"Not the crowd I anticipated."
Ghis gazed out upon the arena of catwalks and railings, a crowd of a few hundred citizens and soldiers having gathered on them. They waved, tossing large bouquets at the Leviathan as it began to rise from its quay. As seconds passed, the vast engines began to glow brighter, their dull hum growing louder. Only the very bow of the massive ship fit into the canopied section of the docks, the rest of it left exposed in the sun.
The farewell gathering had all situated underneath the roofed section, the rest of the catwalks and retracting bridges left abandoned save for the last wave of inspectors. Once those few stragglers marked the last check on their lists, they signaled a tall control tower at the head of the docking quay.
"You desire even more fanfare?" Bergan asked, standing side by side with Ghis at the Leviathan's observation deck. Unlike the bridge which consisted of tall control consoles and windows too high to see out of, the observation deck was nearly all glass save for the floor and rear wall.
"I had expected none at all, given recent events."
Ghis raised his head, squinting through the eye holes of his helmet when he saw the control tower release a series of bright flares. He turned and reached for a console on the wall next to him, pressing a small switch.
"Admiral you have permission to begin formation. Ensure that post-departure inspections are begun once we reach cruising altitude." Ghis spoke into the receiver.
"Yes, Your Honor." A grainy voice returned.
Ghis returned to Bergan's side, crossing his arms and watching the vast quay and docks grow smaller and smaller beneath them. Further down the mass of canopied work sections, other ships of the 8th fleet could be seen, rising out of their sheltered docks to follow the Leviathan.
"I pray you've a proper training deck on this titan." Bergan uttered, setting his hands on his waist, "I will not tolerate idle standing day in and out."
"There are many training decks to accommodate you, Bergan. I may command the ship but I certainly have no control over you." Ghis answered, tilting his head up to glance at Bergan. "Of course I would greatly appreciate if you did not interfere with my administrative duties whilst on the Leviathan."
Bergan laughed, turning and walking towards the stairs. "You are free to your desk husbandry. Of course, when the real battles begin, pray the rank and file can sustain themselves without a signature or two."
Ghis rolled his eyes beneath his helmet, moving to the center of the room and watching the entirety of the 8th fleet begin to gather in proper formation. Bergan's steps grew distant, the hiss of the sliding door ensuring to Ghis that the fellow Magister was gone.
He glanced over to the port side, admiring the Shiva. The Leviathan was his pride and the glory of Archades, but Ghis had to admit it was not the most aesthetically appealing vessel. The Shiva's long lines, glittering interior lights and hanging reliefs from her prow all combined to evoke aerial grace and beauty. Truly out of all of the Archadian fleet, Ghis surmised, she was best fit to sail among the clouds.
A sneer came to his lips as he turned and walked down the stairs. The rest of the Magisters wouldn't know the value of art if it was a sword in their gut. He'd had faith in Zargabaath once, but after accepting an invitation from the other Magister to attend a play with him, that faith had quickly died. His taste had been, to say the least, pedestrian. Ghis wouldn't make the mistake again to entertain Zargabaath's undeniably juvenile sentiment for romance or comedy on the stage.
A sudden tug yanked at his chest, and he was reminded of a quick fantasy he'd entertained one day whilst strolling past the opera house. He'd thought that perhaps, if tensions fell away and the insurgency had been dealt with, Ghis would have liked to invite Ondore to attend an Archadian performance. Under the guise of fostering a better relationship with Bhujerba, the visit could have been placed under the excuse of being a friendly cultural exchange.
Of course, considering that Ondore had been funding the insurgency, that not only turned the fantasy impossible but downright painfully naive. Part of him felt like a child, being scolded by the teacher before the rest of the class for entertaining such a stupid notion.
Sickened, Ghis walked faster towards the nearest lift. The war held one singular benefit, he decided – it would do well to distract him from his growing shame. It had been swelling by the hour, but at least his duties forced him back into focusing on the immediate tasks at hand.
Ghis and Bergan spent the rest of the day supervising the transition from grounded operations to those of continual flight. The Leviathan alone was a city unto herself, with hundreds of men and women having to perform tasks both essential and mundane to keep everything in working order. Be it regulating the power output from the enormous glossair rings, assisting the forge masters in the lower decks with armor repairs, or carting tons of bunk sheets to be cleaned and refitted for the barracks – the crew was never lacking in work.
