This was just a moment in time after the showdown between Archmage Valeterisa, Archmage Amerys, and Lord Mireden.
A day when the city on the Floodplains celebrated its [Spearmaster].
——
It was the custom of Spearmaster Lulv of Manus, after any new [Spearmaster] was granted the title or class, to make inquiries about them. He had all the power and reach of Manus behind him; aside from no-name Drake cities in the middle of nowhere or the Gnoll tribes, there probably was not a [Spearmaster] in Izril’s south he could not name.
The Gnoll kept tabs on all promising [Spearmasters], but when one was said to have advanced to the right level—Level 40 or especially Level 50—he would do everything in his power to arrange a meeting, or at least a conversation with said [Spearmaster].
In Relc’s case, it was highly unlikely that Lulv would be faced with a warm welcome in Liscor, even if he could be spared. Plus, Archmage Valeterisa’s presence meant Lulv couldn’t just storm in and sort out the consequences afterwards.
So he sent [Messages] and paced around the inner keep until even Dragonspeaker Luciva summoned him for being disruptive.
First Rafaema became a recluse and now Lulv. What were they, children in boot camp? She had the distinct impression the Gnoll was remembering the same thing as he stood to attention before her desk.
“Lulv. Just what has you so anxious about the Gecko?”
Luciva didn’t know everything about Lulv. He was a work colleague, and his own class’ intricacies were listed, but everyone had secrets, even in Manus. Lulv growled as he whirled his new spear distractedly. It left an arc of electricity in the air that made her scales tingle and would make your fur stand on end if you were a Gnoll—except for Lulv, obviously, so everyone hated it but him.
He’d had a bad few months. First he lost his Adamantium spear. Then he had failed to protect Rafaema, had to deal with an obstreperous old Dragonlord—he usually didn’t complain, but this was a lot of shit assignments, even for him.
“I just want to know what that trick was. What that…class he got was.”
“Lulv, relax. You outlevel him. Even if he’s a dual-classed [Watch Sergeant]/[Spearmaster]. If you two had a rematch, I’m sure it’d go down differently.”
This was the wrong thing to say. Lulv bristled.
“He caught me off-guard once and drew me into a brawl at the Meeting of Tribes. I’ve levelled since then.”
“Yes, yes. And you’ll be first to Level 50 since you’re active and he’s not.”
Unless fighting one of the King of Destruction’s Seven every few months counterlevels you more than serving in the army. Luciva coughed a bit of static onto her fist, and Lulv’s glower deepened. A knock at the door spared Luciva from having to try to boost morale further. Lulv snatched the [Message] addressed to him and read.
The truth of Spearmaster Lulv’s discomfort was not a great secret. It was just that Luciva, as a [General], didn’t quite…understand what a [Spearmaster] was. She often conflated the class with the title of ‘Spearmaster’ that was awarded to those who held the rank. And it often overlapped, but if you knew the path that Lulv and Relc and many others walked, you would understand Lulv’s anxieties.
Maybe if you wrote it down it’d make sense. Consider Relc’s latest levelup. Consider…formatting.
Relc Grasstongue, the Gecko of Liscor. [Spearmaster: The Spear of Silence].
Lulv Manushir, Spearmaster-General of Manus. [Spearmaster of the Wolf].
It was the colon. Or rather, lack of it. They both had a ‘the’ in their classes, but one sounded different than the other. It mattered, and Lulv knew it. He tore up the missive as Luciva waited patiently. She glared at the confetti on her carpet.
“A bad reply, Lulv?”
“Grr. Some claptrap from—who wrote this? Archmage Valeterisa? It’s like she’s high on Dreamleaf.”
“Oh, that’s her ‘automatic reply mode’ or some such. We get it all the time when she’s not paying attention.”
The Gnoll paced back and forth across the carpet as Luciva wondered if it was time for a brunch break.
“Lulv, I’m aware there are variations in the [Spearmaster] class. I’ve seen you tear a company apart. Where’s this anxiety coming from?”
“I don’t know what he did! I keep replaying the scrying orb, but I don’t know what he cut! It’s like that bastard from Pomle.”
“…Salii?”
“Xil! Greatest [Spearmaster] of our lifetimes! I met him once, you know. When he was younger. He came to Izril to kick the tails off everyone, and then he flew back to Chandrar to ‘retire’. [Peerless Spearmaster].”
“Sounds like he didn’t have a class much different from yours.”
Lulv growled louder.
“He lied. I know he was a spear of something. I wrote him letters—only one in ten even reached Pomle! He kept telling me that if ‘I didn’t know, I didn’t know’. It’s something, and that idiot found it first!”
He stabbed a claw at the orb that Luciva had which she’d paused on replaying whatever Relc had done to the waters. Luciva exhaled.
“Ah. This is like [Swordmasters], isn’t it? Cutting the unseen. Crossing the blade’s horizon…”
She’d read all the manuals that Manus’ [Swordmasters] had left behind, of course. More than one above Level 50 had left instructions on how to become truly skilled with the blade. But it turned into weird theory and philosophy after a certain point. Lulv threw himself into a chair, glaring at Relc. The Gnoll grumbled.
“It’s nothing fancy. They’re just trying to teach you how to cut something beyond what your Skills can reach. All the bad poetry, all the analogies just mean that. But how did he do it?”
Lulv had been on this particular quest for over ten years. Small wonder Relc had rattled him. The same class they might be, but the Gecko had set foot onto a path that Lulv couldn’t see. Understanding this, Luciva coughed into one fist.
“Level 50 doesn’t require one to cut through reality in a special way, Lulv. Take it from me. Keep searching, by all means, but if you wear a hole through the floor or keep upsetting the orderlies, I am going to order you to take it out on the practice courts. A private practice court.”
He jerked to grudging attention and nodded. She sighed as he stood. Luciva didn’t often have to deal with people in this context. She gave orders and consulted with [Generals]. Wiping their butts for them was not in her skillset.
From the way Lulv stalked off, spear in hand, she bet they’d have several practice dummies that would need replacing soon. She leaned back in her chair when he was gone. Her eyes flicked to the Gecko of Liscor taking potshots at the Calm Flower of the Battlefield.
“We should make a better offer on recruiting him, even if the chances are low.”
After a second, Luciva winced as she heard Lulv kick a wall down the hallway.
Damn Gnoll ears.
——
One of the keys to achieving what Relc had, finding the path of true mastery that Xil and so many others had walked, the same road that Zeladona herself would have recognized in him, was simple:
Grace. It was easy to take a step onto that road by accident. Once you were there, you would find it easier to come back again and again. Forgetting that feeling or what you’d done…impossible.
