A column of rock tapiring slowly to a point like an assassin's knife. The storms blister above, a vulturing circle of reds that chase the tower in its slow journey back to Confederate airspace. Energy crackles through those clouds, tenses, then hammers into the spires of the; The Hilt. Energy rippls down the sides in a wave like startled rats seeking a shadow.

The light show is forboding, but harmless to the hundred men preparing the fortress. Takhai's workers charge to and fro, tearing up the earth as only his mind knows, ekeing just a little more speed out of the slender stone. Storm knights march the parapets like electrons in a circuit. Waiting. Dixie pirate stones orbit the tower, matching the knight's orbit at a greater range.

And all in the massive shadow of the CSF Humanity, its Bastions humming the silent sound of geomancy.

They are first to see the Leviathan approach.

…

Later, desperate Union peacekeepers would refer to this flight as training maneuvres for the ancient battle station. Technically, this is neutral ground. Technically this is Confederacy airspace. Technically it is so close to the border it is impossible to tell.

The CSF starts to fall away from the Tower, allowing its charge to glide on ahead while it handles the unwelcome visitor. Slow as ice it turns to bear on the Leviathan, while its Bastiones rush around it. Nucleus and electrons. Alric's message is clear as day, back the fuck off, but when the Leviathan keeps advancing it becomes puncutated with a grey beam of stormic energy that curves around the Leviathan's forward bow. A warning shot.

Kopeck does not change his orders, and holds the same course he's had since he came into view; Not towards the tower, but not away from it either. He knows he should turn away, but what would that say about him? The leviathan glides closer, showing the CSF its flank. A challenge. A mating rite with two stags strutting, barking, showing off their antlers, not backing down but not really wanting to fight either.

Then the line is crossed.

The Leviathan tips, then arcs slowly the other way. It could be to turn to leave, but then it could also be bringing the great Runic fore cannon to bear on the CSF. Alric is not waiting to find out.

The grey beam before was nothing. Tracer. Not the great yellow lance of fire that leaps from the CSF now, greedily tearing into the other ship's bow. The CSF is blasted backwards as much as its target, as the flames recoil from the bough, spattering and dropping into the chasm of mist like sparks from a welding torch. A few small fires have taken, where theres should simply be wrecked ship.

Three seconds have passed. The Leviathan's cannon inches closes when the Bastions, the fighters to the CSF's carrier, rake down its sides, more conventional weapons launching bolts and boulders into Kopeck. The Bastions have hardly started their run, but its enough. The leviathan is buffetted, and its arc dips harmlessly beneath the CSF. Instead of correcting, Kopeck continues the curve, firing up the engines to full as he tears away from the aggressor.

The Bastions harry Kopeck's craft for a while, then let him leave. Limping away, Kopeck hopes he has achieved what he came to do.

…

He hasn't. A keen eyed Dixie pirate spots the Scurrying Rat approach. It is flying close to the mists, hull chameleoned to match the mottled white almost seamlessly. Almost, but its captain gambled a speed approach over a stealthy one and the rippling hull couldn't keep up.

The alarm quickly goes out. The makeshift ballistas are already loaded, and now dragged across the fortress walls to bear down on the tiny ship, charging in like a dragonfly. The CSF would make short work of it, but will never return in time. Instead a hail of stone and steel arcs towards the ship. Confetti swallowed up by the mists and not even giving slavo pause for thought. Maybe in the five seconds he'll spend landing, maybe then they'd have a chance of hitting him, but all this; they might as well be scattering feed for the birds.

Bergholt unknowingly concurs, watching the pointless volleys from the top of the tallest spire. Then he smiles. “Not today Valk. You will not set foot on my land today. I'll see you burn first.” And snaps goggles over his eyes. He reaches forward for the leather grips before him, braces, and hauls with all his might. He shifts the storm cannon, many times his size, to point 12.23 milliseconds ahead of the Scurrying Rat, flicks the gyro to Path Compensate, then looks through different, crackling, storm fuelled eyes.

The crack is so loud it registers as a silence to the unprotected ear. An arc of Blue lightning jumps half a mile up, then crackles down on the Scurrying Rat like a fissure in the sky. It strikes first time, then spatters away on the same shielding as the Leviathan.

But the Leviathan was a bigger ship. The Scurrying Rat's arrow straight path becomes more jagged than the lightning that struck it. Its trying to rise up towards the crest of the Tower from its low approach, but ends up listing nearly horizontal. Its speed is gone. The ballista are inching closer to their target. The pirate stones are slowly bobbing down to intercept.

Like Bergholt is going to wait for them. He squeezed the grips tighter as more energy arks from his body. The arc quickly shifts through a spectrum of color, settling on a blood red, as it blasts harder and harder into the Scurrying Rat's shields, cracks them, and hits the hull like a pin hitting the heart.

Then there is nothing but an expanding cloud of wood and stone. The wood plummets and is gone, while the Scurrying Rat's geomantic basestones more tumble ponderously towards, inexorably downward.