Naglfar, Mount of the Wild Hunt

"I only hope they aren't the Egyptian Tyrant's fleet."

Aboard the warship flying the Lion of St. Mark across from them, Captain Niccolo, commander of the Venetian squadron, wore a grave expression.

Fleet commander Dandolo—the next Doge of Venice personally appointed by Governor Orio—had issued rather ambiguous orders: delay the Egyptian Tyrant's fleet as much as possible, but avoid direct confrontation whenever they could.

Niccolo understood Dandolo's concerns. The Egyptian Tyrant had a demon dragon and a council of wizard advisors. Even if his fleet were nothing but a pile of little skiffs, it could still pose an enormous threat.

Venice might be the hegemon of the Mediterranean Sea, but Genoa, its bitter rival, was close at hand. They could not afford to suffer too great a loss.

But they needed something to rely on if they were to delay them, didn't they?

Were the ballistae aboard their ships, capable of firing magic-resistant metal bolts, really enough to shoot down a demon dragon like in the bardic tale Winter and Summer Song?

The lookout cried out, "They've taken down the cross banner and raised the Imperial flag! Looks like they mean to fight us!"

"Greek ships?"

The captain looked puzzled. "As long as they aren't the Egyptian Tyrant, it doesn't matter whether the enemy comes from Sicily or Crete. Greek ships are beneath notice."

The crews aboard the Venetian vessels visibly relaxed. At its height, the Greek Empire had possessed a vast fleet, but it had declined long ago, two hundred years earlier.

The finest vessels of the Imperial fleet had been built during the late Emperor Manuel's expedition to Damietta, only for most of them to be lost in the Battle of Cyprus. Another half had been trapped in Messina Harbor. Of those left to guard Constantinople, only a