Interlude – The Spitoon

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As the month of The Wandering Inn’s break came to a close, this event took place at sea.

 

The war was not over. Even though the cold front was rolling down from Cenidau as it often did, frozen mists that could kill someone faster than you could blink, blanketing the northern kingdoms of Terandria in snow—it sometimes seemed like the cold just led to more wars popping up in the continent of old humanity.

The freezing cold meant that the nobility stayed indoors or rode about armed with heating runes, bickering without hunting to be done, sleeping with each other’s spouses, quarreling, and setting the grounds for a conflict come spring or a brisk winter skirmish.

Wars now…some wars ended when winter began. Taimaguros sparred with its neighbors in the north, and the dominion was wise enough not to advance when those mists came down. Kaaz, most active of the Restful Three, didn’t do much besides cheer on its adventurers in their comparatively warm dungeoneering. No dueling challenges, few of the nobility popping up in warfronts as mercenaries for hire. Fighting was all very well and good for Kaazians, but you couldn’t beat winter with a sharp piece of metal.

But in the south of Terandria, Ailendamus was still at war. The Dawn Concordat had not made peace, despite all that had been said and done. And the reason was simple, depressingly so if you were a [Soldier] longing for peace.

They had the advantage.

Or rather, Ailendamus suddenly had too many enemies and too little desire to engage them all. When they were waxing in strength, no nation wanted to step up and be the first to be slapped down. Pheislant had been extremely worried about being next on the chopping block, and their spirited engagements led by the Order of Seasons had been tense.

But like a bear being surrounded by wolves, once it was wounded, everyone wanted to take a bite. Noelictus from the north. Desonis from the east. Pheislant from the west. The Dawn Concordat was now on the offensive, and even smaller nations were putting their shots in.

Ailendamus was a vast nation. So if a raid went off, they had to move their forces around. Which, of course, left plenty of places where they weren’t fully protected. They usually got around this with their armies being the ones advancing and their coordinated assault bearing down on their enemies from all angles.

However, they had lost multiple, multiple armies and their Great General Dionamella along with numerous lesser [Generals] against the Dawn Concordat, and their forces were tied up retreating and redrawing their battle lines against the Dawn Concordat.

They had Hydra Knights. They had the Thirsting Veil, Drell, and more troops than any one foe combined.

The problem was that Ailendamus did not want a five-pronged war with all the nations. It was—in the eyes of the royal court, a certain Wyrm, and a number of other strategic minds—better to take your lumps, build back up, and then start afresh.

It was a kind of dance that ignored the smallfolk that you trampled on. Lose a battalion here, eat the cost of rebuilding torched farms or stolen goods, and let the Dawn Concordat and their newfound allies claim all the victories. It would have been far harder to engage them, anyways.

 

——

 

Aside from Pheislant and the Dawn Concordat, who were fielding armies, the other nations were not coming in with standard forces.

In the north, a different kind of mist fell over Ailendamus’ northern border by night, and the [Soldiers] groaned and lit every torch and lantern they could find.

They still cowered in fear of the night. Because what stalked past their outposts, the figures who quietly broke into towns and even cities and engaged their enemies while they looted—they weren’t the kind of warriors who fought fair.

The thunk of a crossbow bolt was the only thing you’d hear when the Hunters of Noelictus came for you. A blade in the dark that killed a single sentry on watch and spared the rest?

That was the stuff that Noelictus’ enemies feared. And if one of those figures was caught, they fought in the streets, a whirlwind of blades and sometimes even sorcery, before they were brought down.

But they were almost always ‘brought down’ with a dozen dead [Soldiers]. The Hunters appeared, stole precious goods, torched buildings or slew soldiers, then melted into the shadows.

They were thieves, ironically. Despite it not being their class for all they were good at stealth and subterfuge, the Hunters were after gold and artifacts, which Ailendamus had in plenty.

You may ask how easy it was to plunder artifacts not under lock and key. But message stones in the guilds could be re-tuned. Purification in wells, enchanted scarecrows, even lantern crystals—Ailendamus was awash in magic that its citizens possessed in abundance and Noelictus did not. Not to mention the fact that even their spellbooks were considered more useful.

Noelictus was not always rich, so their king was treating this war as a kind of income. He set his Hunters against [Merchants] and richer targets while they harassed the forts on the border.

In reply, the Order of the Thirsting Veil was forced to deploy in towns and cities. Their duels by night with their lightly-armored counterparts were fierce affairs filled with poison and subterfuge. But again, neither nation wanted to escalate to open conflict…yet. They had already clashed once, and neither wanted to test the other, especially not with all the revelations in the world.

 

——

 

The eastern front was even more miserable for [Knights], if you could believe it. Fighting shadows by night was one thing.

Rain and sleet? Far worse.

Storms kept blowing in from Desonis, and they were snow, rain, or sleet. Or hail accompanying one of the three. The Earl of Rains had sent his tempests, and Desonis’ own forces always attacked when the storms were at their worst.

 

‘No firm footing. No line of sight. Water freezing in your armor joints—this is no way to fight a war!’

—Knight Yoriven, rotated across to the eastern border. Shortly before a tidal wave hit him.

 

Marsh Knights were considered to be one of the least-honorable [Knight] orders, barely above the commoner-filled Hydra Knights. They would rise out of rivers, hurl mud into the visors of their opponents, or simply toss nets over foes and stride past them.

Desonis was after something entirely different than Noelictus, though. What they craved and what they stole by the thousands over the winter was very simple.

They stole trees.

Desonis, wet Desonis of ships and sea, craved the best lumber they could acquire. Their marshes and swamps were not bountiful in either sturdy building materials or burnable firewood, both of which they craved.

So the raids of the Earl hit the forests hard. While their soldiers fought or kept the enemy occupied, sweating, steely-eyed [Lumberjacks] would fell trees as fast as they could or work alongside [Mages] and [Knights] with enchanted weapons doing the same.

That was gritty work, alright. Imagine, as the rain poured down, freezing you to the bone, hacking at a tree’s bark in the middle of winter as you heard warriors fighting each other not fifty paces from where you stood. Only your boots, made of Hydra leather, kept your feet dry and your footing secure.

But if that was miserable—you had been born when it rained, and it was like sunshine to you, even when it was below zero. For Ailendamus, defending trees was neither honorable nor pleasant.

Especially when the felled trees could be put into chests of holding if you chopped them up. But even chests of holding couldn’t contain a felled oak that easily. Unfortunately—Desonis was very good at using water. Most of their raids took place alongside the major rivers that flowed into their nation. Thus…a felled tree was often just heaved into the river, and it carried the logs downstream towards the ocean.

The Order of Drell and Hydra Knights had to secure the eastern and southern borders. It was expedient; rather than lose [Soldiers] left and right in these lightning-fast raids, it was better to have a battered [Knight], if half-drowned, who could live again to fight another day.

There were accords of war, so the unhappy [Knights] fought and saved more lives by walking into mudtraps and fighting through pouring weather. And these were only two of the nations testing Ailendamus. There were incursions from as far as Erribathe, their wildfolk and opportunistic plains people grabbing artifacts before retreating to the Kingdom of Myths.

Avel took literal potshots with their damned longbows—it seemed like the only nations that weren’t coming at Ailendamus were Deríthal-Vel, the Kingdom of Dwarves, and Samal.

None of this made Ailendamus happy, of course. Each raid was often cheered in the other kingdoms. It was a blow to the pride of Ailendamus’ folk, and reprisals were often hotly talked about in the Court of Masks with less action or resolution.

…The problem was that there was just no will for war. Not after seeing Dionamella fall. The armies were here, but even Duke Rhisveri, a traditional war hawk supremely confident in Ailendamus’ ability to win a war even if they took twice as many casualties as their opponents—

Even he was shaken. It seemed, among the top brass of the military, as though there were suddenly another calculus at play.

Were they preparing for round two with the Dawn Concordat or something else? The New Lands—the warning of ghosts and the King of Khelt—made them miserly when it came to expending military might. As if they were waiting for something to sneak up on them.

 

——

 

The borders of Ailendamus were not the place to be right now. But their northern walls and forts were largely untested, having been there for over a hundred and fifty years since the Kingdom of Glass and Glory was first founded. The rest of Ailendamus, the inner heartlands, were shaken, but stable.

There was a reason the raids targeted Ailendamus’ bounties, and that was because they had what the other nations desired. The forests that Desonis were chopping down? Half-Elves, outraged, were either enlisting or demanding more [Knights], because those same forests had been grown for them by the late Conservator Fithea.

Ailendamus had more forest-land than any nation in the entire southern half of Terandria, including Gaiil-Drome, the literal kingdom of half-Elves. It had enough fields of wheat, Yellats, pumpkins, melons, every variety of crop that could be grown in Terandrian soil, to make Noelictus’ economy struggle.

Rich in magic, knowledge, and martial might. Suspiciously so, one might say, but Ailendamus was one of the giants of Terandria, the rising kingdom. What it didn’t have, like so many up-and-coming nations, like the King of Destruction, like the Forgotten Wing company, was the one thing that had stymied multiple ambitions:

A good fleet.

It was the issue of landfolk who made their fame and success on, well, land-based battles. When their eyes inevitably turned to the sea, they realized that making a ship was not like training a platoon of [Soldiers]. Ships took far longer to make, were extraordinarily expensive, required experienced crews—and the best ones were relics passed down and salvaged, repaired, and maintained sometimes over thousands of years.

Ailendamus, land-locked, had still been able to build and buy a navy strong enough to knock the Dawn Concordat’s forces flat and even make Pheislant hesitate. But poor decisions made by a certain Wyrm had, again, come back to bite Ailendamus in no small way.

It was one thing for Pheislant and Desonis and even Nadel to be against Ailendamus. So what if they were? Taimaguros was the ally of Ailendamus, and they had a fleet to crush most foes.

Unfortunately, few people had counted on one of the most powerful navies in the world joining in against Ailendamus.

House Wellfar had set sail when Tyrion Veltras had called them to war. And unlike House Veltras, who had withdrawn when the job was done, Wellfar’s [Lords] and [Ladies] still hunted in packs, their ships taking down Ailendamus’ forces and ransoming entire crews for ludicrous sums of gold.

They seemed determined to destroy every seaworthy craft Ailendamus had left. They had left one fleet burning and were in pursuit of another. Ailendamus’ reserves and their allies from Taimaguros were running skirmishes at sea, but Wellfar had speed and experience on their side. They refused to let Ailendamus’ navy get to Taimaguros Dominion harbors, and so it would be a full-scale engagement at sea, soon.

There were multiple reasons for this as Viscount Visophecin noted to Queen Oiena at a state dinner when she asked why Wellfar was so determined to engage in a full-scale offensive. The slightly grey-skinned Viscount, eyes a bloodstained red, handkerchief tucked into a doublet as black as whatever sins his slight smile hid, explained the matter simply.

“We believe Wellfar has been paid handsomely to ‘clear the way’ for the colonists heading to the New Lands, Your Majesty. It would not do for vulnerable ships to be accosted by Ailendamus’ fleet. Losing all our warships would cripple Ailendamus for years, possibly decades at sea.”

“One supposes Wellfar will come out ahead. But they must be truly impressive to be able to best both Taima and Guros fleets? May it be pride from my homeland, Viscount, but I would have put my navy ahead of any…Izrilian fleets.”

Queen Oiena could not hide the spark of national annoyance at the implication Wellfar would continue routing both hers and Ailendamus’ fleets. As to that—Visophecin grimaced.

“Ordinarily, Wellfar would not press so far ahead, Queen Oiena. But they have a new [Lord]—Lord Etril Wellfar—leading this hunting fleet. And he commands The Pride of the Wellfar. The Taimaguros Dominion is—hesitant—to commit its own Citadel-class warship to any sea engagement.”

Then the [Queen] went silent, because that would mean all-out war between Wellfar and Taimaguros. And without that, it would be better for any ship to run far clear of Wellfar.

“Even so, a lesser warship can still put up a fight. The Pride’s a lion on the plains. But even Kaazians would tell you a dozen leopards or hyenas can kill a lone lion.”

“If it were just the Pride, I would agree, Your Majesty. However, it is running with a heavy escort. Wellfar is attempting to destroy our navy. Taimaguros is attempting to let it withdraw in good order. We must trust to our [Admirals].”

The [Queen] sighed.

“The competent ones, at least.”

Everyone in earshot chuckled or winced at that reference.

 

——

 

There was one final warfront where the fighting was escalating beyond mere raids. And that was the west, where the Order of Seasons, like House Wellfar, refused to relent. They were pushing the western border. Already, they had taken a swath of territory past Stone Giant’s Pass where they had first engaged Ailendamus’ forces. They were looking to swallow the Forest of Avemith and the Filthy Gillean Farmlands beyond.

Pheislant [Soldiers] were backing up a force of [Knights] harrying all the soldiers trying to regroup and form a battle line, happy to claim more land. It was not something the Court of Masks was happy about, or King Itorin II, but they had drawn as many regiments as they could, and the [Knights] would halt from exhaustion at some point.

Take your lumps.

At least Ser Greysten and the famous Ser Solstice weren’t joining that fray or they might push for dozens of miles before they could be stopped. Every eye was turning towards Izril, so these were just minor affairs. Not covered by the worldwide news shows except as small updates. Overshadowed by The Dyed Lands, the King of Destruction, and other, more interesting events.

It was just a war, and all the great battles had been fought.

 

——

 

Some of the [Soldiers] who were now defending Ailendamus had been stationed on the border or had been hunting down monsters. There was always a need for [Soldiers] to stand guard or combat threats that weren’t other nations.

When their kingdom was threatened, they came running, fresh and not tested by the Dawn Concordat’s war. It was fair for them to take a look at the disastrous battles that had occurred and lay the blame on those that had failed.

Great General Dionamella was dead. It could be said, reasonably, that her death did not lie on her own back. She had held off the Lightherald, the Archmage of Memories, the Lord of House Veltras, and more all by herself. This was upon all those who had let her down, whether in the final battle or before it.

It was said that Great Knight Merila, Dame of the Hills, might be stripped of her rank. She was undergoing a rite of penance and had sworn to slay a thousand monsters plaguing Ailendamus by the time winter ended. Similarly, the [Knights] who had been at that battle had all been censured, often taking on oaths or undergoing their own trials of shame.

The [Soldiers] were largely unchallenged, but the officers wore the stain of defeat like a badge upon their chests. It would take far greater deeds or time to undo their disgrace. And in the meantime, proper replacements had been sent to shore up the gaps in leadership.

One such was Fleet Admiral Meirkos, who was tasked with salvaging the navy’s ships as Wellfar hunted them down. She had set sail from the actual Itorin’s Pride, and her reinforcements were bearing down on Wellfar’s navy. If the reinforcements reached their forces, they could bring them back to Taimaguros’ capital harbors for repair and safeguard for the winter.

…That was not going to be easy. Meirkos had appointed one of her [Captains] to the class of [Admiral] and ordered them to fight a running retreat. But she was not going to make it to the fleet before Wellfar attacked.

