Dragon (S)Layers
Volume 6: The Last Embers
1
Iron Oak
"A capstone is only as beautiful as the foundation it's placed upon, making it fitting that the foundation of the Free States is forged in gold by technological progress and innovation. It's a shame the capstone is cast in the tin of plutocracy and indentured servitude."
Engineer Laverna Webber
Ft. Almoor, Estan Free States
~Sarah~
The chalk was heavy between Sarah's fingers, clutched tenuously between her shaking digits as she tried to check her work for the seventh time. The formula- thrust over weight. Simple, very simple, but she'd made assumptions- she'd assumed the vectors that were created were exponential. She'd approximated the weight of the ship, and she'd only been able to roughly figure the stresses involved of scaling everything up. . .
She looked down at her old notebook; breaking strength, rotary force, torsion; torque. It was all there. She looked up, the figures were scaled up for the larger boat but it
looked
right. It-
It looked right.
Tentatively she touched the space between the ribs that served as her chalkboard, tracing a finger along the formula like it was some sacred rite. Her mind had conjured this, devised it- with it they could raise a sloop to the skies, a waterborne vessel could ride among the gulls that once perched on its deck.
This was her magic. This was Sarah's arcanum. No one could take that from her, no one had ever managed it. . . .then why didn't she
feel
like she accomplished something? She pushed her glasses up and massaged her eyes, muttering in the darkness of the brigantine's hold. No sooner did she block her gaze from the world than an image burst into her mind's eye of a half league strip of smoldering wreckage; timbers and broken Sunless Steel casements, smashed together on cold rocks beyond the End of the World.
A man was among the wreckage- he was always there, but his daughter wasn't. Her magic was a lie, her accomplishment was suicide by another name. Of all the lies she told- even those she told herself- it was the one that would always find her; her 'magic' was a promise only a fool would believe. . .
Dress shoes tapped against the white oak flooring beside her, Sarah glanced over tiredly to find her Cherub staring at the equation with pupilless eyes. The alabaster creature was short but dominating with her divine link to the Great Engineer, every angle of her features sculpted to appear human yet functional. Neither attractive nor ugly, swathed in a three piece suit of charcoal grey that reminded Sarah once more that her 'chosen' religion was as much a business as it was a spiritual endeavor.
Upon seeing her work, the Cherub looked back over the other supporting work. Her thin lips pouted slightly before she finally deigned Sarah worthy of her attention. "It's correct," she said coolly. Matter of fact. With no regard, maybe no concept of the weight Sarah held in the tip of her chalk. "You did it. . ."
Sarah looked at it once more, muttering. "Then why does it feel so wrong?"
"Fear," the Cherub said as it strode over and plucked the chalk from Sarah's fingers. "You don't want it to happen to your husband again."
Sarah snorted. "I doubt h-" she tried to push against the divine block that kept her from speaking of it. Clerics weren't allowed to talk about the circumstances leading to their deaths and Sarah was no exception. She settled on a vague reply instead: "I doubt there's going to be a repeat performance."
The Cherub sketched out an outline of the brigantine, denoting the best place for the reactors down the ship's central axis; one fore and one aft. Through the center would go the turbine and the ducting off the sides. Simple. Efficient. Just like the sloop. . . .just like the
Lostariel Pamor
.
Sarah hugged her arms over her generous chest, suddenly wishing that half-elves didn't have such acute night vision. She could do without imagining what kind of twisted shit this creature
thought
was an appropriate response to scaling up her design and how it should work.
The Cherub, Haras, finished the sketch and deposited the chalk on the make shift couch. They stared at one another in silence while the sound of night insects filtered up through the hole in the bottom of the ship's hull. With it also came the crackling of the camp fire Caldion and the others had set up. There was no chatting, though, no trill of elf, human or kobold to be heard.
No one to interrupt Haras from giving whatever half-assed lecture she thought Sarah 'needed' to hear to bring her back to serving her god properly. They both knew it was coming and Sarah was too tired to argue tonight. Her soul still hurt and nothing in her had the strength to fight so much as a bag of tea leaves, much less a divine agent. And so she slumped forward on her stool and took her head in her hands, fingers massaging through her coppery rat's nest as she waited.
And waited.
When no admonishment came she looked up to see Haras watching her with that otherworldly distance that always followed her. Instead of bitching about her efforts, the creature looked to the math again. "You did nothing wrong the first time, we'll make corrections as we need to, but this. . ." She motioned to the figures. "This is what you were
meant
for."
Sarah laughed a bitter, sardonic cough. She hadn't been eating right again and the damned cough stuck with her. Maybe it was the stress and sleeplessness. "Has it ever occurred to you that I'm
not
one of you?"
"Only every time you open your mouth."
"Then why is it you feel the need to assume I desire a box in which I'll place myself, hm?" They shared a look and for just one fraction of in instant it looked like Haras might have made a joke about her long history with slipping herself into boxes other than her own. But then it passed and the creature turned on its heel.
