“HURRAH!” A cry comes up from all those manning the bridge. They have all been party to this mission. Indeed, every soul on the Dawnhammer has been aware of the great risks we have taken and the dangers we have braved to claim this princess. I raise my arms, hands in fists to acknowledge their cheers.
My second in command, Bluebrow, has the bridge. He is a beast after my own heart, though cast in different shades. His hair and his eyes, even the very hue of his skin is blue. He is popular with females, many of whom find his rough, curling locks to be particularly appealing.
“We have a thousand fighters manned and waiting if we are to suffer an attack. So far there is no activity whatsoever on sensors. Strange. Very strange,” Bluebrow answers my questions without cheering. He is focused on the mission, which is not truly over. Stealing the princess is the first part of the mission; turning her into riches, that is the second part.
“They may not yet be able to believe what has happened.”
“I can barely believe it myself,” he laughs. “What a triumph! A human princess snatched from the clutches of their greatest technologies. The news must already be spreading far and wide.”
We all enjoy the idea of our fame growing. I would like to say that I warlord only for the riches and the power, but I do enjoy the notoriety as well. It often leads to surrender before we lift an aggressive finger. Sometimes the mere appearance of the Dawnhammer in new territory is enough to have vessels of riches sent to us in the hopes the inhabitants will be spared.
“What is the princess like? Is she as beautiful as they say?” Bluebrow is curious.
“Even more beautiful,” I confirm. “She’s a very pretty little thing, and brave too. She did not shed so much as a tear as we took her. She barely seemed surprised.”
“Passive? Some are trained that way. They’re taught to obey in all things. Sounds boring to me, but I guess it makes them easier to sell off.”
“Marry off,” I correct the term. “Humans don’t sell their offspring. They do, however, decide their romantic fates many years before they are in any position to have preferences. Astaria has been promised many times…”
“Then why does her father still own her?”
“No suitor has ever claimed her. He promises her, collects the dowry, and still keeps her for himself.”
“That trick can’t work too many times.”
“It has worked several times as far as I am aware, and that means we have a great many chances to potentially ransom her to others. The king is but one entity with an interest.”
The energy at the helm is jubilant. Though I have not made any official announcement, all my officers know already. It is important to share the spoils of our captures and pillaging for morale. There is only one of Astaria and she will certainly not be shared, but there will be a grand banquet to celebrate our triumph as soon as can be arranged. I am sure the chefs are planning a massive menu of at least a dozen courses as we speak.
“Let the drums sing!” I order. “Announce our victory over…. difficulty.”
Drums begin to emanate through the ship’s hull. Their sound harkens back to our deepest history when we used to live in dense forests. Drums were how our ancestors communicated. Now they are how we celebrate. The hull throbs with triumph.
I take my seat in the captain’s chair, a great green and gold construction made with the insignia of my line. I did not come from a powerful family, but I have made my line powerful through my efforts and my deeds. I feel a great sense of satisfaction and achievement as I rest knowing I have a fresh princess in my brig, no doubt nervously awaiting her defloration.
“A small repast to replenish your energy, sir?” Chef Peach is at my elbow before I realize it. He moves with a heavy tray weighted down with a massive repast. Meat and brew, berries and whipped fats. It is a meal fit for a king, and I enjoy every bite of it, ensuring that the other officers also eat their fill.
“Blackmane! Blackmane!”
My meal is interrupted by the arrival of a springing messenger. I do not know his name, and I barely take his appearance in, except to note that he did not follow any of the proper and respectful protocol around knocking and waiting to be told to enter. He speaks without being given permission too. Sometimes the officers grumble that the lower ranks are forgetting their place. I usually ignore it, but as of now I am tempted to agree.
“Sir, it’s the princess. I mean, the prisoner. I mean…”
“Yes. I know who you mean. What is it?”