The Gilded Dream

The storm was brutal in its intensity. For three days it had rocked the ships of Otto von Heln's twenty-ship fleet, as if the very sky warred with them. The young Prince of Collodia stood at the top of the stairs to the hold on his flagship, the Indomitable Spirit. He had not named the mighty ship of the line, the English shipwrights he had hired to build his people's fleet had. Not that it bothered him, really. Prince Otto had far bigger troubles to keep his mind on, such as the quickly draining food supply. As horrific as the storm had been for the timbers of the ships and the sickness below decks, it had at least given them plenty of fresh water. Three weeks trapped in the hold had been more than enough for some of his people, the nobles mostly, who demanded they turn back. But they could not. Nothing was left for the people of Collodia to go back to.

Two years prior, Otto had been the sole ruler over the prosperous principality of six thousand. The commoners, mostly farmers and miners, made a living plowing and digging the soil of their beloved homeland, bringing them into the capital city of Colod so that the merchants and nobles could sell it abroad. Collodia had long been looked after greedily by the kings of Prussia and France, but had kept them at bay with a mix of banking laws, and shrewd alliances with larger powers, such as the United Provinces, or the English crown. To all appearances, Collodia would easily live on through the tumultuous times of 1680's Europe. Till one night, after a fateful dream.

Otto had seen, what he believed, was a vision. A glorious, flaming bird, flying low over the sea, towards the western horizon. And as the young prince followed in his dream, he found a land gleaming with colors far brighter than he had ever seen before, brighter even than the robes of rich merchant houses from Venice, or the billowing robes of the Catholic Church clergymen who visited from the Vatican. A land with tall forests, wide fields of wheat and barley, mountains encrusted in gems and precious metals. More wealth than he had ever seen in his lifetime, or that of his mother's reign of Collodia. The flaming bird flew high over the land, beckoning like the beacon of a lighthouse. He had to come, but Otto could not come alone. He had a duty to his people, so he turned back to his home.

The tall spires of his castle rose up in Otto's dream, and he found himself standing on the highest perch, his bedroom balcony. The stone and thatch city spread out below, slowly turning into the multicolored farmlands of the freemen and peasant workers he so loved and protected. Beyond that were the hills that held his country's wealth of gold and silver, and the dutiful miners who tended to the age-old deposits. But they are not what drew his eye. Instead, Otto's gaze turned to the distance, and his blue eyes widened in horror. The very sky seemed ablaze with torchlight. The armies of the world, clad in Prussian black or French white and blue, marched upon Collodia, and this time there was no English red to hold them back. His brave people could never hope to hold back such a tide of flesh and metal. The fire would burn it all to the ground, all they had worked so hard to build and maintain. But on the edge of his vision, Otto could still make out the sea, and the lighthouse beacon of the bird so far away. On the other side of the world. The revelation had woken Otto like a thunderclap. They must leave for the New World.

The plan had brought stunned and outraged reactions from his nobles. To move their entire country, small as it was, would require thousands of florins, and a mighty navy they did not possess. Not to mention giving up their very homes and livelihoods. Some had suggested, in quiet, but his spymaster knew all, that the prince may have lost his mind. For awhile, Otto relaxed, setting the idea to one side. Perhaps he had overreacted to a simple dream. That did not last. On a cold September morning, a brigade of dragoons rode in from the southernmost border of Collodia, many shot or bleeding from superficial wounds. They had been ridden down by a cavalry regiment of Prussian raiders making for the gold mines; Otto took his own personal guard to deal with them. But they were far too late. The miners had been butchered, their accumulated gold stolen by the Prussian thieves. When Otto returned to the castle, no noble dared speak a word against the Prince's reaffirmed plan.

The wealth of the castle and the noble families were quickly spent hiring shipwrights and building adequate docking facilities for building the fleet Otto had in mind. The forests of his beautiful home were cut down, and he imported strong timbers from France and Norway to build the mighty warships and transports. The farms donated their harvests to the crown, who pickled, salted, and barreled the produce to use as supplies. The Prince would not rest until he was sure he could save the entirety of his people, and their heritage. But sacrifices did have to be made. The prized horse herds of his Dragoon Corps were sold to the United Provinces, and piece by piece, their tiny country was sold to the highest bidders. The people were nervous, but did not question their Prince, loading onto the ships and finally leaving their home on April 14th, 1685. It was only the start of their ordeal.

The first week of their voyage had seen battle with Prussian warships, and now this storm threatened all their lives. The Prince, his blond hair streaked and matted in the rain, slowly stepped out onto the storm swept deck, staring out into the darkness of the night-time sky. The sailors looked exhausted, but worked around him deftly, used to this nightly routine. Some nobles believed he was searching for the flaming bird, their tones mocking... but soft. In truth, Otto just needed time away from watching his people suffer below-decks. Scurvy was running rampant now. Food would be gone soon, or spoiled from the ever-present salt water.

"Perhaps I lost my mind," he whispered to the night sky, its brilliant stars covered by the clouds of the storm, "Have I truly led my people to their end?"

There, a flash of light. Was it a trick of his grief-stricken eyes? Otto ran to the front of the boat, lambskin boots sliding on the slick deck; his hands gripped the railing tightly. The flash, a brilliant point of red light, surged to life again, heading to port. The tumult from the sailors was momentous, but the Prince's clear voice cut through it like a knife.

"Captain, follow that light! Send word to the fleet. Light a signal fire!"

On the foredeck, in a bronze, protected vessel, they lit a mighty fire so the fleet may follow, the Spirit surging after the bright light. Otto would not leave the stern, forcing his bodyguards to bring out a fur to wrap him in. It was a fortuitous move. Several hours after turning to follow the light, the light seemed to explode outward, and a massive wind blew out the signal fire and threw Otto onto the soaked deck. The night sky was seemingly rolled up like a scroll, revealing a vibrant blue sky, pock-marked with clouds and bright with daylight. And as Otto picked himself off the deck, he saw it. The land from his dreams. A mighty mountain rising into the air, surrounded by beautiful forests and sprawling grasslands. But what truly caught his gaze was on the mountain itself. It was the sun rising, framing a beautiful city of towers and spires, jutting straight out from the very mountain side. It gleamed in the light like a scene from heaven itself.

Behind the Prince, the bedraggled and stunned citizens and nobles of Collodia filed out of the hold, staring out at the land with wide, stunned eyes. Some began to weep in awe. Otto looked back at them, and a small smile split his boyish features.

"Our new home awaits."