If you knew what to look for, you could do it again with practice. It was that first step from the mundane to the wondrous that was so impossible. Forcing it made it far, far harder.
Lulv knew that. But the knowing of it just made his task harder. There was such a thing as knowing too much versus someone who just lived and thought about a lesson he’d once received and saw it in everything he did. Like fishing.
Really, if Relc had gotten Lulv’s letter and taken pity on the Gnoll [Spearmaster], his best advice might have been for Lulv to get a hobby for himself. If he’d been really philosophical, he might have told Lulv that the route forwards wasn’t a straight line, but finding the path through many things that seemed unrelated, that the step into true mastery was only unearthed by being a more complete person who revealed the truth of the spear through all they did and saw that was not wielding the spear.
However, he only had that thought after waking up in the middle of the night, and he was so distracted and sleepy that he forgot it while going to the outhouse to pee.
But if the Drake himself didn’t quite know how to explain what he’d done, he was still an inspiration to those who had seen him. To anyone who truly wanted to see what the spear could show them, he had done it. They recognized it and celebrated him.
——
Wing Commander Embria, for instance, had to call in sick the day after Relc’s achievements for the first time in her entire career.
She who had fought while sick with Feverdawn Flu and Specklescale—both incidents of which had gotten members of her squad sick and had her confined to bedrest afterwards—had to beg off duty in Liscor’s 2nd Army.
Mostly because she was so hungover and had partied so hard with 4th Company that she had passed out at 5 AM. With a huge smile on her face. So had a lot of 4th Company—what else could you say? He was a ‘traitor’ who’d quit for Liscor, but some had known him, or heard of him.
And no one had expected Relc to hit Level 40, much less do what he’d done. He was, well…just Relc.
A Relc Relc’d at his best Relc when he was just a Relc, not Relcing for attention. In a sense, Relc could out-Relc himself by getting in his own head about the Relc he was trying to be.
Did that make sense? It did to Embria. And once again, she found home pulling her back more than, well, the army. Liscor had more big things going on. The army always had action, but it was a lot of counting coins, mercenary work. It didn’t grow with the city anymore, even with the damn Antinium.
The army…sometimes, these days, she hated to admit it, but she thought the other Wing Commanders were seeing her point. It wasn’t just that the Antinium weren’t that bad—crazy, treacherous though that was to say!
…It was just that Liscor’s 2nd Army had a bit more material, a bit more fresh troops, and didn’t have to scrounge armor after battles for the [Field Smiths]. Far fewer officers, far fewer levels—but they’d spared 4th, 11th, 6th, and 9th companies. Ostensibly to defend home, but Embria wondered.
Her pay was never late in 2nd Army. It was pretty much a given you were four months behind in her army. Olesm had shot down the idea when she’d suggested holding pay back.
‘Why would we do it when we’re so close to Liscor? It works if we’re on campaign and fear desertion.’ To which she’d been about to reply before she realized he was right, they didn’t fear desertion. Which begged the question…
How was Liscor’s original, first army, doing if you were able to take an objective look at it?
——
Liscor’s 1st Army had a problem. One it did not expect.
It was not just that they had cut ties with their home city, that they had not gone home in over ten years, and that they were more roving wanderers than an army with a home.
It was not just that they had to rely on recruits from any city they passed by, that they had no permanent supply lines to count on, and as such, fought to keep their numbers stable.
It was not just that the troops claimed to have seen General Sserys rise from the dead in the body of one of the most hated Humans in the world—at least in High Command’s eyes—and there was tension in the ranks about whether or not they were in the right place.
It was not just that their glory days lay behind them, that they were not the army that General Sserys had used to turn the Black Tide back with.
These things were true. They had been true the moment Sserys died. What you forgot if you were young was that Liscor’s army had always been rough-and-tumble. It had been well-known, even famous, but hardly legendary. It had won and lost under General Sserys; the Antinium Wars were where they’d shone.
With recruits from across Izril and the support of all the desperate Walled Cities, Liscor’s Army had been in a golden era they had never reclaimed despite their attempts. They had [Generals]. They had a High Command. But they didn’t have the same levels, the same talent as back then.
Many of their best had gone back to their cities. Or, in some cases like Relc’s, just left or died before hitting their potential.
Relc. The Gecko’s triumphs were like a knife to the kidneys of Liscor’s Army, a sore reminder of what they’d lost. More than that, proof that to thrive, to reach his level, you should quit the army. That he had not been wrong.
More could be said of Liscor’s Army, but their great problem was this: of late, Liscor had begun sending back the money the army won for it every year.
Money was the obsession of Liscor’s Army. High Command squeezed every copper coin it could out of contracts. They were always picking up work, saving, grinding their foes and each other for enough gold to send to Liscor. Because, up until last year, they’d been a core part of Liscor’s economy.
It was their leverage over the Council. It was support for a city cut off economically (again, until now) for most of the year from the south and even the north when it rained. It was pride and purpose. And it was damn hard.
Even for a successful mercenary army, do you know how hard it was to save ten thousand gold pieces? Let alone enough for a city’s budget? It required sacrifices, keeping soldiers’ pay until they threatened to riot, and it made the army push to meet their goals.
This year…Liscor had not only not taken the money, they’d sent it back.
Chaos.
High Command didn’t know what to do. They were faced with the mutual dilemmas of losing control over Liscor—realizing Liscor didn’t need them—and having gold for themselves. Did they give the [Soldiers] a raise? Pay for the new armor each company needed? Run recruiting drives? In service of what, now?
The threat of having to earn more gold had kept Liscor’s Army going for ten years. Without that pressure, they might fall apart. Ancestors, one of the reasons why sending 4th Company, and then three more companies to reinforce Liscor, hadn’t been so bad was because it saved them from having to pay for the expensive Skywalkers with their cavalry and their [Mages] so they could cast [Light Bridge] spells!
Now what?
What did they do? Half of High Command was a mind to march back once the Floodplains cleared and remind Liscor what they owed. The other half was seeing this as a moment to really expand, to get back to the glory days Sserys had reminded them of. But all sides could agree: their city was damned. They were embracing Humans, Antinium, the north!
So why weren’t they failing? Surely, it was a matter of time. If the army hung on one more year, Liscor would collapse and they’d be needed. Surely…that Gecko had to settle for some middle-aged Human woman with grey hair. Even if she was a—an Archmage.