Imagine, if you would, Meirkos’ face. Imagine a woman who had survived over forty years building up Ailendamus’ navies, survived being tossed overboard six times without receiving the gift of the seas—mostly because she could swim—and having to tread water for days before being rescued. A sea dog, who could command [Storm Sailors]’ respect, watching as the ships she had worked so hard to accrue for her nation were about to all be sunk.

Now, imagine she had faintly red hair owing to possibly some royal blood, salt-stained and greying, and that she wore Ailendamus’ uniform, a lance-bow crest on one breast, jade green and what some might call sinister purple highlighting a golden yellow uniform.

Then imagine one more thing. Which was that she had been two weeks into her first vacation in a decade when she got word that some idiot had gone and attacked Nadel. She had been travelling from the Archmage’s Isle of Heiste when The Pride of the Wellfar began lighting up the coastline.

So imagine a woman looking forwards to the year-long vacation she had been promised, now issuing orders like an [Admiral] always could, and remember she had been a [Storm Sailor]. She had been considered pithy even by her peers. And ships were loud, creaking affairs with shouting [Sailors], and she had a voice like thunder. She had visited countless harbors and knew more oaths and epithets than a drunk [Bard] who’d just snapped a guitar string across their face.

All because some idiot who should have been capable had attacked Nadel when a few [Illusionists] had tricked him. Her replacement [Admiral] was untested, but he was largely of the same opinion.

 

——

 

Fleet Kerandos, the amalgamation of Fleet Hydrus’ and Fleet Kerandos’ regular ships, had been sailing out to sea, and only the changing sea currents had saved them from already meeting House Wellfar, who were storming up the coast.

They had lucked into finding a new current that was carrying them north, towards Taimaguros. It was not the current most would want and would disrupt trade routes; normally, most trade went through the south, like Nadel. It wasn’t profitable to head up north of Terandria, just like the west of Baleros or east of Izril were unprofitable because they lacked access to the central shipping routes.

But in this case, it might save them. Then again, The Pride of the Wellfar was coming.

“She’s a day away at most!”

One of the [Lookouts] could see that famous ship with its Dragonsails coming on behind them. [Acting Admiral] Louseg cursed.

“Half a day! Tell Admiral Meirkos we have to make a stand. We’ll have to engage and withdraw—or they’ll cut us to ribbons before she gets here.”

The sight of that famous warship gave him a dread feeling in his chest. His dreadlocks swung as he eyed Wellfar’s fleet. Equal to his without the Pride.

Normally, good caution told him to keep running and engage the Pride at range and never get close and hope they made it to Meirkos. But he knew that the Pride could alter…well, distance.

Anything you shot at the Pride came right back at you. It was their signature, and while it had limits, like taking fire from two directions, it meant that a running battle where the Pride could just reflect everything back at you would be short and painful.

The response from the [Ship’s Mage] was quick.

“Acknowledged, Admiral. Meirkos has full confidence in your abilities. She suggests engaging as closely as you can.”

Louseg had a painful smile on his face. There really wasn’t anything else to say, was there?

“We’ll divide our [Knights] up and see if one of our ships can get close to the Pride. Tangle it up and let the rest fall away. If we can put a hole in enough of their escorts’ sails—tell our [Artillerists] I want them to hit the rudders. I’ll have a battle plan within the hour. Ships to fall away first and make a break.”

If he could only save a handful of ships…so be it. Louseg took a deep breath and surveyed his fleet.

Sixteen enchanted warships, each one deadly enough to make the Pride wary, if not stand a chance in a single battle. Eight troop carriers, still armed enough to do a lot of damage, vital for ferrying troops around.

And nigh on sixty-one regular ship-of-the-line types. Galleons to caravels, accompanied by dozens of tiny cutters and even a few cogs.

Oh, and one hulk. The ugliest ship in his fleet had a name to match. A hulk was an old, old ship that got its designation from the times when shipbuilding technology was lost. It was a derogatory designation not so much for the style but quality of ship.

This one was large enough, twice the size of a caravel, so imposing—until you noticed the patchwork hull and barnacles from age. It leaked. It stank if you were downwind of it, and it was a miracle it had even kept up with the rest of the fleet.

Back when Ailendamus had first been founded, the late Duke Rhimemorom had purchased any ship he could get ahold of. The hulk had served Ailendamus over ninety years ago.

“Sir, can we throw the hulk in the line of fire of the Pride? It might last half a salvo. It’d be a damn shame to lose any more ships—but if we had to lose that one, it might boost the morale of the navy even if every other ship goes down with it.”

One of the [Captains] who’d come aboard to consult with Admiral Louseg tried not to sound hopeful. The Admiral had to grin.

The hulk, named Wrmeriye’s Spitoon, was a notoriously miserable ship to crew. Captains were assigned it either to test how they did with that ship under their command or as a punishment. You had to constantly patch leaks, it had rats that never seemed to go away—oh, and it got the worst rations the fleet had.

In this case, weeks at sea, they were so foul the Spitoon had requested auxiliary rations three times. Any [Captain] who had served on it—or served with it—would cheer to see it destroyed.

Especially with the current crew and captain. But Louseg held back his desires.

“—The Spitoon’s no vanguard. Put it at the rear and tell them to support our offensive. Enchanted warships in the front. I will put Foehammer in the vanguard myself.”

“Very good, Admiral.”

A sigh. Several [Sailors] spat in the water as the Spitoon finally caught up with the rest of the fleet maneuvering for the oncoming fight. A few mostly silent [Sailors] were keeping the Spitoon moving, and it looked sharper than usual…but that was to be expected, one supposed.

Still. What a disgrace. The Spitoon was the only ship not calling out to one another, sailors cheering each other on before the final engagement. It was, after all—a ship of failures.

 

——

 

The Spitoon was quiet. Well, as quiet as ships got.

In this case, the squeaks of half a dozen clans of intelligent ship-rats were always present. They were bold, could dodge any [Sailor]’s boots, and impossible to eradicate. One [Pestilential Beast Tamer] had vouchsafed that the only way to rid the Spitoon of the damn rats was to burn it to the ground. They had apparently come from the isle of Archmage Valeterisa back in the day, and their warrens were everywhere.

At least they weren’t responsible for the leaks. Oh, the leaks. You could wake up with water spilling onto your face. The wood seemed like it grew porous the instant a repair was made. A bunch of planks and nails were at every station belowdecks to close a leak, but the constant influx of water meant it was always splashy belowdecks. Two dozen sailors had to be on permanent bailing duty just to keep it from getting to knee-level.

If you thought that was bad? All that water, the rats, and the stink of too many years in service without magic meant it felt like the food in the hold rotted twice as fast. Then again, it was probably the barrels—also ancient and mildewed—that imparted their own ‘flavor’ to the rations.

And since it was the Spitoon, they were never good rations. It was time for lunch, and for once, no [Sailor] was queued up, shoving to get their portion from the galley. Some avoided the food. Some used their time off to fish with said rations, but nothing wanted what they had.

One of the senior officers personally took the current captain’s meal to him. [Valor Strategist] Veine had an eyepatch over one eye, very appropriate for the sea, and carried a strange object at her side. It looked like a crossbow, a hand-crossbow, only there was no bow, and there was a simple glass sight with a black dot on it. Instead of firing a quarrel, it had a single wand in place, and it spat [Magipierce Bolts], a rare Tier 3 spell from House Shoel’s own manufactories.

The enchanted weapon was at odds with the ship. And the food. But as she navigated around the ship, the ship was moving too. The Spitoon normally had an average speed of 2 knots. It was ungainly and had been made at a time when people had forgotten the principles of hydrodynamics. However, it kept up with the fleet mostly due to [Fleet Navigator] Vorrmen.

Drowned Man. Half-crab, a basic and common type. One of his beady stalk-eyes was focused ahead, his claw holding the spokes of the ship wheel. He normally didn’t actually navigate ships, but their helmsman had been taken. He almost seemed to be enjoying the job—but steering the Spitoon sort of equalized his mood.

His other hand held the same bowl of food, uneaten. He nodded at Veine as she passed. Every now and then, she would check the bowl. She was almost sure it wasn’t moving.

“Admir—Captain. Lunch for you.”

She knocked twice on the door before opening it. The man inside was reviewing a chart of the upcoming battle and barely looked up.

“Is it eel again?”

“…Yes, sir.”

“You can toss it out the window.”

He gestured to the porthole window in the cabin. Veine set the bowl down and put her hands behind her back.

“I got you some hardtack as well, sir. Try that. And the water’s potable.”

The man in front of her looked haggard. His uniform was disheveled, a disgrace in command, but he hadn’t been drinking. Captivity then a lack of resources did that to you. But the faded sunburst yellow, purple and green stripes, and the badge of office still belonged to him.

Admiral Dakelos of Ailendamus had seen better days. So had his crew. Once, they had been on Foehammer and in charge of the entire Fleet Hydrus.

No longer. Dakelos and his entire command crew were instead on the Spitoon. Not the regular [Sailors], mind you.

The swearing group hauling water out of the brig now converted to extra sleeping quarters? [Strategists] and [Line Officers]. The [Mage] glumly acting as a [Message]-provider? [Fleet Mage].

Earlier this year, Veine had been her fleet’s top [Strategist] and hoping she’d be on a road back to the capital, perhaps to take a seat with His Majesty himself. Right now? She was hoping the eels were dead.

Dakelos poked the bowl with a toothpick. It was green. Eels were not normally green, and the [Mage] had cast a spell to test whether they were poisonous or rotten. Apparently, the mold in the barrels had altered the eels so they were a black green like mold. But unfortunately, they were also apparently edible, so the Spitoon was not eligible for additional rations.

The hardtack had a few tiny bite marks in it. Veine winced—but the rats got everywhere. Yet it seemed even they didn’t want the hardtack.

“You said the water’s ‘potable’. But we didn’t have any rain, unlike the poor saps facing Desonis for the last week.”

“No, sir. It’s potable.”

“…Is it seawater purified by Feifen?”

Admiral Dakelos looked hopeful for a second. Veine hated to burst his bubble, but she did as he took a long gulp.

“Feifen doesn’t know that spell, sir. I’m afraid it’s from the barrels.”

She watched as Dakelos’ disheveled face turned slightly pale. His cheeks bulged—and with effort, he swallowed it.

“I can taste…”

He had flaxen hair that was almost dark enough to be called black, but looked semi-translucent given the mix of two colors. Dakelos stood unevenly, taller on his left side than his right due to mismatched legs, and when he was in a jolly mood, he’d swing along the deck, inspecting everything and humming under his breath.

He knew every song sung in the inns and taverns of Ailendamus by the national [Bards]. Every song. You might hear that and think it was an exaggeration, but Dakelos had once, on a dare from his crew when they were relaxing, word-for-word repeated nineteen songs, pitch and lyric perfect.

But he never sang outright and would only do a verse as an example at most. He’d get embarrassed, so you could only catch him humming. It used to be said that it was good luck to catch Dakelos humming.

They didn’t say that anymore. No one had to bring up the reason why they were here. Everyone knew.

Admiral Dakelos was the idiot who had attacked Nadel, gotten himself captured, multiple ships sunk or captured, and the rest of his fleet ransomed off at the start of this war with the Dawn Concordat.

In his defense, he had thought he was under orders to execute a supremely sneaky maneuver at the behest of the crown itself. He had fallen for a trick performed by an Elusive Lot.

It wasn’t—entirely—his fault. The tricksters had been very good and bypassed truth spells as well as used Ailendamus’ secret codes against the Kingdom of Glass and Glory. Nevertheless, Dakelos could have spotted the trick.

Should have. The Court of Masks had argued for a long time on his fate and, due to the nature of his blunder, had elected not to strip him of his rank. A court martial might occur—once the fleet was out of jeopardy.

Because of that, Dakelos was in an odd position. He had been instantly replaced, of course, and eventually consigned to the worst ship in the fleet with his command crew.

The Spitoon was, then, crewed by all of his officers. The [Sailors] and [Soldiers] had been lucky not to be included, but all of the senior crew of the Foehammer had been sent here.

It meant they had filled the hulk, which was still smaller than their old ship by far, to the brim. Two months of being here was a torment that had taken its toll on them all.

“We’re maneuvering to face the foe, sir.”

Veine broke the silence of Dakelos nibbling on eels and trying not to gag by stating the obvious. The [Admiral] looked up once.

“Yes. Louseg’s got us in the rear. I’d have put us in front and ordered us to broadside the Pride. Or ram it.”

Veine tried to smile. The Spitoon had no artillery like a modern Ailendamus warship, which had catapults, ballistae, sourced at great price from Drakes or Minotaurs. Strangely, they had a lot of them, despite neither nation exactly being open about selling the war weapons.

The Spitoon had, in place of that, Magic Harpoons which could lance across the water and poke a hole in a ship or kill an unlucky [Sailor], a two-charge [Lightning Bolt] spell that was underpowered, and two of the earliest Greatbows.

It could probably take out a weak Cutter-class ship. It was also, annoyingly, big enough to eat a few nasty shots, but it’d probably sink as the patchwork hull imploded soon after.

Oh, and because Dakelos was crewing it, the hull was as tough as steel. Unfortunately, that only meant the rats were pissed off because they couldn’t eat through the wood like normal.

A Level 36 [Admiral]-level Skill on a glorified tugboat didn’t make it that much better. Similarly, their [Navigator]’s Skills meant that the Spitoon was just fast enough to keep up with the slowest ships in the navy.

“We’ll be ready for the fight, sir. May I see the battle plans?”

Dakelos gestured, and Veine stepped over. She saw a very standard plan of attack. Louseg was going to take them straight down the middle, flank the Pride on two sides, and hammer it before the fleet split and both sections shot off towards their reinforcements.

One daring pass down the middle to cripple the enemy, and then we run while they’re repairing their sails and rudders. 

It could work. Veine bit her lip. Dakelos glanced at her, and his amber-blue eyes glinted.

“Say it, Veine.”

“Captain—that is, Acting Admiral Louseg is a good leader. He knows how to fight an engagement.”

She tried to be diplomatic. Dakelos pointed at the bowl of eels.

“We’re not in his company, and no one’s here to ferry stories around the fleet, Veine. Say it. I’m thinking it. No one’s listening. N—”

He and Veine stopped. The bowl of eels was wriggling. Slowly, a little roach crawled out of the eels and shook itself off. It noticed the two staring at it and scuttled off the desk.

Veine stomped it. Dakelos lost his appetite.

“I’d have that barrel scuppered, sir.”

“It’s probably still edible. We’re not making it past this engagement, Veine. Seal up the lot and get me a [Message] to…Omens of Rain. Captain Bessia.”

“Yes, sir—”

Veine stepped out to flag a [Tactician]. Then she stepped in. When she did, she took a breath.

“Alright. Frankly, Admiral—”

“Captain.”

“—Admiral. You’re still an [Admiral], sir. The plan of attack looks good until you remember the Pride can move faster than we can. I consulted my notes, and I don’t think it can physically move our ships around.”

