Sailing two of the ironclads south, Broeck and his nephew prowled the open Middlesea. He had no intention of just kicking pebbles on the shore for months while Queen Anjine moved the rest of the Tierran army and navy into position. A warrior didn’t bide his time. While he waited, he continued his Aidenist reign of terror upon the luckless Urabans. By now the Curlies feared these armored warships more than any sea monster.
Since neither Broeck nor Iaros could read the tangled loops of Uraban writing, they didn’t know (or care) what the foreigners had originally named these ironclads. Iaros had selected a traditional Iborian name for his vessel—Raathgir, after the famous ice dragon. For himself, Broeck had named his flagship Wilka as a memorial to his wife, lost but not forgotten. Years ago, Wilka had frozen to death in an unexpected Iborian snowstorm while out picking frostberries. This ironclad was hard and strong, yet graceful, as Wilka had been.
Though he would not strike the eastern side of Ishalem until the appropriate date, the Middlesea coast offered plenty of alternative targets. Since Soldan-Shah Omra must be planning some kind of attempt to recapture the mines, Broeck intended to make the first move and keep the Curlies reeling. With the Wilka, the Raathgir, and his five other armored vessels, he would soon launch a strike the enemy would never forget.
He and Iaros sailed along, their ships within shouting distance of each other. The Middlesea was uncharted territory for them. By simple geographical logic, if they continued far enough south, they would find the opposite coast. Within two days, they spotted the Middlesea shore—a sight not seen by free Tierran eyes for a generation.
Standing at the Wilka’s bow, Broeck peered through his spyglass. As he adjusted the cylinder’s focus, he saw waves striking a milk-sand shore, and the colorful sails of many ships that pulled into a bustling harbor. Broeck could make out the city’s buildings, the tall minarets of huge Urecari churches, and a shining palace that he’d seen only in fanciful pictures. He felt a flush of heat on his cheeks. Olabar, the capital of Uraba, the seat of the soldan-shah.
The waters were calm, and in the still air Iaros’s voice rang out as he called across the gap between ships. “Uncle, are we going to attack?”
Broeck took a long moment to answer. How he longed to sail into Olabar harbor and strike the unsuspecting Urecari. That would teach the Curlies a lesson after all the harm they had caused. But it would be a futile gesture, no matter how glorious it might seem. Even unprepared, Olabar had enough fighters and ships to drive back the Wilka and the Raathgir. And Broeck had to keep his fleet intact for the attack on Ishalem.
“Not today,” he shouted back. “But soon.” He clenched his jaw and whispered, too low for Iaros to hear, “Not soon enough.”
Within a week, Broeck planned to deal Uraba a crippling blow. He would make the soldan-shah and his followers reel with pain and despair before the Aidenists delivered the coup de grâce at Ishalem. That, at last, would make Broeck happy.
“Come about,” he told his navigator with great reluctance. “We sail back to Gremurr.”
“So soon, Destrar? We still have much scouting to do.”
“I don’t want to be seen—it’s broad daylight. Our sails have no doubt been spotted, but they probably don’t know who we are. Let’s not give them an inkling of their danger.”
On the voyage back to their stronghold on the northern coast, the ironclads encountered three wide-ranging Uraban fishing boats. Broeck ordered them seized, their crew trussed up like cargo sacks on the deck after a brief and ineffective struggle. Tierran soldiers boarded the small boats and piloted them back toward Gremurr, where they would join the other captured vessels.
Iaros came aboard the Wilka, impatient and full of questions. He gave a disparaging look to the small craft. “Uncle, what good will those fishing boats do for our war effort? The captives won’t even be much help working in the mines.”
Broeck assessed the three sturdy boats. True, they were not large, not powerful, not swift. “With those little boats, Iaros, we may just win our most important battle. I have a plan.”