They were doing great. Just fine. No one liked it when Liscor was under attack or had another disaster. The Goblin King? Every unit had been refusing to march unless it was north. But—
But—High Command were waiting, just like everyone else. Waiting. They cared about their home. They were just waiting for home to call for them, their army. To ring those bells and beg for their saviors, just like with Az’kerash and the Black Tide. But that plea never came. At least, in the right way.
When the moment came and they returned, the Free Antinium had to go. That was obvious. Anything less than that meant it wasn’t time. If Liscor’s army showed up, fought and died for home, and then they were sent on their way with a pat on the tail and the Antinium remained, or worse, they bled and the Antinium were in a position to take over completely…
That’s why some in the High Command had seen Tyrion Veltras’ army as an…opportunity. Not that they’d said as much to the troops, who were begging to return.
Send a company, find a contract that locked them in, and think.
The [Lord] was a bastard, and he’d been worse when his wife was alive, a real threat to Liscor, but he didn’t execute cities wholesale. There’d be some casualties when he took the gates and walls, but minimal. Say he took Liscor. What then?
The Free Antinium might clash with the north. In the ensuing bloodbath, that was the moment. So they’d waited. And hoped—and fate had twisted things again, so their salvation of Liscor, Liscor’s salvation from their madness, was thwarted.
By some damn Goblins fighting each other and an [Innkeeper]. It was a curse. That was the rumor that was quashed down by the brass. But in truth, Liscor’s army was just upset because Olesm, the Council, the citizens, weren’t coming back to them and begging them, specifically, for aid. Instead, it was Pallass, all of the south.
It was like they’d been forgotten. And that notion, that realization, was like a wound that festered in the mind.
It couldn’t be. Not us. Not after all we’ve done for them.
We weren’t wrong. It’s not our faults.
What are you doing?
Hold on, hold on…if they held on, they’d have their moment. The perfect moment when things were lined up for them to return and set all things to right. Just hold on a bit longer.
As for Relc, forget about him. It was just temporary, a fluke. Just…
——-
A moment in the sun.
The clouds broke and revealed the blue skies above as the Drake shaded his eyes. The rains ceased pouring down on the magical shields hovering overhead, and he couldn’t hear anything over the cheering.
His mouth was open in a classically dumbstruck expression as he stood before the crowds, crowds of people cheering him and Valeterisa. Filling Shivertail Plaza. A parade being thrown for their Gecko of Liscor and the Archmage of Izril.
It wasn’t all about him. There were banners of Lord Mireden facing down the Archmage of Lightning flying from some buildings, and Valeterisa lifting Fissival overhead—he didn’t even have a doll on sale in the stands.
Relc was fine with that. But he was still part of this celebration.
The suspiciously well-made banners certainly were doing a lot for Valeterisa and Lord Mireden’s reputations. He’d gone through the city earlier this morning before giving a speech for his district on what he intended to do for Liscor.
Relc had a feeling that Mireden might win the elections. But he wasn’t a gambling man except when he’d had a few drinks, and only for coppers. After all, he had a kid an Archmage to support.
Valeterisa was so overwhelmed by the noise that she instantly floated back through the [Door of Portals] and tried to hide in the inn. But even there, Relc was getting more cheering than he thought he really deserved.
“Relc, Relc, Relc!”
Mrsha and Nanette chanted as they banged on the breakfast table. Well, Nanette chanted for the two of them. And Lyonette had been singing that song about flying Archmages—
“Hey, it’s like I’m popular or something! You throw one spear at an Archmage and everyone wants to be your friend or something!”
Relc joked weakly, and Asgra raised a water pitcher to huck at Valeterisa just in case it was true. But it was Elia Arcsinger who actually made the most sense in the moment. She planted herself in front of Valeterisa and spoke.
“You have to go out and let them celebrate you. Or they’ll think you’re too good for their feelings.”
“Most of the battle was me being hit by lightning bolts! I dislike loud sounds and socializing with people who like me prior to me even meeting them!”
Valeterisa snapped back, but Elia just fixed her with that cool, professional gaze of one of the world’s most famous adventurers.
“Better that they like you than resent you. They came out in the rain for you; just smile and wave. Or cast a few spells. That’s all they want. Answer their expectations as best you can. They’ll get tired after a few days.”
Because it was, well, Elia Arcsinger, Relc and Valeterisa glanced at each other. Elia chewed on her words, then added—
“And enjoy it. You earned it.”
She nodded at them and strode away. Calescent gave her a thumbs up, and she pretended not to notice as she folded her arms and leaned against one wall. So cool. So professional.
“I suppose I could create a [Silence] spell and work on new spellcasting theories…and it would be good advertising for the academy. But where did all the dolls of me come from? I am objectionably proportioned.”
Valeterisa was actually calmer than Relc about all of this. She, at least, had already done something like this in raising Fissival into the skies, and she had a lifetime of being an Archmage. He froze up when he saw the crowds again.
“Relc! Relc! Relc!”
They were chanting his name! People he knew, like the elderly woman who sometimes gave him old sandwiches on Market Street! And his buddies in the Watch!
And worse…
“Aha! There’s our heroes of the day! I was about to get worried!”
Lism. He had a too-large smile as he posed with the duo, raising his claws in a ‘L’ sign.
“Lism and the current Council! Vote for us! Sending the King of Destruction packing since the Winter Solstice! Where’s our music?”
Oh, dead gods, there was a marching band. And a choir, who began playing Liscor’s newly-written anthem.
“Oh~ say what stands upon those many hills,
Doth thou city stand amidst the rains?
It does, oh Liscor o’er valleys bloom,
As Rock Crabs scuttle these very Flood-Plaaaains~”
After two more verses, even the choir stopped singing to Relc’s eternal relief. The anthem…needed work.
At this point, Relc was thinking that Valeterisa’s approach was the right one; he thought she might have [Blinded] herself, and she had certainly deafened herself to the noise.
“Lism, this is a bit much—”
“What? I can’t hear you! Earplugs! Where’s your spear?”
“It blew up!”
Relc was still mad about that, actually. He knew with his new class he could get a new spear, but he’d been hunting around for a piece of his old spear so he could bury or cremate it or something. It had saved his life more than anything…Lism stared blankly at Relc.
“We’ll get you a spare, then! Someone get a spear!”
“For what? Am I on duty?”
“No, the exhibition, of course! You got my [Message], right? I got a very strange response from Archmage Valeterisa—”
Lism saw Relc’s face and shouted happily.