"The paladin is still awake, get some food and rest. Tomorrow you can decide how to fabricate the parts."
Sarah groaned quietly. She'd have rather heard the joke than be around one.
That wasn't entirely fair, but neither was life; Caldion had ensured they had food to eat, even when he was being difficult there was no denying the boy knew his business backwards and forwards. Sarah sighed and hauled herself up with all the aches and pains due someone who'd spent their day hunched over. Vaguely it occurred to her that she hadn't actually gotten up in a couple hours, so much for keeping promises to herself.
"Nnghhh. . ." she sighed as she braced her hands against her lower back and arched. Not for the first time wishing she'd had the presence of mind to ask for permanent fitness as part of her god-pact. Standing tall was one thing, but the decades of comfortable living she'd enjoyed in Sorash had left her on the voluptuous side- gentle rolling hips and thick thighs were things she'd always enjoyed in women but there was a price to be paid for it!
At that moment her stomach reminded her she wasn't going to lose that extra weight any time soon; the hardy scent of burbling stew wafted up to tease her, to remind her once more of everything she'd forgotten to look after in her work.
Rather than climbing up through the ship, Sarah clambered out of the hole in its hull and snuck under the vessel. The four horse team they'd been using to pull the wagon ship were packed together beside it- Caldion had taken the time to brush them and get them fresh water and for a moment Sarah almost thought they looked rather content. Not comfortable, but content. They were all driving through a difficult situation and the animals had it no easier; carting a heavy ship with poor steering over rocky terrain couldn't have been good for them.
Sarah reached up to touch the muzzle of the nearest one, to apologize- but then it evacuated itself on the grass and all of her sympathy hit the ground with a soft 'thump'. Turning her attention away she righted herself and strode around the rear of the ship where camp had been made.
It was a simple affair as it so often was: a trio of lean-tos made out of local sticks and packed with foliage to protect against the wind and rain, beneath each one lay a bedroll and whatever could be scraped together for bedding. The way they'd arranged themselves around the camp fire formed a surprisingly elegant triangle that ensured the person sitting on the folding chair just outside of the camp's radius had everything within their purview, including the thin wires strung between the trees beyond them that acted as the early warning system. It was efficient but it still felt cozy.
Caldion had apparently stepped out to walk the perimeter before Sarah came out, giving her precious time to pick through the remains of dinner without having to answer for it. She went digging through the stew pot with the ladle, looking for choice cuts of meat with an eye towards the surroundings.
She'd never admit it, but simple elegance always felt
right
and somewhere in the last couple of weeks the entire group had settled into that routine so smoothly without her that Sarah almost felt ashamed even as she was quietly awed by it. Tessarie and Keiter had gone to sleep long before the moon had started cresting its apex which probably meant Tessarie was next up for guard duty.
Sarah allowed herself a tired smile. She might actually get some rest tonight. Miracles never cease. She couldn't even find it in her to be upset when her scrounging went unrewarded. Vegetable stew? Honestly, were they that hard up?
Keiter rolled over listlessly in his bedding, huddling around the backpack that was nearly as large as he was, probably full of warm rocks from the fire. Despite having a direct link to his goddess, the kobold still took comfort in the warmth of something near him.
Before the Salter family massacre it would've been Sarah he was wrapped around, before she'd ran away the first time and put that
damned
distance between them. . . .if it meant he felt safe, though, that was what mattered. Wasn't it?
They'd be safer soon. She'd make sure of it.
Yes, soon. They just needed to get far enough ahead of Sorah's military and their bounty hunters. Then she'd make it up to Keiter- him and Tessarie both.
Sarah ladled out a bowl of vegetable stew for herself and stole the empty seat along with a roll from the bag of sundries someone'd left near the utensils. Technically they'd agreed to ration them out, but Sarah was probably due a little celebration, wasn't she?
Just as she sat down Caldion appeared from the opposite side of the camp with a bundle under his arm and a frown creasing his lips. He'd been shaving again. Sarah scoffed.
"We've water for you to shave but not to wash my hair? I dare say there's a discrepancy here!"
The young man ignored her for the moment and dumped the kit in his bag beside one of the lean-tos. He looked about ready to kick her out of the chair but whether by virtue of the rarity of her appearance or some sense of fair play, instead he settled onto the bedroll. His brown eyes were stormy and uneasy, the wariness and skepticism of the past few days rolled out behind them in invisible waves. "We're running out of water."
"All the more reason-"
"I used my water ration," he waved it off. "I check last night, though, we're down to two kegs."
"T- two? Surely not!" Sarah looked down at her stew, suddenly aware of every drop in the bowl. "Good gods, man we had six last week!"
"That happens with horses," he said simply. "They can't ration water-"
"Surely we-"
The young paladin held up his hands. "They'll
