
The gun crew moved as separate parts of a whole - one man swabbing the barrel while another readied powder charges a third passing the cannon shot to the man who had been swabbing. Their movements were precise, practiced countless times until they flowed together seamlessly. Sweat dripped from their faces as they worked in the confined space, the heat around the cannon's barrel making the air shimmer.
He stared through the gun's port.
The Armada stretched across the horizon—a black tide of warships and landing craft, thousands of them rolling forward like an unstoppable wave. Ships of every size filled the waters, from massive first-rates bristling with cannon to swift frigates darting between the larger vessels. Landing craft dotted the spaces between, packed with troops aiming for the beach.
Cannon shot skipped across the water, tearing through the landing craft and coloring ship's barriers.
"Barrier's down!" The gun crew commanders voice cut through the din of battle. "Lay in new target!"
The gun crew around him sprang into action, their movements sharp and precise despite hours of continuous firing. Sweat-soaked uniforms clung to their bodies as they maneuvered around the confined space.
"Elevation three degrees! Distance, two point four klicks!" The commander's voice was hoarse but firm. The crew adjusted the cannon's position with practiced efficiency, metal squealing against metal as they made minute corrections.
The cannons roared in sequence, their discharge filling the chamber with choking smoke. "—steady—fire!"
Another thunderous report shook the room. Petor followed the shot as the cannon recoiled violently, sliding backward on its mount and pulleys. Through watering eyes, he watched the shot arc through the air and slam into the warship's exposed wooden hull. Splinters flew as the ball punched through.
The gun crew were well into their reload.
The secondary explosion caught everyone by surprise. A blinding flash erupted from within the ship's belly as theirs or another cannon's shot found the powder magazine.
The blast threw the remains of the warship in every direction. Fragments of hull rained down into the churning sea, leaving nothing but scattered and smoldering wreckage.
The gun crew let out a hoarse cheer, their voices raw from hours of shouting. But their victory cry died quickly as they turned back to their positions, knowing one ship meant little against the armada still bearing down on them.
The Irdun fleet kept coming, follow-on vessels surging forward through the carnage. The landing craft skimmed across the waves, their shallow drafts letting them dodge between the larger ships. Their decks bristled with champions and soldiers in gleaming armor, weapons raised as they charged toward the beach. They passed the ship that had blown apart.
The stone beneath Petor's feet shuddered as enemy fire found its mark. A cannonball smashed into the cliff face, the impact sending tremors through the fortification. Debris burst upward through the firing slit, forcing Petor to shield his face. Rocks and dirt pelted his armor while the gun crew swore but maintained their positions, hands steady as they worked the reload.
"Switch to grapeshot! Target those landing craft!" The commander's voice cut through the chaos.
The loader grabbed a canister from a rack, it would split open mid-flight, spreading dozens of smaller projectiles in a deadly cone.
Another cannon fired, then another, their combined volleys turning the water between the ships into a churning mess of broken wood and bodies. Yet still more landing craft pushed through the barrage, their crews rowing with desperate determination toward the beach.
Wood splintered and bodies fell as the spread caught multiple craft in its deadly pattern. The missed shots skipped across the water's surface like stones, leaving trails of white foam in their wake.
Petor grabbed a gun crew member as the man finished hauling powder to the cannon, his face streaked with soot. "Where can I get a clear line of sight over the beach? Somewhere I can hurl things?"
The man blinked at him, still catching his breath. "Mortar pits. Go down this corridor a hundred meters, take the right—look for the last letter 'M' next to the doorway!"
A cannon thundered behind them, the blast shaking dust loose from the ceiling. The man nodded once and ran back to his work. Petor didn't linger; he turned on his heel and followed the instructions, weaving through the smoke-choked tunnels.
The passageways twisted deeper into the cliff face, branching off in multiple directions. Gun crews rushed past him, carrying fresh powder and shot to the firing positions.
Letters carved into the stone marked each junction - 'C' for cannon batteries, 'S' for storage, and finally the 'M' he sought. The corridor opened into a larger chamber with circular openings cut into the ceiling. Sunlight streamed down through the holes men stood up on steps with telescopes pointed in the direction of the beach
Thinner gun tubes were angled upward through the openings.
Cannons that shoot up?
"What are those?" Petor asked.
Petor emerged into the mortar pit, a wide, stone-lined emplacement cut into the cliffside. A crew was already hard at work preparing their mortar—a squat, cannon-like weapon pointed skyward. Shells were stacked nearby, their surfaces etched with runes, ready to rain death on the incoming enemy.
"What's that?" Petor asked, his voice cutting through the noise as he stepped into the pit.
The crew leader, a gruff woman with short-cropped hair and an oil-streaked uniform, glanced up sharply. "Mortar. What are you doing here? Who the hell are you?"
"One of Mya's friends," Petor replied, his tone clipped as he scanned the pit. His eyes found a stone step built against the wall, the perfect vantage point. "I'm here to help."
The leader raised an eyebrow, but a younger gunner chimed in, grinning. "Wait—are you the one who killed a god?"
Petor frowned, pausing mid-step. "How do you know that?"
"Only thing that travels faster than orders aboard a ship are rumors," the gunner said, shrugging as he checked the next shell.
"What are you really doing here?" the leader pressed, her eyes narrowing with scrutiny.
Petor didn't bother looking back. "I'm working on making that beach the deadliest stretch of sand you've got on this island." He hoisted himself up onto the step, the height granting him a sweeping view of the chaos unfolding below.
Cannon balls from the fleet hammered the island, the forest were on fire, rounds skipped across the water and beach, defensive points were covered in craters as they fired upon the ships.