“Don’t worry! Just show off! Do a few spear dances and wow us! You hit Level 40, right? We’ll broadcast it live!”
He had called it with the King of Destruction and selling water to a certain Garuda. But all things considered, Lism’s instincts weren’t always perfect.
——
Part of it was Mrsha’s fault, just once. She had done her best, but the girl slipped up. It wasn’t just her fault—it was Nanette’s too!
Elirr had run into the inn that morning, demanding to know how they were supposed to ‘showcase Relc’s talents’. Valeterisa was easy; she could do magic, but it was a good idea to let Relc show off, right? Right?
He might have been a tad bit frantic, and this sounded quite innocent. So the two girls had perked up. They had tons of great ideas.
“Mrsha, what if he did that thing, like in the World’s Eye Theatre? He could do, like, a training exhibition. With poles he jumps on and a spear—”
Mrsha had nodded vigorously. After all, it was Relc, right? Elirr had read desperately as he cribbed notes.
“Show off spear skills…we’ll need a stage. Right, right…throw rocks at him?”
So he can block them all cool like.
“Ah, I see. And he could do a spear dance—perfect! Plus, we could let him cut water or whatever he did—maybe have him hit a few targets with his spear?”
“Don’t forget the theme song.”
Nanette added seriously, and Mrsha nodded. A training montage had to have a good song. And wouldn’t you know it, but they had a great one from this movie they liked…
——
The moment he heard the music come on as he stood in the wide platform space with a flashy golden spear in hand, Relc knew who to blame.
He glared at the two girls waving in the sea of faces around him. Then he whirled his spear and tried to grin.
“Uh—hey! I’m the Spear of Silence! Liscor’s spearmaster!”
His voice provoked a cheer, again, before a bunch of volunteers with rocks raised them. Relc stared blankly at the rocks. Then at the obstacle course.
What the heck am I doing?
He began to get into it, though, when the first shower of rocks came his way. The Drake’s spear whirled automatically as he cursed; the rocks went flying, and the audience gasped.
Wait, he could actually deflect rocks? Was this their Relc, the bored Senior Guard? The Drake stopped, blinked, and then posed.
“Yeah! That’s Relc-style!”
He whirled the spear one-handed in a circle, then let the butt thunk against one shoulder as he posed like that movie that Mrsha liked so much. He executed a flying jump kick, balanced on the spear, and began his spear dances.
The audience watched, cheering, as the Drake showed off his Skills on the stage, and after six minutes, the cheering had died down. And they realized the same thing Lism did, watching from the side.
This sucked.
Oh, some things looked cool, like when Relc ‘froze’ a sheet of water like glass. People would have loved to get up and touch it or ask Relc what he was doing, but it didn’t fit the stage. In a very real sense, it didn’t fit Relc.
When Relc was showing off, being his most generic Relc to anyone who didn’t know Relc, he came across as the Relc that you didn’t want to Relc with. It was when he was accidentally his most Relc that the inner Relc came out. And it was the accidental Relc they’d seen yesterday, not this Relc-on-display.
To his credit, the Drake seemed to realize it too, because after seven minutes of breaking clay pots on stage and firing off his Skills, he planted his spear on the platform, cast around, and turned to Lism with a huge smile.
“I’m done.”
“Er—what?”
Lism had budgeted thirty minutes for this with plans to run into an hour! And again, he was a fool, a damned fool.
Seven minutes? Most [Spearmasters] didn’t have enough Skills to chain into a performance for seven minutes; they’d fight an entire duel in less time in most cases! Relc was no [Performer]; he was the Gecko of Liscor. His spear moves were expedient, not flashy. And he was not comfortable.
Relc was about to hop off the platform and find Valeterisa. He only hesitated when he saw the disappointed expressions of some people holding spears, toys, or practice spears.
“Aw, Ancestors, Lism. What are you doing? I’m not the person you should be celebrating, and I can’t make spear training seem fun! It’s all bruises, blisters, and tears if you stab yourself in the nuts!”
He growled at Lism, genuinely annoyed. The Councilmember put up his claws.
“We’re doing this for you, Relc! This is your moment!”
“I’m just a Senior Guard—a Watch Sergeant! I’m not whatever you think deserves this!”
Relc was still audible due to the [Loudness] spell, and the audience suddenly saw the Gecko of Liscor arguing with Councilmember Lism. Not a good look.
Salvation from this circumstance came to Lism as he prayed for help. Not that he was one of those weird Antinium—he heard a group cheering, who hadn’t stopped even when Relc had lost momentum.
“Relc! Go Relc! Whooo!”
The enthusiastic group were people who actually knew Relc as more than a [Guardsman]. Relc turned and grinned as he spotted Hickery, Vok, and—
“Hey, my spear-kids! Look!”
They’d shown up, of course. All the kids who were drawn to Relc’s dawn classes, holding their practice spears and shouting their lungs out. Relc turned to Lism.
“I’m going to go talk to them. You do election stuff, how about that? We all win.”
Lism cast a glance at the crowd who’d come here for Relc, and he had a premonition of how well doing a stump speech would go. As Relc turned, the desperate mind of the [Shopkeeper]-turned-[Councilmember] worked, and Lism had a genius idea.
“Well, if you’re done…bring them up, and let’s see what you’ve taught them!”
Relc blinked—then cast his gaze over the crowd. He hesitated, and then his face lit up. Because that?
That was a Relc-worthy idea.
——
Lessons from the Gecko of Liscor. No, no, spear mastery showcased by Relc Grasstongue’s apprentices!
Archmage Valeterisa was done with her exhibition—she’d fired eight spells off in quick succession, advertised Kaalblades from the House of El, mentioned her academy, and flown off. So the crowds of people who’d come to Liscor for fun and celebrations were set adrift.
Anama, the Drake Sootling from Pallass, was one of thousands of visitors. When she heard about the [Spearmaster]’s exhibition, she thought it sounded lame, but she had nothing else to do besides wander the city, so why not?
That was how she found the huge platform filled with more than four dozen students of Relc holding practice spears. Anama almost laughed at one of the front-rank students; she looked like she wasn’t even ten! And there was a junior [Guardsman] next to her…
Hickery and Vok, Relc’s students from Cellidel, were trembling with excitement and nerves. After all, they were on the stand in front of the crowd, and Relc was watching from the sides.
The Gecko of Liscor couldn’t be happier. He was genuinely beaming now. And he had a stone in his hand.
The Relc methods of training were gentler than the Jelaqua school of levelling, but there were overlaps.