Of course, the chain of command assisted in the management of these hundreds of operations and made them go as smoothly as possible. After an entire days worth of walking from one end of the Leviathan to the other, receiving verification on multiple floors and levels that everything was running at top effeciency, Ghis had Bergan accompany him to his study.
Removing his helmet once the door behind them shut, Ghis walked over to his desk and set it down on the slick wood finish. He eased himself down into his chair, motioning Bergan to come over with a quick curl of his fingers. The other Magister approached, removing his helmet as well, keeping it under his arm. Ghis sorted through a pile of thick, bound stacks of parchment before arriving at a particularly large one.
"This is the procedural guide for the Leviathan and her crew. I'd have you read through and understand it before we begin trading blows with a Rozarrian invasion force."
Bergan took the bound stack, flipping through it and scoffing. "You think me some greenhorn?"
"You've no experience with the 8th fleet, that is simply my concern. The crews and officers are unfamiliar with your style of leadership – despite that, I place my faith in your abilities. Do not allow this to go to your head, your Honor, but you are charged with incursion operations and oversight, are you not? I'm not questioning your knowledge of tactics or battlefield engagements. This guide is simply in regards to matters of logistics and procedure."
"I comprehend your meaning, your Honor, " Bergan tucked the bound parchments under his arm, "Have you anything else?"
"Your quarters are on level 23, room 807B. To access that part of the ship you need to take the blue lift route, it serves levels 20 through 50. That is all."
Bergan grunted, taking his helmet and turning away, walking out of the office. Ghis glanced up as he went, frowning at the others back and sighing tiredly. Bergan's presence was the last thing he wanted – the other Magister was a brute, always eager to rush into battle. Still, he begrudgingly reminded himself, Bergan had far more battlefield experience, and his presence had somehow made Ghis feel secure. Secure now at least not only in strength and utter firepower, but in tactical choices as well.
As much as he hated to admit it, and would never say so aloud – Ghis knew that no tactician was worth his steel if he wasn't well seasoned in the battlefield.
Ondore felt a small surge of pain run up his leg as he hurried along down the long hallway of the Garland. His aids waited for him at the end of the carpeted tunnel, standing by a set of double doors intricately carved from rich, dark wood.
"Has he arrived?" The Marquis asked in a quick whisper. One of the aids nodded, jerking his nose towards the doors.
Clearing his throat, Ondore fixed his cravat and long coat, tidying his appearance before straightening his back and taking a moment to calm himself. At his command, the aids opened the doors, and he stepped into the meeting room with a trained air of nonchalance, in sharp contrast to his quick steps just moments before.
Seated at the round meeting table was a tall Rozarrian, rich olive skin and curly black hair setting him apart. He stood when Ondore entered, formally bowing to the Marquis before easing himself back into his chair.
Ondore gave a small nod in return, slowly taking a seat, resting his hands on the capital of his cane. "It is an honor to make your acquaintance, Ambassador Deirn, thank you for taking the time to meet with me. I know with the recent events in Archades, that it must have been difficult to secure a day to spare."
"I assure you Marquis," Deirn responded with his heavy Rozarrian accent dripping from each word, "Meeting with you has been a fervent desire of mine for some time now. I must too confess, I'm terribly impressed by what you've accomplished, considering your limited resources and inexperience. It's a credit to Bhujerban tenacity and wit."
Ondore forced a polite smile and nod of his head, "Thank you, Ambassador. Now, shall we begin discussion of terms?"
Deirn nodded, clearing his throat. "Indeed. As it stands, our 3rd fleet is advancing eastward with utmost speed to outrun the 8th Archadian fleet that, according to the latest intelligence reports, departed three days ago and is on a course for northern Jahara. Your well hidden betrayal is no longer such, and this brings you to a decision, Marquis. Allowing Rozarrian ships into your airspace is a step that will ensure the safety of Bhujerba, so I implore you to take this into consideration."
