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“Asshole,” Rin muttered as they left his office.
“He’s absolutely awful,” Kitay agreed. “It’s a rare person who makes Nezha look like the pleasant sibling.”
“I’m not saying I want him to drown in the Murui,” Ramsa said, “but I want him to drown in the Murui.”
With the fleet united, the Republic’s northern expedition began in earnest. Jinzha set a direct course that cut straight through Hare Province, which was agriculturally rich and comparatively weak. They would pick off the low-hanging fruit and solidify their supply base before taking on the full force of the Militia.
Hesperians aside, Rin found that traveling on the Kingfisher was a marked improvement from the Swallow. At least a hundred yards long from bow to stern, the Kingfisher was the only turtle boat in the fleet, with a closed top deck wrapped over by wood paneling and steel plates that made it nearly immune to cannon fire. The Kingfisher functioned as more or less a floating piece of armor, and for good reason—it carried Jinzha, Admiral Molkoi, almost all of the fleet’s senior strategists, and most of the Hesperian delegation.
Flanking the Kingfisher were a trio of sister galleys known as the Seahawks—warships with floating boards attached to the port and starboard sides shaped like a bird’s wings. Two were affectionately named the Lapwing and the Waxwing. The Griffon, commanded by Nezha, sailed directly behind the Kingfisher.
The other two galleys guarded the pride and battering ram of the fleet—two massive tower ships that someone with a bad sense of humor had named the Shrike and the Crake. They were monstrously large and top-heavy, outfitted with two mounted trebuchets and four rows of crossbows each.
The fleet proceeded up the Murui in a phalanx formation, lined up to adjust to the narrowing breadth of the river. The smaller skimmers alternately ducked in between the warships or followed them in a straightforward line, like a trail of ducklings following their mother.
It was such a beauty of riverine warfare, Rin thought, that the troops never had to weary themselves with marching. They just had to wait to be ferried to the Empire’s most important cities, which were all close to the water. Cities needed water to survive, just like bodies needed blood. So if they wanted to seize the Empire, they needed only to sail through its arteries.
At dawn the fleet reached the border of Radan township. Radan was one of Hare Province’s larger economic centers, targeted by Jinzha because of its strategic location at the junction of two waterways, its possession of several well-stocked granaries, and the simple fact that it barely had a military.
Jinzha ordered an immediate invasion without negotiation.
“Is he afraid they’ll refuse?” Rin asked Kitay.
“More likely he’s afraid they’ll surrender,” Kitay said. “Jinzha needs this expedition to be based on fear.”
“What, the tower ships aren’t scary enough?”
“That’s a bluff. This isn’t about Radan, it’s about the next battle. Radan needs to be used as an example.”
“Of what?”
“What happens when you resist,” Kitay said grimly. “I’d go get your trident. We’re about to start.”
The Kingfisher was fast approaching Radan’s river gates. Rin lifted her spyglass to get a closer look at the township’s hastily assembled fleet. It was a laughably pathetic amalgamation of outdated vessels, mostly single-mast creations with sails made of oiled silk. Radan’s ships were merchant vessels and fishing boats with no firing capacity. They had clearly never been used for warfare.
The Cike alone could have taken the city, Rin thought. They were certainly eager for it. Suni and Baji had been pacing the deck for hours, impatient to finally see action. The two of them could have likely broken the outer defenses by themselves. But Jinzha had wanted to commit his full resources to breaking Radan. That wasn’t strategy, it was showmanship.
Jinzha strode onto the deck, took one look at the Radan defense fleet, and yawned into his hand. “Admiral Molkoi.”
The admiral dipped his head. “Yes, sir?”
“Blow those things out of the water.”
The ensuing battle was so one-sided that it seemed impossible. It wasn’t a fight, it was a comic tragedy.
Radan’s men had rubbed their sails down with oil. It was standard practice for merchants, who wanted to keep their sails waterproof and immune to rot. It was not so clever against pyrotechnics.
The Seahawks fired a series of double-headed dragon missiles that exploded midair into a swarm of smaller explosives, which spread a penumbral shower of fire across the Radan fleet. The sails caught fire immediately. Entire sheets of blistering flame engulfed the pathetic armada, roaring so loudly that for an instant it was all anyone could hear.
Rin found it oddly pleasing to watch, the same way it was fun to kick down sandcastles just because she could.
“Tiger’s tits,” Ramsa said, perched on the prow while flickering flames reflected in his eyes. “It’s like they weren’t even trying.”
Hundreds of men leaped overboard to escape the searing heat.
“Have the archers pick off anyone who gets out of the river,” said Jinzha. “Let the rest burn.”
The skirmish took less than an hour from start to finish. The Kingfisher sailed triumphantly through the blackened remains of Radan’s fleet to anchor right at the town border. Ramsa marveled at how thoroughly the cannons had demolished the river gates, Baji complained that he hadn’t gotten to do anything, and Rin tried not to look into the water.
Radan’s fleet was destroyed and its gates in shambles. The remaining population of the township laid down their weapons and surrendered with little trouble. Jinzha’s men poured into the city and evacuated all civilians from their residences to clear the way for plundering.
Women and children lined up in the streets, heads down, quivering with fear as the soldiers marched them out the gates and along the beach. There they huddled in terrified bundles, glassy eyes staring at the remains of Radan’s fleet.
The Republican soldiers were careful not to harm the civilians. Jinzha had been very adamant that the civilians were not to be mistreated. “They are not prisoners, and they are not victims,” he’d said. “Let’s call them potential members of the Republic.”
For potential citizens of the Republic, they looked well and truly terrified of their new government.
They had good reason to fear. Their sons and husbands had been lined up in rows along the shore, held at sword point. They were told their fates hadn’t yet been decided, that the Republican leadership was debating overnight on whether or not to kill them.
Jinzha intended to let the civilians pass the night unsure of whether they would live until the sun rose.
In the morning, he would announce to the crowd that he had received orders from Arlong. The Dragon Warlord had meditated on their fates. He recognized that it was no fault of their own that they were misled into resistance by their corrupt leaders, seduced by an Empress who no longer served them. He realized this decision was not made by these honest, common people. He would be merciful.
He would put the decision in the hands of the people.
He would have them vote.
“What do you think they’re doing?” Kitay asked.