“Hey, Hickery, last chance to back out! No? Alright, let ‘em have it!”
The shower of stones tossed onto the stage at the Gnoll girl standing in the center of the group was less motivated than when they’d chucked the stones at Relc. Anama gasped.
That girl was going to get stoned—this was going to be hilarious!
Then she saw Hickery’s stick blur even as the girl’s eyes widened with panic. The clack of stick meeting stone was like an avalanche, and then—the rocks were flying everywhere!
“Whoa! Careful—”
One of the rocks nearly brained Anama in the crowd! Relc caught one of the pebbles with a grin.
“Think fast, kid!”
He sidearmed the stone at Hickery so hard that this time, Anama barely saw it. Lism blanched, and Hickery blocked—the stone hit her staff dead-center, and she skidded back.
“Relc! You could have killed me!”
“Nah! You can block pillows just fine, so I knew you’d be okay. Wait, are your parents here?”
Relc glanced around, and Hickery’s parents were indeed there, open-mouthed. They knew that Hickery had talent, and she showed up and practiced the spear-training classes more than anything else, but seeing their girl block a storm of stones?
Lism’s mouth was just as gaping.
“That’s a [Spearmaster] in the making. Tekshia won’t be the last female [Spearmaster] of this city—Relc! Can all your students do that?”
“Hickery’s one of the best. Vok, you want a go?”
“No!”
Sadly, the crowd was cheering, and the nervous [Junior Guard] had to take a turn. He was wearing his armor, which was good because he was hit—but his defensive spear whirl still caught quite a few stones! And, Anama realized—all of Relc’s students were kids!
Oh, there were older [Guards] and spear-users that Relc knew on the sides, but he had his students show off a few basic moves he’d taught them.
Lunge and stab.
Backstep slash.
Quick jab and parry.
These were not hard moves. And Relc himself could demonstrate each move with an aplomb that none of them could match, but here was the thing that Lism was learning: it looked way better to see a group of people moving in concert than one expert alone.
There was some power to the unity, the sense of cohesion of seeing a group of fifty strong led by Relc stabbing the air. Whirling the spear to strike left. Executing a jump-kick—okay, half of them failed that, but they were laughing.
The air was relaxed. Relc was calling people up.
“Hey, we’ve got lots of practice spears! Anyone want to learn a spear move? It’s not just for kids! Tekshia said it was great for her health!”
“No thanks! I don’t want to be an adventurer that bad!”
Someone shouted as Anama hesitated, wondering if she…? She lowered her hand, remembering she was a Sootling. But Relc just called back at the heckler.
“Who said it’s for fighting? It could just be exercise or self-defense! C’mon, kids. Let’s show them an intermediate spear dance, then let’s see if you can do this weird cut.”
He and six other students stepped forwards and whirled their spears in synchronization. The delighted expression on Hickery’s face as she pivoted and stabbed in concert with Relc sold Anama.
The shy Sootling tried to cover her face, but Relc barely gave her a second glance as over a hundred people got on stage and he pivoted to show them the first move. When everyone managed the first stab and the ‘hah!’ he told them to shout because it sounded cool—
Anama felt something. She swung the spear, building up a sweat in the temporary reprieve from the rains. When she saw the Gecko grinning and giving them a thumbs up, she wondered. Maybe she could learn to use the spear. It felt…easy with him teaching. Or a sword?
——
That was the magic of Relc when the Relcening occurred at its finest. He could not perform before a city.
But he could teach a parade how to swing a spear. It seemed even he didn’t know that until now.
Valeterisa was watching Relc and sighing as she rested her chin in her hands. Any more lovestruck and Jelaqua wouldn’t be surprised if little pink hearts floated off of her.
“He’d have made a great [Mercenary Captain] back home. But you know, you don’t have to be that lovey-dovey in public. It’s sort of embarrassing.”
She covered her mouth to whisper to Valeterisa as they stood and admired the Gecko from afar. The Archmage blinked at Jelaqua and frowned. She opened her mouth, but even her many [Parallel Thoughts] couldn’t quite articulate how hypocritical that sounded.
The brief window of daylight ended abruptly, and the shower of rains returning put an end to Relc’s lessons. He ran with the rest of the crowd, laughing. And there went the Gecko of Liscor. As Tekshia Shivertail might have said, if she could see it, it was decently done.
Rather than being an unapproachable figure who was treated like a lesson or danger, he was still just Relc. Unlike Xil, he would not need to flee his homeland to live alone, attracting only those who wanted to obtain the heights of mastery or be a target for glory-seekers.
Just Relc. He raised the spear overhead as he shouted.
“Alright! Let’s get to The W—to Barehoof Kitchens for some snacks and milkshakes! Councilmember Lism’s buying!”
[Trusted Sergeant of the Watch Level 26!]
[Synergy Skill: Spearmaster – Advanced Spear Training Obtained!]
——
While others celebrated and lived their lives on land, so often they forgot the sea. A distant continent all of its own, the vastest, so wide and sprawling that far from shore, events could take place that the landfolk never dreamed of.
Such as—
The storm.
Magical Storm Thiborkilj had neither relented nor stopped since it had come howling down off Cenidau’s coast. But it had not come for any continent; instead it had kept tearing across the sea, gaining in momentum, grounding all sea traffic in its wake.
A disruption for commerce. An inconvenience for those who wondered where their delivery of sugar or Terandrian plums was.
For anyone caught up in the storm, fleeing it, it was a nightmare. The winds did not stop howling. They tore around in a vortex until the screaming siren became second-nature. The colorful rain lashed sky and ground until you couldn’t tell which way was up or down, until the seas heaved and a wall of water was sent upwards.
For any ship caught in Thiborkilj itself…only the true sailors of the sea were as yet alive. Crews grimly hunkering in place, bailing water, [Captains] fighting to keep their vessels afloat for if they capsized they died.
How long they had fought, they did not know. But even the greatest of storms could not last forever. And Thiborkilj was no legendary storm to last a century. The maelstrom slackened, and there it was.
A moment in the sun. A break in the rains. For a minute, like the Gecko of Liscor, the Drowned Man caught sight of the sun.
Orange rain lashed against his skin. Lightning flashed down, too-yellow, and he felt the hum of magic in his molars. As he opened his mouth, it condensed, mana so rich it was becoming physical.
“Hang on! I can see the sun—!”
Did they even hear him? The Dorhmin boy, Irrel, and the half-Elf girl, Tissl, were clinging to the railings, lashed to them. Not below; there was no safety there. If this ship went down, at least they wouldn’t be trapped inside.