"Make no mistake, Ambassador," Ondore responded quietly, "I am well aware of the situation that this has placed me in. That being said," his voice darkened, "Have I not proven myself in this theater? I wish for nothing greater than the fall of the Archadian Empire and their hold on my people and assets. If harboring Rozarrian troops in Bhujerba will help that come to pass, then I will, of course allow it."
Deirn nodded, satisfied. "That is excellent news, Marquis. News that I am relieved to hear. Placing our troops directly south of Archades will give us a strategic advantage. With our 3rd fleet behind the Archadian 8th, and the 4th settling in to meet them at the border, we will have this fish in our pincers. It will be a strong start, one that we will need. Of course, to make this advancement into your territories official, I will have to send for several documents to be signed and such, but with your verbal permission I will send word for our 3rd fleet to begin advancement."
"But, Ambassador, if I may be so bold as to ask, what of the 8th fleet? They head straight for northern Jahara as you say, will your fleet not encounter them before they reach Bhujerba?"
Deirn shook his head, "Unlikely, Marquis. We have had our forces ready to mobilize for some time now, and the 8th fleet, while massive, is like a whale brought to land, bloated and slow. The Leviathan's girth is too great for the skies, it is too slow. Our ships may not match Archadian ships in size, but they more than make up for it in speed. We will reach Bhujerba in two days at the most, and I will have to present you with official documents to legalize all of this." A weak smile moved to the Ambassador's lips, "Of course in war, paperwork is often an afterthought, you understand. Still, we will adhere to procedure while we're still able to afford such niceties."
"I do understand, Ambassador. Before you depart, may I ask – can the Bhujerban fleet be of any assistance? We have several formidable airships that were poised to begin engaging Archadian forces. We would be honored to-"
Deirn cut Ondore off with a small raise of his hand, a polite smile forming on his face. "Marquis the offer is generous, but I insist, with the utmost respect, that you keep your people out of this."
The affronted look that formed on Ondore's face encouraged Deirn to continue speaking.
"As you said, you have proven yourself – in the theater of politics, intrigue, and deception. I commend you on your integrity in the face of Archadian brutality, Marquis. However," Deirn's tone grew gentle, and Ondore suddenly felt that the Ambassador thought he were talking to a child. "This is a theater of war. War that we have been long planning for, your grace. It is not a war we can afford to have any obstruction in, be it from our enemies, or our allies. Please understand, it's not that we consider your forces inadequate, but the Rozarrian army has been preparing for this moment for years. Your Bhujerban forces may believe they are trained to withstand the Archadians at their war games, however; with the greatest respect due to you and your people, Marquis Ondore, they are not."
Deirn stood, straightening the long black coat he wore, lavender ruffling spilling out of his sleeves, concealing his hands. He nodded at Ondore, no hint of apology for the reaming he'd just lain down.
"I will see you again in two days time, your grace." He said, bowing shortly before walking out of the room, the click of his boots on the wooden floor echoing down the hall.
Ondore sat at the table, a flush of embarrassment on his face. The unapologetic cleave of Rozarrian honesty was in perfect opposition to clouded Archadian intrigue. So much so that he'd been entirely unprepared for it.
After a few moments of talking himself out of feeling humiliated by the affair, he stood, gathering his dignity. If the Rozarrians didn't want his aid, then it left the small resistance fleet free to be used as an emergency measure if the war reached too close to Bhujerba. With the Rozarrians taking full reign in the war against Archades, it left the Marquis to focus his concerns on the safety of his people. He wouldn't deny it to himself – he had been hoping his fleet would be involved in some way against the Archadian beast and garner some small victories, but it was not to be.
Nodding at his aids as he exited the room, he sighed, placing his cane in one hand, tapping the capital lightly with the other.
"Once the Ambassador has departed, set course back for Bhujerba, and call in the district overseers for conference. We will be hosting Rozarrian forces in the near future, our citizens must be prepared to tolerate their presence."
"Understood."
With the two aids in tow, he began walking back down to his chambers at an easy pace and stride. Ondore felt his step lighten, as if a great weight had been shed from his shoulders. It was the weight of waging a war against Archades on his own. Now it was Rozarria charging ahead to usher in a new age for Ivalice, and with every moment passing he was increasingly glad it was them and not himself.