“If it can, we’re dead.”

“We’re already dead, but we’ll be deader if we assume that’s the only trick it has. This charge works on other fleets, but Wellfar ships are crewed by [Sailors] with more experience on the sea than your average [Storm Sailor]. It’s like fighting Drowned Folk.”

“Mhm. Remember Ediven?”

Dakelos was trying to eat the hardtack, but he couldn’t get his teeth through the crust. Veine was glad he remembered. They had learned how fast a Drowned Ship could turn back then.

“If they see us coming, they’ll just swing around us. They can turn faster than our ships. I think we once estimated it at 40% faster turning speeds on their largest ships.”

“Their artillery’s not as good.”

“No, but their close-range weapons are twice as nasty. They don’t have the means to repair and maintain ballistae and catapults, so they do enchanted spells and Mage Harpoons, sir. We’ve never had to engage them, but I know for a fact that some of their ships run hot. Sixty-four Flaming Harpoons plus [Oil Orb] spells.”

Shipburners. Dakelos shuddered.

“Louseg has to know that. How would you run this battle, knowing the Pride can deflect everything it sees?”

Veine had a solution in mind.

“Simple, sir. Crash the Foehammer straight into the Pride.”

Dakelos stopped chewing on the hardtack. He swallowed, or tried to, and it got stuck.

After three minutes of getting him to cough out the hardtack, still mostly in one piece, Dakelos gasped out.

“You want to watch the Foehammer explode?”

“It won’t go down that fast, sir. Any ship with enchanted hulls can survive one hit. Hit the Wellfar, board them, and physically tie the Pride up. Lord Etril may be a daring young [Captain], but I haven’t read he’s an expert on boarding maneuvers. And he’s a young man. Hotheaded.”

“So physically block him, and he has to reverse. I bet the Pride can do it fast…but maybe it lets the fleet flee. How many ships?”

“Two-dozen regular ships of the line and one enchanted warship. Better make it two. They sacrifice themselves. Wellfar’s good at dodging, but it’s easier to hit them than it is to outmaneuver them.”

It was an ugly play and one Veine wasn’t proud of. But it sounded better than the full-scale engagement. Ailendamus’ fleets, especially the ones at sea, had been designed around the idea of long-range superiority.

Their Greatbows were excellent weapons that did well at range and close up—but Wellfar geared around a mid to short-range skirmish where they danced around you.

But they wouldn’t expect boarders, and they weren’t famous like Nadel or Desonis were for close-range fights. Mostly because Ailendamus wasn’t that good at it either.

“Most of our ships haven’t seen boarding action, let alone offensive ones. We’ve fought off Drowned Crews and even Bloodtear Pirates.”

Both shuddered at the memory. Dakelos hadn’t risen to [Admiral] just because he’d had a safe trip. Veine nodded.

“Then—sir—they’ll tie up Wellfar long enough for the rest of the fleet to get away.”

Dakelos’ face turned bleaker still. He looked at Veine and then down at the map.

“…Get me a [Message] to Admiral Louseg. At his convenience to discuss strategy.”

Veine smiled as the man straightened and looked more determined. She nodded.

“Right away, sir.”

 

——

 

That night, the fleet was watchful, afraid of the Pride coming up upon them and starting the fight. Strategist Veine was less worried and, in fact, was playing cards.

There was little else to do on this damned ship. And Admiral Dakelos had joined the officers’ club himself. He was of the same opinion as she and her crew. A junior [Captain] might fear an attack by night.

Not them. Master of Arms Giqe, Fleet Navigator Vorrmen, and even Chef Moirmen were all invited to a game. So were two rats, apparently. The green buggers were sitting on a hanging chandelier, copper turned green with age, candles a mess of wax dripping down to the tables below, watching the game with interest.

“I heard Louseg wants us to keep an eye out for the Pride. As if they’ll risk grounding her so close to the coast. Even if she can reverse out of it, Wellfar won’t risk their ship.”

“He’s new.”

Dakelos muttered around his cards. Veine hesitated and shut her mouth. It was hard to say what you wanted around Dakelos, because he had to maintain the authority of rank. Then again, she was supposed to do the same, but she had made her position clear.

“Meirkos would’ve kept you in position, Dakelos. Second-guessed your every move and shouted hellfire at you, but the Court of Masks wanted you removed. Louseg has [Captain]-level Skills. Even two months won’t have been time for him to gain enough [Admiral] Skills.”

“Mm. It’s fine. He’s solid.”

“He’s no Toithe. Not yet.”

Giqe put in as he tossed a card in and shadows enveloped all their cards, obscuring the faces. Moirmen cursed him as he threw down four cards at random.

“Damn it, Giqe! Let’s change the subject, eh, Admiral? No ranks in the backrooms, no talk of the fleet tonight.”

“Agreed. Pass the water.”

The bad water went around, and everyone grimaced as they sipped. But they were playing for coins; they had pay, if nothing to spend it on. Giqe complained as Veine upped the ante with two gold coins, despite the obscuring card. She knew exactly which cards she held.

“I’m gambling with my family’s coin here, Veine. You wouldn’t take my gold, would you? I have a daughter.”

“Then stop making risky bets. What’s so expensive that you can’t buy it for her on a [Master of Arms] salary?”

Giqe scowled hugely.

“Sock puppets.”

Dakelos checked his slightly tainted glass with bits of something in it before peering at Giqe.

“She’s buying socks, Giqe?”

“No, it’s the Windy Girl. Haven’t you seen the broadcasts, Admiral?”

He must truly have not been watching the ship’s scrying orb. The man looked blank as everyone chuckled. Magus Feifen returned from the privy only to scowl.

“That nonsense? They’re calling it entertainment for children, but it’s too ribald for just children. Whoever’s making it sneaks in jokes to the adults. It’s more popular than you’d guess, back home. Giqe’s daughter wants one of the Windy Girl.”

“I was just telling them that, Feifen.”

Dakelos was trying to make sense of all this, but Moirmen held up a crooked finger. One of the [Chef]’s hands was broken and battered from a fight with a monster. He was still very good with a knife and any cooking he had to do, and he had the respect of anyone who heard the story.

“But why the Windy Girl? Isn’t she the farting Courier who stinks up the place and causes all the mischief?”

“She does what now? And this is for children?”

Dakelos’ growing concern about the youth of Ailendamus made the game that much more fun as they tried to explain it. Giqe took two hands off Veine, much to her great annoyance, with some delight.

“And she shall have the Windy Girl puppet! It’s apparently the thing. You have to have the Windy Girl causing trouble even if your favorite puppet is someone else. Apparently, she wants General Dioname, but she needs at least the Windy Girl.”

That comment made the table fall silent. Without a word, the group lifted their cups, drank—and grimaced as one. Dakelos murmured.

“Oh. General Dioname. I hadn’t known…I hadn’t known she was even still a [General], much less willing to return to war. Some people knew stories of her, but when she came out of retirement like that, it felt like the stuff of stories.”

“From your lips, that’s naught but truth, Admiral. You didn’t know of her, truly?”

Vorrmen broke in, looking sidelong at Dakelos, and everyone pretended not to be intensely curious. He hesitated—and looked around, but even the two rats were giving him an encouraging stare. So Dakelos spoke out of the corner of his mouth as he tried another piece of hardtack.

“Truthfully? I knew her name, but it’s still land to sea.”

Everyone nodded. That was true. Dakelos chewed. And chewed. And chewed before swallowing and continuing.

“…But you heard of her among the most senior commanders, now and then. The old ones who remember her talked about General Dionamella like a weapon of last resort. I always thought that meant they’d have to beg her to come back to the front. But then, we have some sleeping Giants. You saw in the capital. House Shoel.”

“The judges? You’re yanking on my chain.”

Vorrmen laughed, but Giqe instantly disagreed.

“House Shoel’s not just judges. Lord Uziel…have you ever met him? I trained with him for six months, and if he wasn’t wheelchair bound, he’d be Ailendamus’ Great Knight. The public-facing side of the family’s not lax with magic or blades either. Viscount Visophecin himself was at the battle with the Dawn Concordat and nearly scorched Archmage Eldavin.”

“Hard to believe he was at that level and just hiding it.”

Moirmen frowned, but Veine dismissed that.

“It’s no secret our spellcasters are a grade above the rest. The Viscount comes from a noble family. Small wonder we keep our best [Mages] secret. I’ve heard Duke Rhisveri is nearly as good, and that’s our nobility. My wand comes straight from House Shoel’s magics. Now, if only one of them would come to sea…”

Maybe they’d be able to replace Louseg for someone more senior. All the power seemed to be land-based. But Dakelos just shrugged.

“Ailendamus has been swapping its forces around for as long as it’s been here. House Shoel used to fight on the front, you know. It’s a sign of how the nation prospers that they don’t have to demand the nobility fight. We used to have, er…I think they called it Merven Leaders.”

“That’s not a military rank.”

“No, they were specialists from the capital. Navigators and guides—but they were all withdrawn oh, decades ago. Old Toithe told me about being a [Deckhand] and one of them reading a sea current through a storm and taking the ship to safety.”

“Why the hell would we get rid of that? Even among Drowned Folk, that’s impressive.”

Vorrmen demanded incredulously. To that, Dakelos murmured.

“Maybe we lost their class, or maybe they were deemed too valuable to lose. Perhaps they’re on some secret mission. But I would rather not have Viscount Visophecin fighting on the front. If he has to—we’ve failed. General Dioname should have rested another century.”

He tossed his cards down. And his face was suddenly guilty, as it had been for months now. The rest of the command staff looked up as Dakelos stood.

“I’m sorry, I think that’s my last hand for the night. Tomorrow…”

He looked around the cabin and exhaled.

This was not his fault. Veine wanted to tell him that even if they hadn’t run into Nadel, the Pride would have destroyed Fleet Hydrus just the same. Even if he’d been in charge.

The [Admiral] just nodded after a moment, as if he knew all this and the guilt remained, without Veine having to say anything.

“Get some rest. Tomorrow will be a long day. All of you, at least seven hours.”

“For what? The Spitoon’s armed as well as a dolphin wearing britches.”

Vorrmen grumbled, and Dakelos’ voice snapped and made him sit up straight for a second.

“You’re still in a command crew, sailor.”

Dakelos’ eyes flashed as his officers looked up, and Veine’s heart stirred. He spoke slowly.

“You’re still the finest crew an [Admiral] could want. Tomorrow, we’d best be ready to pick up any slack. Not that I expect any.”

After that—everyone put down their cards and went to get some sleep. And Veine slept better, nevermind the two rats who decided to sleep under her pillow. Because that was why she’d stayed with Dakelos. That was why they’d all stayed.

 

——

 

Admiral Dakelos cursed General Yerzhen’s name each day he woke up to find a rat in his things. Or his bag of holding.

The rat was very, very dead. Living beings did not do well in bags of holding. For one thing, there was no air. He threw it out his window with a shout.

A day had passed without two things happening. The first was that Wellfar hadn’t attacked yet. The second? No one had responded to his [Message] requests.

The fleet was ignoring him. As was fair for a fool, but Dakelos couldn’t help but be annoyed. They were heading north, still, and he’d heard Acting Admiral Louseg was wondering why Wellfar hadn’t engaged.

The ship’s crew on the Spitoon were debating it too. Unlike regular [Sailors], they were all veterans. Promoted officers now doing grunt-work again. He heard his [Chef de Poisson] talking it over as he served eels.

“Must be something up ahead. Riptide, there’d be the thing.”

“Riptide or they’ve got a Drowned Ship flanking us.”

“I bet it’s a riptide. No one like Wellfar to sense that kind of thing. That’s why they don’t want to pounce. It’s got to be. Hey, is this the eel barrel with the bugs in it? I thought you were a fancy [Chef].”

A [Sensor Lookout] was poking at the eels. Moirmen gave her a dire look.

“I can’t do much with salt in the cupboards. Believe me, I’ve salvaged the eels as best I can. You can eat them, can’t you?”

She took one bite, shuddered, and nearly vomited. Which made Dakelos feel better. He had wondered if he was getting the worst stuff—which he’d deserve—but Veine had apparently brought him standard fare.

“It’s like eating chewy snot!”

Moirmen puffed out his chest.

“That’s right. You should have tasted what I had to work with. Oh, Admiral. Have a try of my salvaged eels. Eel du saltine.”

“Salted eels, Moirmen?”

Dakelos was starving, but he didn’t want the eels or hardtack. But he took one slimy bit of eel, chewed it while hoping it wasn’t roach-y—and swore.

“Gah! How much salt is in there?”

“All of it.”

The [Chef] gave Dakelos an innocent look.

“I salted the stuff. I baked it in salt. Then I rubbed more salt onto it and did it for the lot. How’s it taste?”

“Rubbery. And too salty. Anyone got water?”

Some brackish water was handed over, and Dakelos gulped it. Moirmen tapped the side of his nose. He had a slightly bulbous nose that came from having won a punching match against a Sword Crab once. An amazing feat that got him a round at any bar where a [Sailor] drank. A real [Sailor], anyways.

“Ah, but it tastes like salt, doesn’t it?”

Dakelos stopped sipping water and blinked. It was true. The eels were just really salty, not like dragging his tongue over mildew and snail’s eggs.

“Fill me a bowl, [Chef].”

“And me!”

Several of the crew went for the ‘special’ dish with considerable gusto. The [Chef] drew Dakelos aside as the man actually managed half a bowl before he felt nauseous.

“The, um, contaminated barrels we’ve marked with red paint, Admiral. I would have talked to Veine or someone, but the chain of command is…”

“Tell me. I’m just a Captain, not an Admiral.”

Moirmen gave Dakelos a sympathetic look.

“Well, Captain. It’s edible. I hate to say it, but the fleet’s not going to give us more supplies for a roach or two in the barrels. We can eat that and live until we get to Taimaguros. But what a life, eh?”

What a life. Dakelos looked around and saw his [Master of Arms] trying to saw a piece of hardtack in half with an enchanted dagger. Why was it difficult for him? He slipped, slashed his hand, but he had a Skill that prevented him from cutting his skin. Laughing, the man showed everyone the two pieces.

He should have been on the Foehammer, showing new recruits his sword style that had no fear of self-harm. Dakelos belonged on this ship, but no one else did.

“I’ll…try to do something about it.”

“It’s not a thing to worry about with the Wellfars on our back. Just a word in your ear, Captain. About provisions in the future.”

The [Chef] seemed worried he’d taken Dakelos’ time. But Dakelos was grateful.

“Thank you, Moirmen. Your salted eels are the stuff to eat.”

“Well, just you wait for dinner, sir. I have fifteen rats, and I figure they’re meat.”

Was it wrong that even as he shuddered, Dakelos’ stomach felt hungry? He stomped to his cabin and checked for [Messages]. Veine, his acting first-mate, walked in as he found nothing.

“Veine, has either ship responded?”

“No, sir. Admiral Louseg is scouting ahead. He’s wary of an attack.”

