The leaders in Lys were becoming increasingly chaotic, incoherent, and anxious with each passing moment. They had just received another report stating that the enemy navy was now sailing toward them at full speed. Suddenly, they had pushed their pace to the maximum and were rushing for Lys. The Magisters could not make any sense of it. One moment they had been delaying and the next moment they were cruising.
Just as the weary Magister had suspected, they too could feel that something was missing. Something that they were not able to pick up.
Lord Aeos would not send his army to the mainland coast without a reason or purpose, especially not when their General was with them. The plan, for them, surely could not have been to remain stranded at the coast. Yet, no matter how much they deliberated, they could not make an iota of sense of it.
Meanwhile, the situation at the port remained as it usually was. Calm, silent, suffocating, and depressing, broken only by the rustling movements of the men deployed to protect it.
However, the Magister in charge of the port felt a seed of suspicion taking root in his mind. He had changed shifts with another Magister an hour earlier and had been informed about Salac and his ships.
Sitting in his large wooden chair within the port's administrative building, he turned toward an ordinary worker.
"How long have Salac's ships been standing at the port?" he questioned.
"Since before you arrived, my Lord," the worker replied.
"That I know," the Magister said with a frown. "I mean the exact time. Since when?"
"It should be around three hours," the worker replied after a moment of contemplation.
"Three hours?" the Magister repeated in surprise. "Why are the ships not being unloaded, then? And it does not seem that they will be starting anytime soon."
"I am not sure, my Lord," the worker replied hesitatingly. "But I believe I heard that when the previous Magister investigated the ships, he was told laborers would arrive shortly to unload the grain. He had asked Salac to have the ships unloaded as fast as possible before Lord Aeos' men reached Lys."
The Magister wanted to snap and lash out at the worker. He wanted to ask why, if the man could not even keep an eye on such an ordinary detail, he was even working there.
But he held his tongue. He knew now was not the time for a display of anger. Not with an invasion looming over the city. He took a deep breath to calm his nerves.
"Come with me," he said, getting up from his seat. "And bring ten men along with you."
Though confused, the worker nodded and hurried to fetch the men while the Magister began his walk toward the ships.
Moments later the Magister, followed by the worker and ten armed men, arrived at the base of the lowered gangplank. Two of the crew were standing guard at the top where the gangplank connected with the ship. The guards exchanged glances, and one of them hurried toward the main deck. The Magister had not taken even one step onto the gangplank when Salac came into view, standing next to the guard.
"Magister," Salac called out with a polite smile. "I was not expecting you to be here."
"Salac!" the Magister responded, though his voice was stiff.
"Why is your grain not being unloaded?" the Magister questioned. "It has not even begun."
"Magister," Salac replied smoothly. "It seems that the laborers I hired for this purpose have bailed out, leaving me stranded. They told me that they were afraid to work on the port when it could be attacked at any time. They did not want to put their life at risk."
"All the laborers?" the Magister mumbled with a hint of surprise and disbelief.
"It seems so," Salac replied. "Even so, I have sent someone to look for new workers. They should be here soon."
The Magister, though doubtful of the answer, nodded his head. The next moment, he began climbing the gangplank.
"Boarding my ship, Magister?" Salac questioned with a raised eyebrow.
"Yes," the Magister replied.
"But it has already been checked," Salac remarked.
The Magister had already reached the top of the gangplank, and Salac was standing in the middle, blocking his path.
"I want to do it again," the Magister said, standing tall. "Is there a problem?"
Salac sidestepped with a wide smile.
"Not at all," he said, gesturing with his hand for the Magister to step onto the deck.
The Magister nodded and arrived on the deck, followed by his men. Just like the previous Magister, he was greeted by the sight of sacks full of grain. The one sack the previous official had plunged his knife into and the grain that spilled from it was directly in front of him.
He approached the torn sack, the spilled grain rubbing against his feet. He was still contemplating what to do when, before his shocked eyes, the sack behind the torn one was pulled apart, revealing a hole and a human face inside. A female face. He recognised it. He had seen her in portraits. She was General Slyvia.
"What is this?" These words had barely left his mind when a spear came flashing from the hole. It pierced his throat, cutting his shout short as blood gurgled out. It took only a couple of moments before life left his body.
Meanwhile, as the shout erupted from the Magister's mouth, the ten guards and the worker he had brought with him stirred into motion. Their hands reached for their weapons, but touching the hilts of their swords was all they could manage.
The crew, numbering more than a dozen, moved before the guards could react. They held small knives in their hands, and almost simultaneously with the spear piercing the Magister's throat, these blades were plunged into the necks of the Magister's men. Their mouths were clamped shut by the hands of the crew, leaving them unable to even scream.
Within moments, twelve bodies were lining the deck of the ship. Several sacks of grain were pulled apart, and Sylvia, followed by Jelerion and a few more men, emerged from the hold. The battle had begun.
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