Another wave lifted them up, and the Drowned Man felt his stomach lurch, and he braced—the other two did likewise. If Tissl was no seawoman before now, then her first magical storm was a rite of passage for [Storm Sailors].
Crash. The roaring of waters as the enchanted ship desperately righted, and Seborn dragged the wheel to counter the listing ship. Water burst over his legs, and it was purple—was it his eyes or the magic?
The colors of magic were raining down around him as the magical storm sprayed them once more with water and tried to drag them down. The worst part was—it wasn’t just cold.
Seborn was cold, chilled, but the waters ranged from boiling hot to icy at times. It felt like a dream. If he lost focus, the Drowned Man knew he’d begin to hallucinate. They’d been days without sleep, and this was the most treacherous moment—when you could think this was all some dream as your senses betrayed you.
“Tissl? Are you hanging in there? Tissl?”
He turned his head, and the half-Elven girl was blinking. Something was racing up her hands. It looked like a line of glowing ants…Seborn blinked, but the apparition didn’t.
Magic. Her armor was attracting it. The ancient half-Elf’s gear was collecting green sparks of mana up her arms. The girl reached for them dreamily.
“Tissl! Hold on!”
She was fumbling at her gauntlets, forgetting to hold onto the railings.
“It itches. It—”
She was sleep-deprived and stumbled as the ship rocked in the face of another wave. Irrel grabbed her, and she started—the Dorhmin boy glanced up, and the wave sent him crashing against the decks.
“This bad. Bad storm.”
He was bleeding red as he rose and wiped at his forehead, grim. Even the son of an [Admiral] of the Bloodtear Pirates was humbled by this storm. His green eyes glowed brighter as he turned his head.
“This bad, Captain.”
“We just have to make it let us go! Damn it, grab Tissl and hold on!”
Seborn was cursing the storm. It had seized them up and, rather than spit them out, held The Halfseeker’s Promise and carried their little ship with it.
The worst of all outcomes. Not only did he not know where the hell they were, the further into deep sea they got, the more the storm could toss them about. In a way, the lightness of their vessel had saved them; they could move with the water rather than be smashed like a heavier ship would be. If that Minotaur cargoship had followed, it might have cracked under the forces at play.
Not like this one’s guaranteed to continue lasting. That was what Irrel meant. Seborn wasn’t sure if he should relinquish the helm to Tissl to try and climb the mainsail to see if he could spot a way out of this storm or just hold on.
This magical storm can’t go on forever. Unless it’s like one of the ones that just moves around the ocean picking up more and more magic. How long did one of those storms rage? Two years? Anyone trapped in that one had surely died of exhaustion if not…
Focus. Seborn slapped himself. Then he saw the waters sucking down and bellowed.
“Whirlpool! Whirl—”
They were being dragged around in a huge arc towards a vortex forming in the sea itself. Irrel’s eyes went round, and his hand rose to the sword on his back.
If we’re dragged down—better to cut free of the ropes. Seborn took one look at the size of the hole in the waters and realized he could have fit this ship across it six times with ease. He let go of the wheel. Cut himself free and ran towards the other two. Seborn lashed himself with the ropes, fingers slipping in the rain, and put a hand on his daggers.
“Hold on!”
“Seborn! Irrel! My armor’s hot!”
Tissl was clawing at her armor, and Seborn saw the magic was glowing brighter. He cursed. Was she overloading? They had nowhere to put the magical items but her bag of holding.
“Stow anything you’re not wearing! Hold on! We’re going down!”
He saw her fumbling with her armor, and then the ship was turning. It was tilting, and Seborn’s stomach dropped.
First it was a slant, ten degrees. Then twenty…then they were being pressed against the railings.
Krakens wake. We’re going over.
Forty degrees and Seborn’s clawed hand was on the ropes. He was gazing at Irrel and regretting taking them into the storm. Down—the waters were dragging them down into the vortex, and Tissl was screaming.
“My armor—”
It was lighting up, covered in a million glowing ants. Irrel’s teeth were bared as he clutched her shoulder, despite the crawling magic. Seborn peered into the heart of the whirlpool as their ship turned ninety degrees, and they were standing on the railings.
“Dead gods, Erin. Even you couldn’t think of this.”
It was the Drowned Man who saw what was coming next. The water funneling down was magical, swirling like a rainbow of colors and more he could not name. As they sank into the center of the whirlpool, there was a surge from below.
Magical storms. The whirlpool was reversing; a jet of water was rising upwards, pale white, shooting skywards, piercing the storm, tearing the clouds and rains apart, pulling everything with it. Including the ship—
Seborn felt them rising. In the last flashing moments, he saw Irrel let go of the railing and place both arms around Tissl. Seborn grabbed them one-armed, holding onto the ropes with the other—just in time for the railings to snap.
Their feet left the ground, but they were flying up. The ship now above them—the water hurling itself skywards as Tissl’s mouth opened. Seborn read her lips as she said:
“Activate armor—”
——
Any good adventure should have its ups and downs. But preferably more ups than downs. There was always a twist, always a monster in the place you didn’t expect it. And sometimes, a mystery waiting to be unveiled. A secret magical item.
Such as the armor of a long-dead [Pirate Captain]. What might such a man think was worthy armor? Protection, yes. Style, certainly. But possibly—seafaring enchantments.
Like, perhaps, a way to save oneself even in a terrible storm.
She didn’t know what happened in the moments they were flying upwards. Only that when she opened her eyes, she was standing on the deck of The Halfseeker’s Promise. And the ship was flying.
Oh, it was still being carried upwards by the jet stream; this was no effect of the armor. The armor’s magic was only enough to teleport her onto the ship and, apparently, keep it level.
Tissl stared down at the object she was clutching—the helm. The wheel’s spokes were in her hands, and she breathed in as they kept flying skywards.
“Captain? Irrel?”
The second problem—the armor only worked on her. The half-Elf’s eyes, roaming the illuminated darkness of the storm, found the sky being breached by the magical storm’s final act. Clear skies beyond—then the sea far, far below them. The funnel of water.
Seborn and Irrel, then, the only dots standing out against a white barrage of water flying skywards. Dropping away from her.
“Seborn! Irrel!”
Tissl screamed. She swung the wheel, but it was pointless—and she realized she might be in the most danger of all. Because she was still going up; they were headed down. The half-Elf was too terrified to jump off the ship and be caught by the geyser, and she could breathe no water unless that was another enchantment of the armor.