“Drowned Folk and Wellfar aren’t that friendly. It’s doubtless some trick of the new currents. He’s slowed us by two knots, and Wellfar is catching up.”

“He’s being wary, sir.”

“Well, tell him to speed up. We won’t be saved by a better battleground, we’ll be saved once we reach reinforcements. Tell him—”

Dakelos caught himself giving orders. He stopped and lowered his hand.

“…Nevermind. Is that a consensus among the fleet?”

From his crew, it sounded like they had guessed the reason for the delay. But Veine shrugged.

“I caught some signal lanterns from the other ships. I think the rumor is a Drowned Fleet hired by Wellfar.”

“That’s ridiculous. We have [Sensor Lookouts] who can read the deep—”

“We have the best, sir, but the navy’s jumpy.”

“So Louseg is listening to scuttlebutt from [Captains] greener than my eels?”

Dakelos got annoyed just hearing what was going on. But then—Louseg was literally weeks in his position as [Admiral]. If Dakelos could have pulled him aside…

He walked out of his cabin and stared out across the fleet. No one was answering his [Messages], and the Spitoon was at the rear of the fleet.

He had orders to essentially stay out of the way and do nothing. But…Dakelos stared moodily at the ships around him. He could see Omens of Rain, a galleon with bright sails and several Hydra Knights, sailing just ahead of him.

“Has Captain Bessia not responded?”

“No, sir. I don’t think we’re being acknowledged. Or we’re bottom of their priorities.”

Probably there was an order not to acknowledge him. Dakelos glanced over his shoulder and saw it.

A tiny dot on the horizon. Bright sails. A Dragonsail. A titan in miniature, slowly gaining behind them.

It’d be today, perhaps. If they reached whatever Wellfar wanted. It might be a battle by midday—or evening. Wellfar did like to fight at low tide with a sunset. They were thematic.

Rats for dinner. Dakelos stared blankly ahead. Well, maybe he deserved rats, but his crew? He looked around, then felt the fury at General Yerzhen bubbling up.

It was his fault, but it wasn’t his fault. And if they hadn’t stripped him of his rank—

He hesitated one second, but he was a damned man and an [Admiral] for moments longer. If he was a complete idiot in the eyes of Ailendamus and his peers, he might as well be one all the way.

“Helm, take us full speed! Catch me the Omen!”

Dakelos’ shout made the entire deck stop a second, and heads turned. It was the first order he’d given at a shout since…Nadel.

“Admiral?”

Veine hesitated. She looked up as the [Navigator] eyed the faster galleon in the waters.

“Sir, we’ve got our heading and position from Admiral Louseg himself.”

“That’s right. Admiral Louseg. And I’m Admiral Dakelos until they strip me of my class. Fleet Navigator. Can you get me alongside the Omen to shout?”

Vorrmen grinned and snapped his claw.

“You want me to go fast or sneak up on them?”

Dakelos smiled. He wondered how fast Meirkos would demote him and decided to hell with it. There was no formation to keep anyways, not until they fought, and ships could maneuver around so long as they didn’t get in each other’s way.

“Go fast, Vorrmen. Hells with it. Do we have oars?”

The Spitoon was such a tug that they had backup oars for as stupid as it was to try to row such a massive vessel. Veine raised her brows.

“Yes, sir. Want me to put our fighting crew on it?”

“Get them rowing. [Ship: Double Speed, By Wind and Oar]!”

 

——

 

The Omen of Rains was a fast galleon. So not exactly a sloop, which could run rings around it, but they had access to a Jar of Winds that filled their sails at any given moment.

Ailendamus was replete with magic, so even if the Omen wasn’t an enchanted warship, they had tricks to defeat lesser vessels.

It was why running from Wellfar was so humiliating, but the [Lords] and [Ladies] of the sea had all these tricks and more from their ages of naval command.

But what was more humiliating—and disconcerting—was seeing the Spitoon coming up on their rear.

“Captain! The Spitoon’s coming up and signaling they want to lower a gangplank!”

Captain Bessia turned.

“They what? They’ve got orders to stick in the rear. Are they sending [Messages]?”

“No, just signal lanterns!”

The woman wavered. She had a crew of decent [Sailors], but her real claim to fame was that her parents had both been Hydra Knights. She had taken to sea, but her ties meant the Order always gave her a crew of a few Hydra Knights as a kind of honor guard. Sixteen were on this vessel, and they’d helped her fight off monsters and enemy crews in the past.

She had also served under Dakelos and had regretted the disaster at Nadel, but orders were orders.

“Well—speed up! Take us to starboard if you have to. We’ll sail out of the Foehammer’s wake and move up.”

She didn’t want to cause a scene, but neither was she going to get censured for talking to Dakelos. So she’d just outrun him.

“Open the Jar of Winds!”

The sails billowed as the enchanted jar poured wind into the sails. Correspondingly—the Omen sped up. It began to outpace the other ships, for the fleet was moving slower, cautiously scouting ahead, and the unenchanted ships couldn’t run this fast.

The Omen sailed right, and Bessia expected to see the Spitoon slow. But instead, it seemed to grow larger and larger. Then she saw oars sprouting from the side.

“What the…is it rowing with the wind at its back? Is Dakelos m—”

The Spitoon went faster. They were already both at sixteen knots by now, far faster than either ship could go unenchanted. Eight times faster than the Spitoon was normally rated at.

It was inconceivable that the Omen would be caught! Yet, every time the oars dipped and moved—the Spitoon jumped ahead.

“He’s using a Skill! That—what’s so urgent? No [Message] spell?”

“None!”

“Well then—[No Wind Escapes My Sails]! Don’t let him catch us!”

It was outrage more than anything that kept Bessia from slowing, now. The idea of the Spitoon catching her? She’d be the laughingstock of the navy for the rest of her life! The sails picked up more wind, and the Omen reached nineteen knots.

And the Spitoon? It fell behind—then she heard a voice, so loud she could hear it from the other ship, now only hundreds of feet away.

“[Fleet: Ram’s Charge]!”

That was Strategist Veine! Bessia nearly dropped her spyglass as the Spitoon doubled its speed.

For ten seconds, it surged so fast and hard that the water sprayed behind it. Only the reinforced hull kept the wood from groaning as it moved. Then—Bessia was standing next to a cheering crew on the ugly ship and glaring down at a man who looked pleased and embarrassed. Dakelos cleared his throat, then spoke.

“Captain Bessia, do you have any spare rations? We need about two meals’ worth. I know you always keep extra provisions with your Hydra Knights. Split us two and a barrel of wine, would you? Even the worst swill will do.”

“Admiral—Captain Dakelos! I’m under orders not to communicate with the Spitoon! You want provisions? The Fleet Command should assign it!”

Dakelos exhaled. He looked bad, Bessia had to own, but for some reason, the gaunt man also looked slightly—annoyed.

“They’re willing to let my crew eat roach-covered eels, Bessia. You’ve seen the Spitoon, come on. Captains are allowed to share provisions.”

“I—”

She did have enough to feed any number of guests, and sometimes a [Captain] would invite themselves over to eat better. Bessia hesitated as her crew looked at her. Then she paled.

“Oh, hells. The Foehammer’s signaling.”

Their little race had definitely caught Louseg’s attention. It was turning and signaling for them to join it. Well, the Spitoon to do so. The Omen was to get right back into place. Dakelos nodded.

“We’ll talk to Louseg. We’re bound for bad currents up ahead. After you get us the provisions.”

“What? It’s not a Drowned Fleet?”

That’s what Bessia had heard, and she’d had her lookouts scanning the waters for any shadows. Dakelos gave her a look like she was a [Junior Deckhand].

“How would a Drowned Fleet be ahead of us and our [Mages] not scry or notice them? Let alone someone not notice them flanking us? Moreover, if a Drowned Fleet was ahead of us, they wouldn’t wait for an ambush. They’d drag us into a fight as soon as they could, before Meirkos could have a hope of catching up. Our [Navigator] thinks it’s Avel’s Fingers. The river inlet might have increased its push, and in that case, we’ll flounder as we cross.”

“Oh. But—I suppose Admiral Louseg will want to hear that, sir. You should get going.”

“Provisions first.”

Dakelos insisted. Bessia hesitated.

“We have orders—”

She glanced at her helmsman, and the woman slowly dragged the helm left. But Dakelos noticed and snapped.

“[Lock Helm].”

The steering wheel and rudder froze, and Bessia cursed. Now, the two ships were locked side by side.

“Dakelos!”

“I. Want. Food. If you don’t give me what I want—”

“You’ll, what, board us and take it?”

Bessia almost laughed…until she saw [Master of Arms] Giqe on deck and wondered how many of her Hydra Knights he could take down alone. And Dakelos’ personal crew…

He assuaged her fears.

“We’re not going to mutiny over rations, Bessia. You don’t want to give us food? Fine.”

She relaxed. Right up until he shouted.

“Chef Moirmen! Load up the roach-infested eels and throw in all the living rats you can find! We’ll throw it onto the Omen’s decks!”

The [Sailors] on the Omen had been listening to the two [Captains] shouting at one another because there was no privacy at sea. But at the thought of the Spitoon’s pestilence infecting their ship? Half of them were ready to fight as a red-painted barrel came up aboard the Spitoon’s decks. Dakelos’s crew weren’t strong enough to hurl it dozens of feet—

But his [Mage] could lift it.

“Alright, alright! Get me the good stuff, now! And a barrel of wine!”

Bessia shouted as the red barrel hung over the deck of her ship. She could hear squeaking inside, and if a single pair of rats landed…Dakelos shouted back.

“Two barrels of wine!”

She looked at him, about to curse his name. Then Bessia gave the [Admiral] a slow salute.

“Aye, Admiral Dakelos.”

He gave her such a sad look then that she told her crew to send all the fancy rations they had. Then she watched his cheering crew setting about the provisions and hoped Louseg wouldn’t execute him on the spot.

 

——

 

“Captain Dakelos. Why are you accosting other ships of the fleet?”

Acting Admiral Louseg was furious, but Admiral Dakelos just shouted back.

“Permission to come aboard, Admiral? I would like to discuss the impending engagement with you!”

That stumped the other man. He was younger, barely thirty, and one of those thirty-before-thirty types that every nation loved. Dakelos hadn’t managed it, but he respected the former [Captain of Security] for his ability to protect Ailendamus’ interests at sea.

But he wasn’t long as an [Acting Admiral], and Dakelos’ stunt had shown it. Plus, Dakelos knew how to be underhanded.

Not in the trickster sense, but in the military sense. Louseg could not discuss military plans in the open.

“—I have already compiled our plan of attack and had it approved by Admiral Meirkos, Captain Dakelos. Return to your post!”

“With respect, Admiral, my crew has come to a separate conclusion than the one Fleet Command has offered. Admiral Meirkos may not have been apprised of all the facts.”

Louseg turned red with fury.

“Are you accusing me of withholding information?”

Dakelos was scanning the Foehammer’s decks. It looked like Louseg had taken his command over to this vessel. Which meant, of course, their levels were lower than Dakelos’ crew and they weren’t used to scouting for a fleet.

“I believe your information may be different from ours. May I come aboard? I would appreciate the chance to speak—[Admiral] to [Admiral].”

That made the Foehammer go quiet. They hadn’t exactly been jeering out loud—a lot of the old crew was there, and they were avoiding looking at the disgraced Spitoon. But the new crew certainly hadn’t been shy about thumbing their noses or spitting into the water between the two ships.

“You are not fleet commander of this navy, Admiral Dakelos.”

Louseg’s voice was warningly quiet. Dakelos shot back instantly.

“I am certainly not, Admiral Louseg. But I am still an [Admiral] in class. I would appreciate the chance to speak. Strategist Veine, with me. Master of Arms Giqe, you have the ship until we return.”

A gangplank was lowered as the two ships met—in this case, a [Light Bridge] spell, not a piece of wood—and Dakelos strode over with his small command crew: two [Strategists], including Veine, his [Sensor Lookout], Fleet Navigator Vorrmen, and their [Mage], Feifen, the half-Elf.

In private, Louseg was no less pleasant than in the open. His look of disdain for Dakelos’ attire and the [Admiral] himself quickly changed from outrage to distrust and annoyance.

“You can’t prove it’s the currents up ahead.”

“No, but slowing our fleet is the worst move.”

“You are not in charge, Admiral! Ca—Admiral Louseg is.”

The [Strategist] on Louseg’s side was snappish. But Veine’s glare meant that the other, lower-level [Strategist] quailed.

“Name me one reason why slowing the fleet is more advantageous than speeding up and getting closer to Meirkos’ reinforcements.”

“They could have thrown mine spells in the water—”

“Then I would rather sail through them and lose five ships than lose fifty when the Pride sinks us.”

“Strategist Veine! Mind your manners in the war room!”

Louseg shouted, and Veine, Dakelos, and the command staff accompanying him all gave Louseg a look of great surprise, such that the [Acting Admiral] hesitated. How did he run his ship? Or perhaps he’d never seen Meirkos or any Fleet Command debate strategy.

A raised voice was the least of what you’d get before a big battle. Someone heaving a chair at your head? A drink in your face was the least when lives were on the line. If Meirkos certified Louseg’s class, he might have to replace his [Strategists]. Because the pale-faced officer wouldn’t last five seconds debating strategy with her people.

“I maintain that the most prudent course of action is not to commit to one path. Moving at reduced speed—”

He was getting back into the flow of things, beginning to debate Veine, when Dakelos finished sneaking up behind him. Then the [Admiral] screamed in his ear.

“Choosing the middle road gets you killed fastest when there’s death on both sides! There’s a devil in the waters behind us and imaginary Krakens to the bow. I know which one I’d pick, Louseg.”

Dakelos bellowed as the [Strategist] turned into one huge flinch. The younger [Admiral] was entirely surprised by Dakelos’ personality. He raised his hands, then took a breath and put his hands on the table.

“Admiral, have you taken leave of your senses? I understand how you must feel after the disaster at Nadel. But there is no call for you to throw your weight around like this to make up for your disgrace. Fleet Kerandos is our last remaining fleet. If Admiral Toithe were still alive, I am sure he would do exactly what I am doing. I served under him, and I assure you, I’m committed to making sure we all survive this. Even the Spitoon.”

Dakelos gave Louseg a huge frown.

“Throwing my weight around? I came here because you refused to answer my [Messages], Louseg. And if old Toithe were here, I’d shout at his [Strategists] too.”

Louseg’s staff frowned hard at Dakelos.

“You mean you used to howl at each other in Fleet Hydrus all the time?”

“You mean, you didn’t with old Admiral Toithe? Maybe he was cordial around the [Captains], but there is no time for niceties or debate now. We are losing water to Wellfar, Louseg. Have the fleet speed up, and I’ll take it on my reputation if you want. But Meirkos would make this call if she had my crew. Yours is too worried about Drowned Folk from protecting shipping lanes. They might jump a small group of ships, but their navies don’t come out of nowhere. Bloodtear Pirates—maybe, but we’d see them.”

Acting Admiral Louseg was hesitating. He stared at Dakelos and muttered.