Volleys tore apart trees and scarred the landscape. Enchanted shells exploded, scattering debris and leaving plumes of smoke carried by the sea breeze, or punched through by other hits.
It was carnage made visceral truth.
Petor squinted through it at the beach below. "Well, hell, if you need anything, just let us know," the first mortar crew member said, wiping sweat from his brow as he looked up from his work.
Petor clicked his tongue and pulled out a crate of seeds and putting it on a stone lip protruding from the mortar pit's wall.
"Actually if you have the time, mind helping me get these seeds across the beach?" Petor asked.
"Seeds, what you using seeds for?" The mortar leader asked.
Petor loaded up everburning bramble and hurled it out, getting it close to the water's edge.
"Going to lay down all kinds of plants that are going to snarl up these Irdun fuckers and make them have a really bad day." Petor loaded and threw again.
"I got my slingshot." The crew member patted the weapon at his belt.
"What are your names?" Petor asked.
"Izzie," The mortar leader said.
"Endel," The gunner that worked with the shells said and the youngest of the trio.
"Oddie," The older man and last member of the crew said.
"Good to meet you all," Petor said as he opened up the crate.
"Alright, so the aim is simple, these seeds here, we're going to spread across the beach everwhere, they're called everburning bramble. He pointed to them and then moved his finger to the next compartment. "For every four thrwos of the everburning bramble, get some of these galeseeds down, best to get them a bit back from the water line. Midway up the beach we're going to get down these stormvine seeds, then at the top of the ridge overlooking sow in galeseeds and these boulder berry seeds."
"And these shiny looking ones?" Endel asked.
"Those are crystal willows, throw them out randomly."
"May I?" Izzie indicated to the step, Petor moved to the side and she stepped up, looking at the beach.
"Yeah we can do that. Endel run to the other pits, tell them to send over their people we've got a fire mission and special load, tell them to bring over their empty shell sleeves."
Petor watched as Izzie gestured to Oddie. "Get one of those empty sleeves - the wooden ones."
Oddie retrieved a hollow wooden cylinder, originally used to protect mortar shells. Izzie took it, drawing her knife with practiced efficiency. She scored along the side of the sleeve, then pressed the edges together, transforming it into a crude cone.
"We can turn these into makeshift shells," she explained to Petor, holding up her handiwork. "Fill them with your seeds and fire them from the mortars. They'll spread much faster that way."
Petor frowned. "The force won't destroy them?"
"The enchantments that guide the shells will help, they compress air and release it. These are light enough that we can blanket the whole beach." She tapped the wooden cone.
"Works for me." Petor hauled out more crates of seeds from his storage device, setting them beside the mortar sleeves as Endel returned with several other gunners in tow, their faces streaked with powder residue.
Izzie's voice cut through the din. "Listen up! We got a special fire mission, Half of you are with Oddie making shells, Endel, you're going to be running seed shells to the mortar positions." She directed the newcomers, organizing them into teams around the mortars.
They quickly set to it and the first shell was loaded, the mortar adjusted.
"Firing!" Izzie said, dropping the seed-shell into the mortar.
fowoump! Petor claimed the step again and slung seeds out, the enemy landing craft were getting cut up by the cannon cross-fire.
He tracked the wooden cone as it arced high over the beach, scattering its seeds. Where the seeds landed, Petor's magic pulled them into his growing root system, anchoring them in place beneath the sand.
Petor continued slinging seeds across the beach with methodical precision.
"So what you doing with the seeds once they land?" Oddie asked.
"I'm spreading the roots under the sand, dragging them underneath. The everburning bramble loves the heat and they can absorb salt water without any bad effects. I use them to purify the water, move the nutrients they've created to the other plants, keep them well supplied so they don't have to just use my mana in order to grow. Then I set up nasty little pockets across the beach."
"All under the sand?"
"Right," Petor said as the other mortars started to get in on the seed action.
Oddie let out a low whistle as he passed a finished sleeve to another mortar gunner and picked up the next, his knife making quick work of the sleeve. "That's going to be a right nasty surprise."
"That's what I'm hoping."
Petor hurled out another load of seeds, boulderberries and galeseeds. The landing craft were getting damn close now.
Izzie was firing the shells as fast as she could get them, adjusting screws on the mortar's stand to rain them across the beach.
Hundreds of seeds were spread across the beach, Petor took out a mana recovery potion and downed it, reaching out and pulling in mana from the world around him, all of it directed into the seeds that spread through the beach. the tufts of grass on the beach withered and died as the roots underneath consumed their nutrients.
Shots stopped hitting the island.
"How far are they from the beach?" Izzie yelled.
"Three hundred meters I'd say!" Petor spun and flung.
"Back to your firing positions!" Izzie ordered.
The pit cleared out, those in the pit taking the seed shells with them as Endel returned.
"We'll keep firing till we're out of the shells," Oddie, one notch to the right and keep decreasing elevation by two notches each shot."
"One notch right, two notions down!"
Oddie made the adjustments and Izzie dropped the shell in her hand into the mortar and activated the enchantment.
Endel grabbed another seed shell and moved to the mortar. Izzie used another step along the mortar pit as Oddie and Endel kept firing.
The whole beach was underpinned with seeds and roots.
"Reset mortar, ready regular shells!" Izzie said.
Petor flung out galeseeds and looked out over the beach. The water was thick with landing craft.
Could walk from the ships to shore across them.
"On the mortar!" The leader's voice rang out sharp and clear.
Petor focused on thickening up the plants across the beach, there had to be thousands.
"Wait till they're a good fifty meters up the beach!" she called out.