She didn’t want to find out—so she clung to the wheel. And thus, she was the only member of the crew who stayed on board the ship for those last moments as it was shot skywards.
When they passed the first layer of clouds, Tissl knew she was dead. The waters were showering down, now, and below her, the magical storm was dying as it hurled itself into the sky. She was gasping, pressed down by the forces shooting the ship higher.
I won’t survive this fall, surely. Unless…she was just watching.
After the second layer of clouds, the water started falling. The momentum of the ship—the half-Elf girl was delirious as she clung to the wheel and felt herself beginning to drop.
In that dizzying moment between ascent and descent where she was floating, the half-Elf girl gaped around at a world only a few beings could ever see. Higher than Garuda dreamed of flying unaided. In the wide, vast sky…
“Is that a city?”
Her eyes, stained by burst blood vessels, locked on something in the clouds. Tissl reached out—then they were falling.
The ship and the half-Elf. Her head craned upwards as the wind began to rush around her. The girl gazed down as the acceleration grew worse, and now she was clinging to the wheel with both hands as her legs lifted up.
Down. Down into the sea below where there was naught but a single rain-drenched island, tiny as a dot in the distance. Just ocean—so fast she knew it would splatter every bone in her body.
The Half-Elf gazed downwards at the waters drawing nearer with each faltering breath. And she thought—
This is a glorious death. But she didn’t want to die. Her adventure was just beginning. It wouldn’t…it surely wasn’t this easy, was it?
It was the only idea she had. So she drew on her birthright, not her gifts from a ghost. Her mother’s teachings. A bit of magic.
“[F-Featherfall]?”
Then she let go of the wheel and prayed to an [Innkeeper] she’d never met.
As if it were laughing at her—
The wind carried her down around the falling white water.
——
The handy thing about being a high-level [Rogue] and Drowned Man were twofold.
First—if you performed a [Shadow Leap] into the water before hitting it, you could bypass the impact of the water hitting you, even at terminal velocity.
Second, even if you passed out, you wouldn’t drown.
That was the good news for him. When Seborn awoke on his back in the cold, salty, normal waters, he gazed around and didn’t know if they were alive. And that panic nearly consumed him until he got his bearings.
“Irrel? Tissl?”
The Drowned Man shouted, splashing around in the waters. He was at sea. Far at sea; there was nothing around him. Except for—his eyes focused on a dot on the horizon.
Land? A ship? Too big for a ship—he began to butterfly stroke forwards, then shouted again.
“Tissl? Irrel!”
She had gone up. He’d seen her teleport. Would that Relic-class armor save her? Or the Dorhmin? He—
He was praying for mercy. Not again. Not—
——
The way the Drowned Man shouted his name made Irrel think that this was not some act. And he had wondered…if anyone would trust him like his father and his crew. The Dorhmin boy sat up in the waters where he had been laying on his back.
He was at home in the seas, even more than on deck, and he’d been conserving his strength. Sleeping like a body stretched out in a casket, clutching a sword to his chest. If he had to swim for days, he needed his strength, much less to fight off sea creatures.
The damn sword was still with him. He’d almost hoped he’d lose it, but it seemed destiny had linked the two. Irrel turned, triangulating Seborn’s voice.
“Seborn! Here!”
The silence of the magical storm dying left the oceans very, very calm except for the slosh of water. Seborn was very far off, but he recognized Irrel’s voice, because he shouted—and the two swam toward each other.
The Drowned Man had a desperate expression on his face as Seborn almost jumped over a small wave.
“Irrel! You’re alive!”
“Somehow.”
Even with Seborn’s trick, Irrel was very surprised. And he’d fought with the Bloodtear Pirates all his life. Seborn checked him over.
“You’re not hurt? Did you land with me? I passed out.”
“Me too. Nearly died.”
“How?”
Irrel pointed at the damn sword.
“Almost cut my damn head off. Fell right where I was. Dodged it.”
He wasn’t quite sure how he’d dodged it either. Only that he’d jerked his head aside and then caught the sword before it could sink forever. Passed out, breathing seawater.
“That’s good. That’s…you haven’t seen Tissl?”
“No. She went up.”
Irrel had a bad feeling about Tissl. And the ship. If they’d barely survived a fall that bad…how high had Tissl gone?
Neither man wanted to say it. Instead, Seborn just pointed.
“There’s something that way. See it?”
“Yup. Island. Don’t know where we are. Thought it might be the Archmage’s Isle. Or another one.”
“Hesheit? Wrong side of the continent.”
“Could be.”
“…You’re right. Let’s head towards it. C’mon.”
The two began to swim at a steady pace, not saying much. How would they even find Tissl? Scrying spell, perhaps, if they could find a port. That was the only way. Otherwise, seeing someone in the open sea was beyond difficult.
You’d have to know where they were to find them. Or have the advantage of height and a really good spyglass and Skills…both things that neither Irrel nor Seborn had.
Or—
About fifty minutes into their swim, the island had only marginally gotten closer. It was as if they weren’t making any headway, but neither Seborn nor Irrel felt a current…but the slosh of waves and their glancing about revealed something to Irrel. He grabbed Seborn’s arm.
“Blood under the decks. Seborn.”
The oath made the Drowned Man turn. He stared. Then spat some water out and coughed.
“That’s a mirage. We’re dead and—”
“Nope.”
“I’m telling you, you probably hallucinate when you die in the deadlands or something.”
“I’m Dorhmin. We probably don’t go anywhere.”
So, Irrel smiled as he heard a cheerful voice shouting at them.
“Ahoy, Captain! Ahoy, Irrel! Guess who levelled up and can [Locate Crew]?”
Tissl? She was standing aboard the sorriest ship that Irrel had seen in his entire life. If the keel wasn’t broken beyond saving, he was a [Storm Sailor]’s uncle, and the ship appeared several feet shorter, as if it had been squished together by the force of landing.
“Dead gods, Tissl! How the hell are you on that ship and how is it sailing?”
The Halfseeker’s Promise had only one sail partly rigged up, and Tissl was fighting the wheel. She shouted back, looking remarkably good for someone who’d survived a skyfall.
“My armor teleported me onto the deck after I landed! I tell you what, that Lord Gillam must have paid for great enchantments! I reckon they’re all busted, though.”
“No, no, how is that ship—”
“Oh, it was sinking when I teleported back on! I used up every [Repair] scroll in the ship, and it’s still leaky. But I didn’t die! I used [Featherfall], and then I just teleported onto the ship—after I finished making sure it wasn’t going to sink, I sailed around until I had to sleep. Then I woke up with my new Skill, and I found you two right away!”