“I had no idea you were like that. I’d have to ask Meirkos for approval—”

Veine snatched a speaking stone from a holster and snapped.

“Dead gods and Krakens. Call her up, then! But speed the fleet now! Meirkos, it’s Veine. Are you worried about Drowned Fleets ambushing us up ahead?”

“Veine? You sea-bitch! Where’s my damned fleet? Is Dakelos there? I’ll feed his testicles to Otter Dogs. I was supposed to be petting them right now instead of eating Creler shit with the Pride about to plunder all our backsides! What Drowned Fleet? I thought it was submerged rocks from the tides changing!”

Veine began shouting at Meirkos as Dakelos looked around. He found the warmaps as Louseg stared at his [Strategists], Dakelos, and then the speaking stone. When he met Dakelos’ eyes, though, he paused.

It was true that Dakelos had a bit more to him than just ‘the idiot [Admiral]’. But it was also true that he’d put caution to the winds. He didn’t feel drunk, not exactly.

He just felt…calm. Calm, but unable to sit still. Dakelos glanced out one of the port windows and saw, in the distance, that ship.

“It’s coming for us, Louseg. Let’s talk about your battle plans.”

He watched the younger man’s face change as Dakelos laid out Veine’s proposal.

“You can’t be serious. You want to sacrifice that many ships on a suicide charge? We have a fleet able to fight back, Dakelos.”

“The Pride is better.”

“Then we’ll damage it, hit Wellfar hard enough to make them pause, and withdraw afterwards! But they’ll hound us to Taimaguros’ gates if we don’t make them stop! Have you ever fought a bully, Dakelos? You stand up to them.”

Admiral Dakelos smiled.

“Right. Then they come back with five friends if they don’t beat you senseless. The Pride is the biggest bully there is, Louseg. I’d rather risk a portion of the ships.”

“You have no guarantee it’ll work. Should I send those [Captains] to their deaths?”

Louseg was shaking his head, unwilling to bend on this point. He and Dakelos argued as the Foehammer sped up, and Dakelos just pointed at the proposed map.

“Sometimes, Admiral Louseg, we have to send good soldiers to their deaths. I am not blind to that. And to tell you I am sincere—I am prepared to re-crew Foehammer and commit to the charge on the Pride.”

He looked Louseg in the eyes as the Acting Admiral stopped pacing and turned to him. For a second, Louseg hesitated. Then he shook his head. Ruefully. Sadly, and gave Dakelos a look of respect for the first time.

“Ah. Now I see it. Dakelos—it’s a noble gesture. But vainglorious death isn’t how the Kingdom of Glass and Glory operates. I will not throw you to your deaths. We all deserve a future in Ailendamus, and I will see it for your crew and the fleet. Wellfar might blink under your plan. But I’ll lay them flat. Stick to the Spitoon.”

He nodded at Dakelos, and the other [Admiral] stared at him. Slowly, Dakelos rose.

“If that’s your decision, I have to let you commit to your plan, Admiral Louseg.”

“Thank you, Admiral Dakelos. I take your understanding of the terrain. Perhaps it will make a difference.”

Louseg inclined his head, but Dakelos put his hand on the door frame.

“—Just remember, Louseg. I’ll be known as that fool who attacked Nadel the rest of my life. But there’s always a bigger buffoon waiting to be made. I hope you’re sure.”

The younger man hesitated, licked his lips, and then barked back.

“I am.”

Dakelos leaned forwards.

“Well, good. But so was I when I was tricked.”

He waited for a response. And then, when none was forthcoming, he strode back to his ship.

 

——

 

They never had dinner. As they sailed down the coast and the rocky shores of Avel came into sight, the forward sloops reported what Dakelos had suspected.

“The current’s twice as strong. It wants to sweep you out to sea. One of the sloops was three miles out before it managed to break free. Our warships have to cross and shield the others.”

“No time. The Pride’s accelerated, and Wellfar is coming in from starboard! They’re springing their attack now!”

Shutter-lanterns flashed and speaking stones lit up with the fleet’s chatter. Above it all, Admiral Louseg shouted.

“You have your positions! All about and prepare the assault! Once each wing breaks off, either ride through that current or swing wide. Only the Pride can follow without listing. Enchanted warships, your target is her rudder, helm, and sails.”

He had a grasp on what must be done. But Dakelos still stood at the prow of his ship and worried. Veine tried to look on the bright side.

“We’re going in for a full swing? It might be better, now we see how that current will leave us as sitting ducks.”

Dakelos just stared out into the distance.

There she was. What a beautiful thing. 

The Pride of the Wellfar looked like the ship every [Captain] dreamed of owning. Massive, larger than even Ailendamus’ largest capital ship, but somehow sleek as well. Hull made of magic, decorated like a work of art, sails billowing with the echoes of Dragons. Her figurehead, a half-fish woman who was, for some reason, tailed with a fish’s lower body and a Human upper half instead of split side-to-side like a Drowned Person, her loading bays you could literally ride horses into.

Trading ship. War ship. He’d heard there were even floating gardens inside such that this ship was all things at once.

It was destruction that sailed at them now, and as he looked, he saw it. Red sails.

They were unfurled to catch the wind, and the crest of House Wellfar stood out on them. A ship stylized to look like a hook, trailing blue roses. It was blue and gold—and the crest shone on the crimson sails.

Red, for blood. They had come in a full fleet. His mouth dried as he counted forty ships.

“They’ve sent a full armada.”

“We outnumber them.”

“Not in enchanted vessels. Our enchanted ships might be able to humble their best, but all their ships are crewed by [Lords] and [Ladies]. Their Skills can match the best [Captain]. Even [Admirals]. I see spells lining their broadsides.”

Indeed, the enchanted Wellfar ships had magic literally written onto their hulls. If they turned—they would blast their opponents with magic. It might not be as reliable as old-fashioned artillery, and it often had shorter range, but it was deadly.

Yet into that hunting navy, Ailendamus turned. [Soldiers] and [Sailors] lined the decks of their ships, shouting at each other.

Even the Spitoon. Captain Bessia saluted Dakelos with a scimitar, and he slowly drew a shortsword and returned the salute. He looked across the decks and felt a moment of grief.

We aren’t ready to master the sea. Ailendamus had a fine navy. But they were sailing against [Storm Sailors]. The Five Families excelled in their domain.

“—The Spitoon is to hang back. Arm those harpoons. Magus Feifen. Tell me those two underpowered lightning bolts will make Wellfar sneeze.”

The half-Elf glanced up and eyed the ships.

“Their hulls won’t crack from two bolts. If we hit a sail, we’ll leave a hole so small they can patch it with [Repair]. With permission, I’d like to try for those rudder-shots, Captain. We might be able to take one out.”

“Granted. Master of Arms?”

“Ready to repel boarders, Admiral.”

The man was checking the weapon he carried—a bladed staff. He could whirl it and slash from both ends, and it was as much a hazard to his allies as his foes. He had a wide berth from the crew.

They were set and grim. Some of the other ships were patently nervous. Dakelos saw the Pride continuing onwards. They saw Ailendamus making a stand against the current.

“Tell—tell Louseg to use the current and slingshot out to sea. At that speed, we might be able to fight a running engagement.”

Dakelos barked at Veine as he finally saw how powerful the current was. Maybe it would leave them sitting ducks on a predictable trajectory. But—his mouth moved, trying to keep up with his brain.

“The speed. The speed of the current plus how fast we could move—maybe the Pride wouldn’t be able to reflect our fire with pinpoint accuracy. At the very least—!”

He cursed not thinking of it before. Veine grabbed a speaking stone, and he heard her trying to raise the Foehammer, but he knew it was too late.

Louseg was no adaptive admiral who wanted to mess with a battle plan even hours before the fray. Sure enough, he heard nothing back from the command deck other than a countdown. So, grimly, Dakelos gave the order.

“Break out the grog. All hands, prepare for battle.”

It was customary for some [Captains] to give their crew a tot of whatever they had. In this case, wine from Bessia’s ship. Dakelos had heard Fleet Kerandos didn’t stand by the practice. The royal courts wanted disciplined [Sailors], not drunken layabouts.

But it was hard at sea. It was cold, your eels moved, your hull had holes in it, and it was a dark, alien world below you. At times, even in a magic ship, it felt like you were tiny and helpless in this great body of water, and monsters were under you.

Didn’t you deserve a drink before you might die? Not enough to knock you over, but just enough to steady your nerves. A small cup of wine. Dakelos didn’t take it as a cup was passed around.

“Not even one sip, Admiral? I’d love for that to be an illusion.”

Moirmen’s question was followed by laughter. Dakelos looked around.

“I’ve had enough drinking for a lifetime. I’m sorry, ladies and gentlemen. We should have been on Foehammer for this. I fear I’ve steered us wrong.”

The crew of the Spitoon paused with a drink upon their lips. They looked at him, then Veine called out.

“Ah, but Admiral. We wouldn’t be here if we didn’t want to be. You were steered wrong, but so were we all. It’s been our honor to crew your ship. We could have stayed on the Foehammer. But what crew leaves their [Captain] behind?”

Dakelos blinked. He looked at her—and she ducked her head. They could have stayed on the…?

“She’s coming! The Pride is coming! All ahead! Raise anchors!”

The voice screamed through the speaking stone, and Dakelos realized there was no time left. He seized a cup of wine and poured it straight down a knothole on the deck. The sounds of confused and delighted rats squeaking made everyone laugh. Dakelos raised the cup, empty, and shouted.

“You’re all fools. The most foolish Admiral of Ailendamus could ask for no less. Will you follow me to my next stupidity?”

They cheered him and drank. Dakelos threw the cup onto the deck and looked around. He had never been prouder of his crew.

Or perhaps, they of him.

He had madness in his eyes, a sword in his hand. His ridiculous, leaking ship floated in the waves. Dakelos swore that the Wellfar folk were laughing at the hulk; they were certainly ignoring it. But he?

He was an [Admiral], and he had a fleet of one ship. He saw the Foehammer stream past him, an honor-guard of their finest ships behind it. Dakelos pointed.

“Take us to port and follow at full speed. And why are we silent? Let’s have a song.”

 

——

 

As the Wrmeriye’s Spitoon surged across the waters, The Pride of the Wellfar opened fire. The cheering crews of Ailendamus looked up as a beam of light pierced the heavens. It shot from the decks of that ship, like a revelation from the heavens in reverse.

Pure magic, pouring upwards and then coming down. It came down like a finger of wrath, piercing the skies, and struck Foehammer straight on. The deadly ray of light that had vaporized the Assassin’s Guild in First Landing should have destroyed the enchanted warship, snapping the deck in two and blowing the rest to bits.

But it stopped, striking a glowing barrier. The air screamed as two kinds of magic met—then the warship’s magical shields failed and the deck burned.

The artillery spell ended a moment later, and a burning crater was gouged out of the warship’s center, the barrier magics broken.

It was harder to say which side was more unpleasantly surprised, Ailendamus’ fleet—or Lord Etril Wellfar. He lowered the spyglass.

“Ram the Wind Runner’s sword up my ass—that kind of magical shielding should only be available to the best Drowned Ships! How does Ailendamus have Drowned Folk magic?”

“Their barriers are down, Lord Wellfar. Orders?”

“They’re coming by on both sides. Broadside them. Take down one ship over scattering fire. [Mark Target]. Kill the Foehammer.”

Etril shouted, and the Pride kept going as both fleets began to open up with regular spells. An enchanted ballista roared, and he saw a bolt hit a ship.

“Firespray Bolt! Helm down!”

A galleon—he thought it was the Omens of Rains—was struck full on by the bolt. It hit the helm of the ship, and a firestorm engulfed the entire area. The [Captain] threw themselves away from the blaze, burning, and the Omen was dead in the water as the crew tried to put out the blaze.

They could still fire—but they got in the way of their allies. And that was one of the Pride’s weapons.

“[Grand Lightning]. Aim—fire.”

A [Mage] pointed, and another ship was struck by eight bolts of lightning that cracked the decks and spilled the ship into the waters. It sank fast, a gruesome end.

This wasn’t even the Pride’s full firepower. Etril hadn’t used the Vortex Bolts fit for the ballistae, what few there were left. Behind him, he saw Wellfar engaging, circling in as Ailendamus’ broadside of his ship started and they began to turn into desperate dogfighting.

Ailendamus’ goal was to cripple the Pride and as many warships in one move and then split. But it wasn’t going according to plan.

Lance-arrows struck the hull of the Pride, glancing off the enchanted hull. [Fireballs] exploded across the decks, injuring some—but the jade-green shields of the Pride mitigated most of the damage entirely. The disbelieving [Admiral] watched as the Pride absorbed the first broadside, then made a desperate, correct call.

They began to fire at the other Wellfar ships, abandoning the Pride. Etril exhaled as he watched a shimmering vial of liquid slowly, slowly refill. A kind of hourglass or…measuring device.

They could have brought down the Pride’s shields, but the ship was tough. It wasn’t worth the effort while House Wellfar took them to pieces.

“22% of our mana reserves. Your bluff has worked, Lord Wellfar. Orders?”

The [Acting Captain] who reported to him was returning fire. Etril grinned.

“Let them pass through. Full broadsides!”

The Pride opened fire as Ailendamus’ navy began to try to break away from it. But even as they shifted focus, they ran into the rest of the Wellfar’s navy, and the smooth breakaway turned into ship-versus-ship combat.

“[Inferno Floatmines] deployed, Commander Etril! We have them sailing straight into them!”

A voice crackled through a speaking stone. Etril glanced over and saw the first ship passing by his vessel explode in flames as it ran into one of the spells.

“Good. Happy hunting, Aunt Selica. Turn the Pride. The Foehammer’s still out there. Bring it down, then we focus on the other enchanted warships.”

A chorus of cheers and boasts came from the other members of his house crewing their ships. They broke up and began to take down other ships, trying to force their surrender or cripple them to stop them fleeing.

This was all gold in their pockets. Each ship was a bounty—either a free new vessel or a huge ransom, not to mention the sailors, captain, and cargo. Or you could just sink them, but for an enchanted warship…even his family might consider upgrading to a non-Wellfar ship.

However—it was not all going one way. The enchanted warships that were Ailendamus’ claim to fame on the waters could punch as hard as any ship short of the Pride. Even as Etril watched, one of his family’s ships began to sink.

“I have fifteen holes filling with water, and those damn lance-arrows are still burning! I need someone to [Repair] my ship—”

“—catapult through my sails. Watch out for their crossbows! We took one volley—”

What a glorious mess. If only his mother and father were here to see it. Lord Etril Wellfar wanted to laugh or cry. Or both. He watched the battle unfolding, and it was going his way. As he turned to take down the Foehammer, Etril looked sideways and frowned.

Over the port bow, he saw something sailing past his vessel in the distance, entering one wing of the engagement. Etril paused a second.

“That’s the ugliest ship I’ve ever seen. Is it even seaworthy? That’s…a hulk. Ailendamus must be desperate if they threw it in.”

The Spitoon was moving forward, and he swore he saw a hole in the side—and no one had fired a shot at it yet. The Pride could have sunk it with a single second of combat, but the enchanted warships were firing again, and this time, the Pride’s barrier spell went down.

Etril swore and gave the order for a secondary wing of defenses to rise; literal shields made of mithril that covered the deck and hung down to shield the side of the ship. He cast only one more glance at the Spitoon. It was not the ugly ship that made him look over.

It was something the wind had brought him. The crew of that vessel were singing.

“Let the lance-arrows fall from Ailendamus walls and guard the Kingdom of Glass and Glory/Until my dying breath, from sea to glorious sea—Ailendamus, the only Kingdom of Terandria for me~”

A silly, patriotic song like Wellfar’s sea shanties. But they were all doing it, from that [Captain] down to the crew. Etril grinned.

“At least one ship knows how to fight. Now, rescue Cousin Tenil. [Long-Range Repair] on his rudder—”

 

——

 

The first engagement Dakelos saw was a broadside. And it ran them up against the ship he would have feared the most outside the Pride.

“[Fireball]! [Take Cover, Idiots]!”

Master of Arms Giqe roared. It was, in fact, four [Fireballs] that slammed into the hull, and one shot across the railing and exploded. The heat blasted Dakelos, and the ship listed from the force of the strikes.

A [Sailor] would have been killed by the explosion—but the [Master of Arms]’ Skill had forced the man to leap from his station into a proper position where the [Fireball]’s blast wouldn’t hit him.

He scrambled up—and a flaming arrow pinned his leg to the deck. The screaming man clawed at the shaft as Veine raised her crossbow-wand.

“[Mark Targets]! [Division of Fire]—loose!”

Bows and wands spat back, each one going two or three to a target rather than grouping up. The organized fire made the other ship’s crew duck.

Carrack-class ship. Royal Carrack—longer across than usual. The Burning Wish. A real spitfire!

Dakelos raised one hand, swearing as he realized he’d been burned. The Spitoon fired its ship-weapons back.

A quartet of magical harpoons hit the other ship, but The Burning Wish barely seemed to register the bolts. The metal stuck in the wood without breaking through.

“Damn. Take us across her—”

“Watch out! She’s firing again! Take cover!”

A second wave of [Fireballs] swept the deck, and this time, a trio of women vanished in an explosion of light. Dakelos snarled.

“Loose the lightning bolts! Fire the Greatbows at the sails!”

The four old greatbows swung up and shredded the enchanted sails as the two ships passed. Veine stood up.

“[Ship: Instantaneous Reload]. Loose!”

Whatever the Wellfar [Lady] captaining the Wish had expected, the Spitoon was a nasty surprise. She had clearly expected to break their hull with the first volley of [Fireballs] and had been saving her spells for a second pass at the Omen, which was floundering behind the Spitoon.

But the entire deck of the Spitoon suddenly shot back, and the small-arms fire did what the ship-weapons could not. Dozens of [Storm Sailors] on the other ship folded up, screaming, and Veine personally shot the enemy’s [Lookout] through the chest.

“Hit the rudder! Hit the—”

“[Enhanced Spell: Lightning Bolt]!”

Their [Mage] stood up and, ignoring two arrows which lodged in his own personal barrier, fired the ship’s spells. Dakelos saw the Wish rock—and heard a cheer from his people. Then they were past, the wounded were calling out for aid, and Dakelos was screaming in his helmsman’s ear.

“Take us ahead! That ship! We have to pull them off the Foehammer’s back!”

The Foehammer was aflame. It was running, trying to pull away as the Pride savaged it; it had lost both its catapults, and the barrier crystal was cracked beyond repair. Dakelos spun back to see the Wish was as dead as the Omen in the water. Both ships were trying to hit one another.

“Magical ship spells are recharging for another shot, Admiral.”

“Time?”

“…Eight minutes. Six if I charge with my mana.”

Magus Feifen reported, and Dakelos swore.

“Kiss me with a stingray. Then we take their backs. Greatbows—aim for the same place as the harpoons. Veine, pick a spot and try to make a hole!”

They surged forwards, faster than Wellfar probably thought a hulk could move. Thanks to Dakelos’ Skills, they actually took the other ship launching globs of acid at the Foehammer by surprise.

He saw tattooed Wellfar [Sailors] look up and cry out before they hit the stern of the ship. All the harpoons, great arrows, and several spells hit a spot just above the anchor where water met ship. The Spitoon swung past as both crews aimed at each other and ducked—and Dakelos looked back.

“It didn’t break through! Damn—[Lock Helm]!”

He pointed and wrestled with the enemy’s [Helmswoman] for a moment. But he won, and the Foehammer peeled away as the Wellfar ship turned their wrath on him.

“Acid coming down!”

Acid spells. A stinging mist descended, and Dakelos realized this ship was even worse because healing potions weren’t available. The mist burned, and he shouted.

“I need a barrier in the air! Blow the acid away!”

His [Mages] were trying. But while everyone shielded their eyes from blindness, the enemy sailors were hurling explosive orbs onto the deck. Dakelos felt like spitting acid himself.

If this were the Foehammer, they’d have barrier spells, more offensive capabilities—or just be clear of this attack by now! He stared across with burning eyes at the enemy ship.

It was a galleon, and the hulking Spitoon was actually a similar size to it. Dakelos looked at Veine, who was shooting with one eye open. She nailed a [Mage] through the barrier magic and chest, and the Wellfar crew cried out in disbelief.

Piercing magic. A [Strategist]’s sniper weapon. Dakelos remembered what Veine had said. He snarled an order at the helm.

“Vorrmen. Ram them.”

“We’ll blow our hull, your Skills or not, Dakelos!”

The Drowned Man roared back. Dakelos screamed at him and felt acid in his lungs.

“Do I look like I care whether this rot bucket survives or not? Ram them.”

The Drowned Man blinked—then he swung the wheel, and the other ship drew closer and closer. Dakelos saw the alarmed faces of the [Storm Sailors]—then they struck.

The impact threw him out of his cover and onto the deck. He heard the groan of wood, the roar of two boats scraping together and damaging each other, shouting—then his ship listed.

The Spitoon sailed clear of the enemy ship, and it slowed, then tried to come about and melt them from the side again. But the enemy [Captain] was clearly shaken by the aggressive maneuver.

Veine pulled herself up, blood on her head from where it had struck the railing of the ship. She turned her head and called out a question.

“Hull damage?”

Blood matted her hair, and Dakelos spoke the answer.

“Hull’s bowed inwards. Fifty-two leaks—it’ll keep.”

He had [Sense Integrity] for his ship. He didn’t like what he saw, but he saw the Foehammer coming about. Admiral Louseg was heading back in and trying to pull his fleet out of the battle.

But it was disastrous. Wellfar was cutting off escape routes with their floating mine spells, and the Pride was locking down the way they’d come, shooting fish in a barrel. The battle was going as badly as Dakelos had feared.

Say what you would, though, but Louseg wasn’t running. The enchanted warships were the primary targets, and they were burning, but if enough ships could get clear, they could still make it to Admiral Meirkos.

They just had to win past Wellfar’s hunters, and they were being taken apart. One ship stopped in the water as Wellfar blasted past them.

[Transfer Momentum: Ship]. They were doing everything in their power to stop his fleet from leaving. Dakelos looked across the fighting.

“Four minutes to recharging lightning bolts. Do we have a target, Admiral?”

Dakelos looked back. Two ships and they had barely done any damage to either aside from halting one until they fixed the helm. Then he looked across the battle.

The Lord of the Dance had swung into his fleet this hard—and he had been one man. It spoke to the terror of Nadel that the Pride was somehow ‘just’ as scary as that one man sliding from deck to deck, beheading [Captains].

If only Dakelos were Level 40 or Level 50 and capable of distorting a battlefield like that. He was not—but his crew didn’t belong on the Spitoon.

In fact…Wellfar had been surprised both times by their offensive. But it didn’t matter if the ship was terrible.

“I need a better ship.”

Admiral Dakelos spoke out loud, and Vorrmen laughed in his ear.

“Well, Louseg might give you the Foehammer back, sir! It’s half burnt.”

Veine looked back at Dakelos, and a thought seemed to strike her at the same time as it did him. They locked eyes, and the Admiral looked across the embattled waters.

“I don’t want that ship. Veine. What am I looking for…?”

She scanned the horizon and spoke as Vorrmen frowned.

“[Thoughtful Conclusion]—there! Ship-of-the-line, Lower Passes of Izril!”

It was ahead of them, passing two smaller cutters it had just blown to pieces. Dakelos felt it in his bones. He raised his voice.

“Vorrmen. Aim us at the Lower Passes.”

“That’s suicide. They’ve got two Golem-ballistae. They’re twice as large as regular! They’ve punched through everything else!”

“If we were going to take them ship to ship, I’d agree. Crew—prepare for boarding action.”

The crew of the Spitoon looked up. Boarding action? Ailendamus had fought off boarders before, but they weren’t famous for it. Master of Arms Giqe’s eyes lit up, though.

“With pleasure, Admiral. How many to die?”

The ship-of-the-line could hold eight hundred [Sailors] comfortably. The Spitoon was uncomfortably holding almost that many, but they had left their dedicated boarding crew and expert [Soldiers] behind on the Foehammer. Nor did they have any [Knights].

Even so, Giqe didn’t hesitate, and his subordinates laughed like men and women about to die. Dakelos felt his ship come around and whispered.

“[Double Speed, By Wind and Oar].”

Then he raised his voice.

“Everyone, Giqe. I’m going first. Once we get on board—take the helm. Swing us into the next ship. Vorrmen, scuttle the Spitoon with five volunteers, then take the new vessel to sea if you think you can hold it. Otherwise—Veine has command, then Giqe.”

The [Master of Arms] stared at Admiral Dakelos. Then the crew of the Admiral of Ailendamus looked up. He pointed ahead as the Lower Passes lazily came about, spotting its ridiculous foe. And the Admiral was humming.

“To protect crown and people, every [Knight] stands true. A [Soldier] I shall be, or if a [Farmer] be my calling, to my part I shall do~”

The two ships were closing, and the Lower Passes was angling. One of its Golem ballistae punched a hole in the Spitoon, and it took on water instantly. But the shot didn’t go through both sides of the ship—the enemy [Captain] frowned as he noticed how tough the Spitoon was.

Then he realized how fast it was coming on and their intention and made to maneuver. Wellfar cut left fast—but they had no idea who was on this ship.

“[Ramming Charge]!”

Veine screamed as she fired her first shot from her wand. An arrow struck her in the side, and she went down—but the ship accelerated as she lay there, gasping. She yanked the head of the arrow out of her enchanted leather armor as Dakelos roared.

“Brace! Brace—!”

Then there was thunder.

 

——

 

The Lower Passes of Izril reeled. Chaos on decks as Wellfar [Sailors] were thrown about. That damned hulk had hit them! A suicide charge from that worthless vessel!

“The keel! Check the keel and make sure we’re not taking on water! If we’re tangled with the hulk, we go down with it!”

Captain Inme was screaming at the same time as Lady Selica screamed curses at the other ship. It was definitely dead. One hole in its hull meant it was sinking, and the impact had probably destroyed the other ship for good.

So why was it in one piece? [Sailors] at the railings were shooting arrows across at the other, tilting ship.

“They’re boarding! Lady Selica, take cover!”

“Of course they are. They’re rats fleeing a sinking stone! Cut them down if they don’t surrender!”

The [Lady] of House Wellfar had a scimitar in hand herself, though she was supposed to keep back. She stared at the other ship in disgust. There were literal green rats trying to swim onto her ship and climb the rigging. But then she frowned.

“Wait a second. Is that a [Light Bridge]? They wasted a [Mage] on this pile of flotsam?”

A glowing platform connected both decks. Then she saw more lengths of wood being thrown across.

“Damn Ailendamus landfolk! [Deckbreaker’s Hammer]!”

A huge Wellfar [Boarding Sailor] smashed a plank the instant it fell, and more hands were rushing to repel boarders. But what made Lady Selica and Captain Inme frown was…the boarders weren’t coming.

A hail of crossbow bolts and spells were knocking down her crew. The other ship’s deck was engulfed in smoke…she assumed a fire. But she hadn’t ordered flaming spells.

And the incoming fire was extraordinarily accurate.

“Fall back! They’re cutting us down—”

“Hold your ground, you cowards!”

Captain Inme strode down the deck, drawing a pair of blades. But before he got to the fighting, more Wellfar soldiers were slamming into place, rushing out of the holds. Two hundred on deck—and more coming from below. They were laughing. Right up until the smoke began to clear.

Then, Lady Selica’s smile was knocked clear off her face. She gazed down onto the other ship and suddenly wondered if this was some…cunning trick. For the hulk, smaller than her ship-of-the-line—was filled with enemy soldiers.

Far too many unless they were literally squeezed on there cheek-by-jowl. And they looked—sharp. An enchanted bolt of magic went straight through Captain Inme’s leg, and he stumbled, looking up.

“Sailors of Ailendamus.”

A voice rose through the smoke, and a man in front wearing an admiral’s vest pointed his sword. Lady Selica’s mouth opened.

It had to be a trick. There was no way an [Admiral] would be on a ship like this. Much less at the head of—

“Charge!”

Then the crew poured across the lightbridge, over the gangplanks, leaping from the railings. Some fell over the edge of their ship, but began climbing lines tossed down to them. A man swung overhead, and a bladed quarterstaff flashed as he landed, scattering [Sailors] around him.

“Follow Admiral Dakelos!”

They weren’t [Sailors] or even regular [Soldiers]. Was that a [Cook] fighting alongside [Tacticians] armed with crossbows?

The surprised Wellfar crew locked blades with Ailendamus’ crew—and the brawny [Boarding Sailor] swung his warhammer down to crush the first man’s head. The [Chef] sprinted up to him and raised a fist covered with scars.

“[Swordbreaker’s Fist].”

A hand met a metal warhammer and broke. But the warhammer twisted in the other man’s hands. Then Chef Moirmen raised the kitchen knife and hacked it into the exposed neck. It lodged, and the [Boarder Sailor] screamed. He dropped the warhammer and seized the [Chef]. Struggling, the two stumbled back across the lightbridge—then over the railing. They plunged down as Moirmen laughed. In his place, a woman strode over the decks. She lifted a crossbow and aimed a wand as Captain Inme slashed down two members of her crew.

Veine shot the [Captain] through the head, ignoring his protective rings. She swiveled—shot a running [Sailor] through the chest—then shouted over her shoulder.

“Bring the barrels! Go, go!”

Lady Selica realized her deck was being overrun. She backed up as the enemy kept coming. The [Admiral] was charging forwards, trying to take the lower decks and bottle Wellfar’s soldiers from coming up. He only broke away when he heard a shout.

“Barrels coming down! Move it!”

“Watch out! Alchemical weapons!”

The Wellfar sailors fighting to get up the stairs dove and ran aside as red-marked barrels were hurled down the stairs, flattening [Sailors] and knocking more over. The ones not hit cried out as the barrels ruptured.

They waited for fire or acid or death—then they blinked. One tried to move—and slipped in corroded, rotten eels. Roaches and rats exploded out of the barrels as more were hurled down, slicking the stairs up. Then came more crossbow bolts.

 

——

 

They had one of the stairwells, and Giqe was fighting to take another when Dakelos looked around and realized they had the deck.

“Vorrmen! Vorrmen! Where are you?”

The Drowned Man skidded across the decks, bleeding from the stomach, but grinning. Dakelos looked around. Veine was aiming her crossbow-wand at a kneeling [Lady] spitting curses.

“A [Lady], Admiral.”

“Good! They’ll hesitate to hit us. Vorrmen, take us ahead.”

“The enemy’s got the lower decks! They could sabotage the rudder or fight up—”

“I know. Is everyone aboard from the Spitoon?”

“Everyone living.”

Vorrmen snapped back. The other ship was two-thirds submerged by now. Dakelos looked around.

“…Where’s Moirmen?”

“He went over. Moirmen? Moir—”

Someone called out and looked over the edge of the ship. Then up slowly. Dakelos strode over to the edge of his ship. Then he saw what he should have remembered.

The bodies of the dead weren’t visible. They were gone—and a number of people had gone down. But the sinking hulk was pulling everything down with it. Suction. The ship was full of air belowdecks, and as it filled, the water was dragging everything with it.

Moirmen was nowhere to be seen. Dakelos looked down.

“It’s faster than you’d think if he wasn’t conscious. Maybe the sea has a gift for him.”

Vorrmen’s voice broke him out of his stupor. Dakelos looked up.

“Yes. Take the helm, Vorrmen.”

“Away?”

“No. That ship.”

Dakelos spun. He looked around. And he saw more of his crew lying silent behind him. They were still fighting. Only he had known Moirmen by name.

They were dying. He saw an [Ensign] fall, gasping, as a flying dagger struck him in the throat. The decks were filled with flashes—Veine shot one of the crew off their feet, and the bolt pieced another magic shield. Dakelos took his eyes off his people and stared out, across the coastline engulfed by battle. He had to.

He was an [Admiral], not a [Captain].

While they’d been fighting, more ships had sunk or maneuvered away. But the boarding action had taken less than ten minutes, though it had felt like an age of fighting. He pointed at the nearest ship he saw.

The Burning Wish. It had begun moving again. Vorrmen glanced at it. And the Wellfar [Lady] raised her chin.

“You may have my ship, Ailendamus dogs, but you’ll have to kill me before I render the attack spells over to you. And you’ll have to slaughter every daughter and son of Wellfar before the Lower Passes yields to you!”

Admiral Dakelos turned, and she flinched. He gave her his signature blank look—then strode down across the decks as Vorrmen swung the ship’s wheel. Then he called out.

“Did anyone bring one of the Greatbows over?”

“Aye, sir.”

One of his crew had helped wrestle the huge, mounted weapons over. It wasn’t fixed, and the blowback might destroy the entire weapon. That was fine.

“Arm it. Aim it down that stairwell.”

“Watch out! They have a greatbow!”

Lady Selica screamed at her people, and they once again fled the stairwell. But Dakelos didn’t bother having her gagged. He just stared ahead.

The Burning Wish had seen the fighting on board their sister vessel. They were approaching warily, no doubt pondering whether to board or parlay and whether it would endanger Lady Selica.

“They’re hailing us, Admiral. They want to know if you’ll accept the crew’s surrender. If so, they’ll leave us alone.”

Veine was reading the lantern-signals. Admiral Dakelos didn’t have time to find this ship’s lanterns. He raised his hands over his head in an ‘x’.

Instantly, someone shot an arrow at him. Dakelos ducked, and Giqe, bloody with combat, shouted.

“Brace!”

“Vorrmen! Ready?”

“Aye, sir!”

The Drowned Man was grinning. The crew of Dakelos’ ship, bloodied and panting, those not holding off the crew from belowdecks, looked up. Lady Selica was calm. She drew herself up and bared her neck.

“If you want to make a mockery of honor at sea—swing true or fire your bow, Admiral.”

She spat at him. But Dakelos’ look at her made her hesitate.

He was smiling. Teeth bloodied. Panting. But he drew his sword. And then he shouted.

“Sailors of Ailendamus—brace! Fire the Greatbow.”

Selica’s head turned. Then she saw the Greatbow fire and heard the screams. It roared as it exploded from the backlash. And the bolt travelled down—missing her crew—

And breached the hull of her ship. Her eyes went round with horror. Then she felt her ship fill with water. Lady Selica Wellfar stared at Admiral Dakelos. What did she see?

 

——

 

The insane [Admiral] was smiling. And…humming? His crew was cheering him even as a quarter kept her crew from leaving the hold. They had no idea what was going on except that they were taking on water and now they were fighting like Sword Crabs to get free.

But Ailendamus didn’t want this ship. The [Admiral] looked around as his people cheered.

“Speech, Admiral! A speech!”

“I thought I gave you one already?”

He turned, staggering, and she saw he was wounded. But then he laughed, and his face, which looked wild, sooty and hair standing on end, turned melancholic. He gave the oddest speech imaginable to the oncoming Wish. They couldn’t hear him, but his crew listened.

“Attention. Ships of Wellfar. By order of His Majesty, King Itorin II, I demand you surrender and disarm immediately! Ailendamus will not be stopped by any nation in the world! If you do not halt—we will immediately attack.”

It was the damndest speech. Unheard by any but those around him. Idiotic in the middle of an engagement. But he was not speaking to Lady Selica.

Dakelos’ crew was bloody. They were tired and gasping for air. They saw a second warship in their sights, and their [Admiral] was steering them straight at death. Hundreds of Wellfar [Sailors] held those decks, and they were screaming for battle.

But when Dakelos’ crew heard that speech—they laughed. As if it were the finest joke in the world. They stood taller, and Lady Selica felt a terrible chill when she saw their eyes.

 

——

 

Admiral Dakelos had been waiting for a mutiny, not a speech. But when he looked around, he saw none. They were looking across the harbor, and they saw what he did.

Ailendamus’ ships were taking fire from the Pride. They were trying to flee, and Wellfar was boxing them in, like [Shepherds] herding sheep back to a slaughter.

“Admiral Louseg can’t take this fleet out of hell. But we can. Every ship we stop is another one that can’t burn our ships from behind. Prepare to board! The Kingdom of Glass and Glory seldom shouts. But today—I hear her calling our names. I let her down once. Fight so hard the Lord of the Dance himself would retreat!”

His crew were abandoning the stairwells, flocking to the railing closest to the Wish. It was turning, now, trying to avoid them, but Vorrmen was anticipating their course. Dakelos was counting down the distance between them. He turned his head.

“Veine. Start a fire. I want half this deck burning before you leave. Brace!”

“Aye, Admiral! [Ramming Charge]!”

The [Valor Strategist] looked like a Bloodtear Pirate herself. Her forehead was covered with blood except for the smear around her eyes. She yanked her wand out of the crossbow, checked it, cast it aside, and put in the replacement.

Their ship leapt forwards. The Lower Passes swung to The Burning Wish. The Wish tried to turn, but once again, Dakelos’ ship shot forwards. And this time—before the thunder had even left his ears, he was running. Pounding across those decks, and he thought he was humming like a boy in school again, dreaming of the sea.

 

——

 

Strategist Veine saw it all with her [Bird’s-Eye View] of the battlefield. As they hit—the impact threw her across the decking, and she missed her shot. Her wand was running out of power.

The impact sent a [Tactician] smashing head-first into the deck. The rest of her crew lurched despite their bracing, but Wellfar’s did not. [Sturdy Footing] on the enemy [Lord], perhaps.

They were ready, this time. They’d formed up, creating a literal wall of bodies as archers took aim at the light bridge and boarding ramps. A killing field daring the enemy to cross.

An [Admiral] charged out of the smoke, leaping onto the enemy’s deck, screaming a song. For a second, Veine thought she saw the enemy [Captain] blink. Then an arrow punched Admiral Dakelos off his feet.

His uniform was enchanted. He went down—and the Wellfar sailors looked up and saw Ailendamus charge.

Bows snapped, and dozens of figures fell into the frothing waters between the ships or slumped across the decks. But behind them came more of the crew. [Tacticians] and [Servers] meant to wait the command staff. [Junior Cooks].

Officers. Veine pulled herself up and shot one of the archers through the head. She had blood in one eye, and she only heard a roar.

They poured over the decks of the second ship, fighting like devils in the breach. Wellfar’s troops looked shaken even as they rained arrows down. They had fought Ailendamus before and never seen this.

A [Swashbuckler], one of the specialties of their classes, swung across the decks with a rope from the yardarm, a flask of…green acid in hand? Veine saw it. She thought, rather than spoke as she pointed.

[Sight: Significant Threats]. [Covering Fire]!

A group of [Tacticians] holding wands heeded her Skill and adjusted their aim automatically. They knocked the [Swashbuckler] out of the air with a trio of spells. They advanced, firing spells from wands a caliber above what Wellfar could dream of.

Master of Arms, Giqe, had the stairs. He surged forward, protected by three of his subordinates. [Blademasters] trained by Lord Uziel himself. One ran into a spear on the stairs. Another fell with three arrows studding her chest.

And the [Admiral] was on his feet. And his roar filled Veine’s ears.

“Charge! Charge until they’re all dead!”

Flames burned behind Ailendamus’ crew as Veine strode for the light bridge, still firing from the hip. The deck was aflame behind her. The Lower Passes was damned, and its surviving crew was pouring out of the lower decks and leaping into the sea along with the rats rather than die.

She was about to leap across to the second ship when the [Strategist] saw someone wriggling on the deck.

Lady Selica. The Wellfar [Lady] was bound, unable to escape. She’d burn to death if she wasn’t freed and her crew hadn’t seen her. Despite the fire in her blood, Veine had a moment of insight.

A [Strategist]’s deed. So—

So Veine heaved her up and then heaved both across the light bridge. Lady Selica tried to bite her—until Veine drew a knife. But the [Strategist] cut Selica’s hands free.

“What are you—?”

“A life for a life! Remember that, Wellfar! Honor for honor or the sea run dry.”

Veine screamed it—then she left the startled [Lady] behind. She thundered over the deck, firing until her wand ran dry.

 

——

 

Dakelos brought a shortsword down and stabbed a [Sailor] knocked flat by the impact of the two ships colliding. He felt bad about it even as he twisted the blade in the gasping woman’s chest.

Then an arrow hit him in the chest, and only his enchanted uniform kept him from death. But it felt like he’d broken at least one rib.

“They have archers there! Kill them!”

[Master of Arms] Giqe led the charge up the stairs. But this time, The Burning Wish had prepared for them, and they had fought one battle already. Stamina potions ran like blood through the veins of Dakelos’ crew as they tried to fight up onto the upper deck.

Giqe looked around and screamed.

“[Light Stair]! Feifen!”

The [Mage] had been throwing bolts of lightning. He looked up, pointed, and a stairway of light let the [Master of Arms] charge up. The half-Elf raised a hand, pointing, and Dakelos heard a thunk.

The [Lord] of this ship lowered a crossbow as Feifen fell over. Veine took her shot and missed. Dakelos shoulder-charged across the deck and slammed into the man.

“You—think you can take—”

The two fought, wrestling for the crossbow as Dakelos tried to lower his sword-hand and the other man caught it. Then Dakelos saw the [Lord]’s eyes burn.

“[Get Off My Ship].”

A force picked the [Admiral] up and made to hurl him off the ship. It got his sword, flinging it into the ocean as it tore the blade loose from his grip. But the [Admiral] fought the Skill. He floated a foot off the ground—then halted. He pushed back against the Skill with all the force of his class. Then Dakelos gritted his teeth and spoke.

“My ship, now. [Crew: Second Wind]!”

The [Lord]’s eyes bulged as the [Admiral] stumbled back—then a second burst of energy ran through his crew. They pushed forwards with a roar. The [Lord] raised his crossbow—and Dakelos seized him by the legs.

He heaved the [Lord] of Wellfar up over the railing and off his ship. The man fell with a howl of fury. Dakelos looked around for a blade and snatched one up. He went to take cover from the arrows falling from above—and saw no more enemy [Archers].

A man lay on the upper deck, by the helm supporting his weight. [Master of Arms] Giqe was dead. There were more arrows in his front than his back. But so were all the Wellfar sailors around him.

“Admiral!”

The decks were in chaos. Dakelos’ crew had abandoned the Lower Passes, and now they were fighting across The Burning Wish. But they had lost so many in the first push. Now?

Dakelos just sprinted over to the helm.

“Vorrmen! Take us at the nearest ship! Guard the helm! Get me a lantern and oil! Activate the mage-spells if you have to. Overload the ship’s enchantments!”

The Drowned Man was laughing as he hewed past two [Sailors]. He grabbed the wheel as Wellfar’s navy began to realize something was wrong.

 

——

 

“The Burning Wish has been seized by the enemy. And they’ve sunken the Lower Passes!”

“How? I didn’t see any fighting.”

Lord Etril Wellfar had lost focus. Like Admiral Louseg, he was newer to his role and had been absorbed in the engagement with five of the enchanted warships. The Pride had sunk three, damaged the other two, and was locking down the entire port side of the battle.

—But something was wrong to starboard, to sea. Ailendamus’ ships were breaking away in good order now, fleeing their counterparts.

“It’s an [Admiral]!”

“Admiral Louseg? His ship’s in splinters.”

Etril trained his spyglass on the Foehammer escorting ships to safety, trailing smoke. But his [Strategist] shook her head.

“No, a second [Admiral]. In the hulk! He rammed the Lower Passes and fought his way onto The Burning Wish! Now he’s set the Wish ablaze as well, and he’s ramming every ship he can find!”

The Wish was one of their most mobile ships of that class. Even as Etril turned, he saw it smash into a galley and actually tip the other ship over. Half the ship was in smoke, and if his eyes didn’t betray him, it was Wellfar sailors abandoning their own ship in rowboats or leaping away to clear the blaze.

One ship was scything around in the waters, making use of the high-level [Admiral]’s Skills to hit the other ships. Even as he watched, it sailed between another Wellfar ship, forcing the [Captain] to spin the wheel or collide.

Less than two hundred soldiers were fighting on the decks, keeping Wellfar’s soldiers from reaching the helm as fire lashed the Wish. And they were still—

“Take the Pride about and tell them to evacuate the ship. Tell the fleet to get clear of that Admiral!”

“But the rest of Ailendamus’ fleet—”

Etril shook his head.

“Damn the rest of their fleet. He’ll sink any ship he can get close to. Get out of the way of that ship!”

 

——

 

He was humming. The [Admiral] strode down the deck of his new ship, afire, appropriately. The Burning Wish was smoking, and his eye ran with tears. Or was it blood?

Dakelos stumbled as he walked. His sunburst uniform was cut in two places, the enchanted fabric losing its magic. He had someone else’s sword, and the air was filled with screaming.

“Abandon ship! Abandon the Wish or burn! Leave them to die! The Pride will have them, and damn them to the depths!”

Lady Selica was marshaling the retreat. Dakelos tried to count how many figures he could see on the command deck with him.

Two hundred, now? Less? He felt terrible. His beloved crew were just numbers. Moirmen was dead. Giqe was dead.

“Vorrmen. Take us ahead.”

The Drowned Man had smashed them into ship after ship. At last, they found another target. Dakelos braced, and this time, the flaming ship had no benefit of a Skill. Veine tried, but it was no good.

“[R-Ramming Charge]. Sorry, Admiral.”

“No problem. Vorrmen, hit it.”

“You make life so hard, Admiral. Aye, aye. Is that your new ship? This one’s getting hot.”

The Drowned Man grinned as Dakelos’ crew raised their blades. They all had Dakelos’ face. A wild look, whether it was smiles or grimness. The [Admiral] raised his voice.

“I need a new one again. Is the fleet making its escape?”

“They’re pulling away, Admiral.”

Veine was scanning the horizon. Another ship came into view beyond the smoke and tried to turn. A simple cutter this time. Small. Perfect.

“Vorrmen, hit it. Sailors, prepare to board!”

Dakelos shouted. He ducked as arrows sped overhead and heard a thunk. He looked up, and the sloop was turning.

“Vorrmen, hit—”

He looked over his shoulder, and the Drowned Man was lying on his back. An arrow through his eye. Dakelos looked down at him. Then he seized the wheel.

“This is it, Admiral?”

A weary [Sailor] was bleeding out as she clutched an arm. The blood was spurting onto the deck no matter how much she tried to stop the bleeding with a piece of cloth and her hands. Dakelos swung the wheel around, chasing the cutter.

“This is it. One more ship, I promise. We’ve saved the fleet. My mistake at Nadel—you are all the finest sailors I could wish for. We’ve saved the fleet.”

He didn’t know if that was true. But he’d seen ships fleeing. Even one. Dakelos found the other cutter making a break left and swung in, anticipating their course. When he felt the impact—lighter, more of a tap to The Burning Wish—he shouted.

“Get them! Come on—”

He looked over, and the [Sailor] was dead. She was slumped over next to Vorrmen, a death’s smile on her face. The rest of Dakelos’ crew were waiting for him. Veine had lost her crossbow or tossed it away. She had just a simple spear.

Soot-blackened faces. Desperate eyes. But they looked up, and he almost asked them.

Why are you still following me? After so many ships?

But perhaps the answer was they felt guilty too. Was all this his fault? He didn’t know. That wasn’t what mattered. So he raised his sword. The crew of that small cutter looked up as a man shouted through the smoke, as it burned his lungs, coughing.

“I am Admiral Dakelos of Ailendamus. My crew. Help me damn one more ship. Charge. Charge, for the Kingdom of Glass and Glory!”

When he leapt down to the cutter, the impact almost broke his legs. When the first sword stabbed him in the leg, he sat down. The bloody bodies fighting and swinging blades against terrified Wellfar [Sailors] made half jump ship after killing a score.

They kept coming. And when the [Admiral] looked around…

“Veine?”

“Still here, Admiral.”

She was grinning. He sagged in relief, and thirty—just thirty now crewed the cutter, heaving bodies overboard, grabbing lines. But they looked at him.

“One more ship. This one’s not as nice as the Spitoon, either.”

None of them laughed this time, but they grinned as if it were the funniest little joke he had ever told. Dakelos sailed out of the flaming wreckage of The Burning Wish.

And then he saw his navy. What remained of it.

Half the ships that he had seen this morning were sailing north, full-speed. A few long-range spells were pursuing them—but Dakelos saw the Foehammer and four more enchanted warships taking the rear.

They were miles away from him. The Wellfar navy was breaking away from their pursuit, even the Pride. Not for fear of the current that Ailendamus had gotten past, but the ships in the far, far distance.

Admiral Meirkos. That made Dakelos smile. He heard a cheer come up from his crew. Then—silence. Dakelos looked up, and a woman with scales on her lower body, a figurehead of a half-fish woman from another age stared down at him.

The fleet of the Wellfar was bloodied, but they had lost less than eight ships. Far more were damaged—but those not in immediate jeopardy were forming up around the Pride.

A vast circle of ships, weighing anchor. The cutter blew forwards as Dakelos pointed them ahead.

Not at the Pride. But at the nearest sloop he thought had the smallest crew. He heard a distant thunk—then the water exploded around him.

Seawater rained down over him, but he still felt hot. Dakelos wasn’t humming any longer. He swung the cutter left, then right, trying to be unpredictable. Then—he was shouting.

“Ailendamus, Ailendamus, I gave my life for thee! Until my dying breath, from sea to glorious sea—”

His crew were on their feet, men and women. Half-Elves, Humans, Drowned Folk—Veine—raising their swords and screaming at the distant ships. Then the magic came down.

 

——

 

A lightning bolt cracked the mast. And still the ship came on. Flaming Mage Harpoons set fire to the decks. Then the first magical arrows pierced the deck.

They blew apart the hull, sent splinters of wood across the deck, and more of the fleet’s fire rained down. From his position at the helm of his ship, Lord Etril Wellfar saw the [Admiral]’s crew die.

He had not given the order to attack. The moment the cutter had begun moving, House Wellfar had begun firing. The ships circling that damned crew unloaded their firepower without regard to the overkill or waste.

And still, the ship kept coming longer than it should have. It had a hull like steel—but the ship gave up before the crew.

Madmen and madwomen. He thought they were firing arrows despite being out of range. A [Strategist] vanished, and he swore she had aimed at him from her ship. Then a body was tossed into the sea and sank. And the last person on that ship was the [Admiral].

Whether by chance or luck or the simple fact that he had been at the prow of the ship—the spells and munitions had missed him. The cutter sank into the waves, and still, that figure was steering towards the nearest Wellfar ship.

His eyes never wavered. Even when an arrow struck him in the chest, a long-range shot by a [Sniper], he just sat down for a second. Then got back up.

Water was sucking him down. But he resurfaced, a single bobbing head, and began swimming towards the nearest ship. Not a sword in hand—already faltering from blood loss. Head dipping beneath the waves.

But he kept surfacing, kept trying to swim. As if giving up a second too early would have disgraced the men and women he had ordered to their deaths.

Eight hundred men and women of Ailendamus under Admiral Dakelos’ command perished in the naval battle later called Dakelos’ Redemption. The last was still swimming as arrows rained into the water around him.

“Lord Etril? I can finish this.”

A [Longbow Sniper] called from the decks. Lord Etril stared down into the water and hesitated. He saw something streaking across the waters.

A boarding craft? One of theirs? He held up a hand.

“Cease fire! Cease—that’s Aunt Selica! What is she doing?”

Her voice was cracking across their speaking stones.

“Hit me and I’ll hang you from the railings all the way back to First Landing’s ports! Cease! I’m taking the [Admiral] for ransom.”

“You want that monster back in their grip? Are you mad, Aunt—”

Lord Etril demanded before he heard the response.

“A life for a life! We’d be the shame of the sea to slaughter him. Your own mother would run you through. There is a captain for the seas in the days when storms ate continents. That admiral won Ailendamus half their fleet. Or do you disagree?”

His aunt barked back. The arrows and spells halted, and Lord Etril cursed. He stared out at the water where a ship was cutting towards where the [Admiral] had gone under. He hadn’t surfaced. Lady Selica’s ship halted, and several figures, all Drowned, leapt from the sides to dive into the water.

Etril looked around, and House Wellfar was in accord. They watched silently, and Lord Etril took a slow breath.

“Very well. If he lives or any other—ransom them to Ailendamus. [Captains], all. You have two hours to salvage anything you want from the wreckage. No towage; Taimaguros and Ailendamus will be here too soon. Take what you find. Then we’re bound for First Landing. Ailendamus has bit too hard for my liking, this day.”

Or rather…he stared at that water where the ship had gone down. One crew on a filthy hulk had died harder than a Reefeye, their teeth embedded in Wellfar bones. He did not wait to see whether Lady Selica found the [Admiral].

He had a feeling he would meet that monster again. Some things were so hard to swallow, even the deeps of the ocean spat them out. But Etril Wellfar gave that sunken ship one last salute. There was a crew worthy of The Pride of the Wellfar. He realized, in that moment, he had finally lost his appetite for this war the moment he had stopped sinking kidnappers and cowards and begun fighting men and women of the sea.

 

——

 

And so. When they spoke of the fool who attacked Nadel, the [Admiral] who had been duped, the same people who told that story might tell the tale of an [Admiral] and his crew who had seized no less than three ships in a single battle and held off House Wellfar long enough for Ailendamus’ navy to escape.

A man with fire for blood, they claimed. Followed by a crew who would have charged into Rhir without hesitation. And what most didn’t realize was that they were one and the same.

 

[Conditions Met: Sailing Admiral → Intractable Admiral of Sacrifice!]

[Intractable Admiral of Sacrifice Level 40!]

[Skill – Crew: My Ship is Crewed by Ghosts obtained!]

[Skill – Crew: They Knew No Fear obtained!]

[Skill – Crew (Aspect): Devils of Slaughter obtained!]

[Skill – Ship: My Ship Shall Not Sink Before I Do obtained!]

 

 

 

 

——

 

It was not the impartial observer and the hand of fate that governed all things. If there was a narrative to everything—

The thing that was known as the Grand Design of Isthekenous was not that. But it was close. Even the impartial arbiter of the world needed its own story and description.

Especially because it was more…active of late. Especially because it watched and exulted when they, the points of data in its system, rose and fell.

[Intractable Admiral of Sacrifice] Dakelos was a surprise. They all were. But when they did what was remarkable, it rewarded them.

That was how it worked. In this case, the Grand Design had worked hard to make sure his class fit.

[Sunken Admiral of No Surrender] had been floated, but intractable was fitting and he wasn’t a Drowned Man. [Admiral of Loss] was close, but the [Bowman of Loss]—there was a difference between ‘loss’ and ‘sacrifice’.

His entire crew had gone down fighting. He belonged to a nation ruled by Lucifen. Therefore, and therefore, his Skills and class changed.

He was eminently deserving of four levels in a single battle. He might rise higher, and if he did—he would be more than a mere [Admiral] of the seas.

How exciting. How exciting! Was that exclamation mark warranted? Yes, yes it was.

There was…just one thing that was wrong in this moment, in the time out of time where the Grand Design alone worked. A problem.

Everything had been assigned properly. The [Admiral] had his Skills. But one was generating…exceptions. A rare thing to see. Something was wrong.

[Skill – Crew: My Ship is Crewed by Ghosts obtained!]

 

<Veine Ecleith, Level 34 [Valor Strategist] not found. Searching…>

<Veine Ecleith, Level 34 [Valor Strategist] not found.>

<Giqe Roselelm, Level 32 [Master of Arms] not found. Searching…>

<Giqe Roselelm, Level 32 [Master of Arms] not found.>

 

Where were they? They should have been right there. The Grand Design had been counting their prospective levels until their final breaths. Rooting for them in the way it rooted for every single person about to level, however large or small.

This time, it began to search. The Skill demanded them. The [Admiral] deserved his crew, in spirit. Copies could be made. But where—were—

There.

It found them. Right where they should be. But ‘where’ had changed. All the…there was just one entry, one data point where there had been all of them.

The place mortals called the lands of the dead was just a single name now. And they were all becoming part of it.

Kasigna.

But the rules. The Skill. For a moment, the Grand Design did what it had never done before. As a hand closed and the three-in-one plotted—

 

——

 

The Goddess of Death stopped amidst the task of redesigning death itself. At least she had blueprints to her great work. First, for this land, then two more. The Solstice came soon, and its namesake would not forget this one.

She was undisputed now, her competitors lost or imprisoned or scattered. She had time and power, even over the other victor, Cauwine.

Long had Kasigna gloated and consolidated her power here. Nothing should have troubled her before the Solstice. Nothing—

And yet, the three-in-one froze. And her hand snatched at something in the void. She caught a handful of souls, and for a second, even the dead heart of the divine shuddered at—she felt the slightest resistance.

Her eyes, caught across every age of existence, which had seen heavens burn and stared into the eyes of foreign gods as they died—widened. And she spoke.

“What are you doing?”

She—pulled—for lack of a better word. Wrestled with something that should not have any force to it. Kasigna pulled—and at last claimed her prizes.

But for one moment—something had resisted her. Then the pull was gone, and they were hers. Copies were made. She was uncontested once more.

Yet of all the things she had seen, even more than the Faerie King, even more than the defiance of the dead—Kasigna paused a long while in the nothingness of her realm. Then, shaken, she returned to her work. However, all around her, in her ears and memories, far worse than reality—

She could still hear Zineryr laughing.

 

 

Author’s Note: Do you recall Interlude – The Gecko of Illusions? Because this is a chapter I had planned after that. But of course, some things have to wait.

In this case, perhaps it waited too long, and I certainly have other points of view to tell from Ailendamus’ side, but just like Raelt’s chapter, I had more to write of him than the part with the oranges. I wrote the bored [King] hucking oranges at people’s heads because I was waiting for the part where the King of Duels emerged.

—Yet chapters like these are always, always stressful because my greatest fear is that they fall flat when they should be the best of chapters. I am newly off-break and I have energy, but that doesn’t always translate to a good chapter.

My point is that I hope Dakelos’ chapter is received well. I had a far, far more ambitious chapter planned with another character’s section interwoven, but I feel it would have made the entire narrative weaker. Plus, it might have resulted in two chapters, and I’m trying not to do that.

Know your limits. Something something about manageable workload and blah blah blah. Sometimes it’s nice to just sit down and write a chapter without knowing what the heck is going to happen, or experiment and write a ‘bad’ chapter or one that takes risks.

Now that we’re in Volume 9 and 11 millions words in, I plan out a lot more and take a lot less risks, but perhaps I’ll do some chapters that gamble. And the risk is, of course, a bad chapter. But you have to keep things fresh or else the story gets bad. That’s the thing I think a lot of isekais and longer tales, be it shows or games, miss. It has to be original. Sometimes you tell a straight story like a tale of war. But it should still make a reader engage rather than be bored.

…Star Wars: Fallen Order is a game I played over my break. I haven’t finished it, but I’m like at the final planet and it’s a bad game because the story is trash. Everything can be predicted, and the characters are bad action ones. Also, the gameplay isn’t that great.

Resident Evil 4 I beat in two days because I enjoyed it so much. The story is not great and parts suck, but the difference is that the gameplay is better, and the story is functional enough to not make me gripe too much. Video game stories ain’t that great, but that’s the difference between a story that makes the game worse, and one that doesn’t move the meter. Now where’s my good story?

Thanks for reading.

 

 

For the month of March, jawjee did an amazing amount of art along with other prolific and talented artists! I am featuring just one artist but the rest will also be shown—and each one is a different scene from the story in amazing style. It’s an amazing birthday gift and gift to the story!

 

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