She was beaming with such a self-satisfied expression that Irrel got sort of annoyed. From her condition, she’d clearly slept in a bed rather than passed out amidst the waves. He felt he needed to ask.
“You can just [Featherfall] out of the sky?”
“I mean, I never used it to jump off more’n a small cliff back home. But Ma taught it to us because it’s a good spell to know, even if we didn’t become [Mages]. Turns out it works.”
Seborn’s mouth opened, and he had to spit out some water.
“Damn [Mages].”
This comment was in spite of the fact that he’d teleported them into the water with a half-second’s window. Irrel shook his head.
“Damn level people.”
Tissl tossed a rope ladder down.
“All aboard, Captain?”
——
Things weren’t as rosy as all that, but considering he could have had two dead kids and no ship, Seborn decided he needed to make an offering to the seas. Or Erins. He wondered what she’d accept.
“…Mac and cheese?”
“Don’t got whatever that is, Captain, but we’ve got food! How’s it look, Irrel?”
“That [Lord] paid too much for the enchantments. Some are still active.”
Seborn twisted around, and Irrel clarified.
“Not protection. Just the water-bailing spells and some others. It’s why it’s not sunk.”
“Dead gods. He was bragging, but I thought he wasn’t that rich. Then again, he said a proper [Shipwright] had made this. I’m going to sing their praises up and down the coasts.”
So much for my ship, though. Well, it could still float. Tissl had gotten one sail up; the others had been ripped away and one mast had cracked, but they were alive and could sleep.
His crew was alive. Seborn sagged against the cabin’s wall when they weren’t looking, then came out, all briskness.
“Right, first things first. Let’s get to that island. If it’s deserted, we grab supplies and figure out where the hell we are. Hopefully Mrsha contacts us. She must be trying. If it’s inhabited, repairs. Both of you—good work. Tissl, you’re a woman of the sea now.”
“Ew. I don’t like that name.”
“It means you survived a magical storm. Any [Storm Sailor] would call you that.”
“It sounds like I’m married or I just had sex or something. Can I not call myself that?”
Irrel grinned as he grabbed a spare set of sails out. Seborn rolled his eyes, but they were all shaken, and if Tissl’s reaction was mouthing off…
They had just gotten the second pair of sails up and Seborn was seeing bits of water actually funnel back out of the ship. Dead gods, it really was still enchanted! They’d better patch up, though. That enchantment had to run out eventually…
Better and better, Tissl called from the main deck.
“Hey, Captain! I think we’ve got a ship to starboard!”
“No. Did that island see us? Or was some other idiot caught in the storm?”
She gave him a spyglass as he strode onto deck.
“I think the second. They look pretty bad, Captain.”
It was true. Seborn’s guess was this ship hadn’t gotten caught in the center of the storm like his. If so, it would be nothing—it had probably just been caught on the outskirts. That was enough for a vessel like this. He grunted.
“That’s a tub. My boots are more seaworthy than that thing.”
It was clearly not made with Skills or from a professional. A single mast had snapped like a twig, and it wasn’t floating under its own power. Figures were bailing water out nonstop. He snapped the spyglass closed.
“It’s half-sunk already. Looks like they’re bailing. Tissl, change of plans.”
“Already on a course to them. Is it a trap?”
He had to admire her instincts. The Drowned Man scratched his chin as Irrel came over to see.
“Could be. But that’s a gutsy move, and I don’t think you feign a sinking ship like that, not right after a magical storm. Even [Pirates] would be checking to see everything’s still attached. Irrel?”
“That’s an ugly ship. Even Antinium build better ships than that.”
The Dorhmin commented, and Seborn grinned. He stretched.
“Plus, they’re Terandrians. We might have gone straight north in which case this is off Pheislant or something. If we’re lucky, they’ll have a noble on board, and that might make up for our [Pirate] status. Pheislant knows to play some games with the law.”
Everyone nodded, and Tissl stared ahead as they made decent speed towards the other ship. Again, thanks to the magical sails; Lord Gillam really had left a good ship to them. She hesitated after a moment.
“Why d’you think they’re Terandrians, Seborn?”
“Skin tone. Wellfars are more tanned. Chandrarians, Balerosians I’d expect to have different dress or just have non-Humans.”
She squinted, then motioned for her spyglass. Irrel had it instead.
“You hit your head, Captain? They all look like Drowned Folk to me. Half fish.”
“I missed that. Maybe half both?”
Irrel frowned at both his crewmates as he handed the spyglass off.
“…They’re Gnolls.”
Both Tissl and Seborn turned to him. The other ship had seen them and were waving and shouting for help. Seborn glanced through the spyglass at them, then swung it left.
“Huh. A ship just left that island. Less primitive…wait. They’re Drakes.”
His eyes narrowed at the other crew, which now looked like Drakes. Tissl opened her mouth, and Seborn grabbed her arm.
“Tissl—don’t get too close. I think—”
The mass-illusion spell broke as they were sailing about two hundred feet from the other ship. Irrel grunted, and Tissl gasped. Her eyes went round, and her hands tightened on the wheel.
“Goblins!”
Seborn closed his eyes as the Goblins on board their sinking ship realized their illusion spells had failed. They began to panic, still bailing water, shouting at each other in their own language as his ship drew alongside.
“No kill! No kill!”
A small Goblin was waving at them. She dove under cover as more hands pulled her back. A mix of Hobs and regular Goblins—they stared up apprehensively at the foreign ship. Eyes fixed on the Drowned Man, who might know the score, the Dorhmin, the half-Elf…and the ship coming from the island.
Their home.
Seborn Sailwinds knew where he was now. If not where, then what he was close to. He cast his eyes up at the famous, deadly place where you could trade or die, bane of the House of Minos.
The Isle of Goblins. Then at the Goblin ship. They tensed, and a few grabbed for bows or weapons as the others tried to stop them. Irrel put his hand on his sword, and Tissl drew her crossbow.
But what they saw, including anxious [Shamans] on shore who had spotted the other vessel, was no bloody boarding of vindictive [Sailors]. Instead, one Drowned Man was clinging to the prow of the ship…shouting obscenities at the air.
“Erin! I need one thing! One thing—and that’s a minute to breathe! Damn you, Erin—”
——
They let the Goblins aboard. Of course they did. Their ship sank minutes afterwards without the frantic bailing, and Tissl was the only one who hadn’t met non-hostile Goblins. Or Goblins at all; she was wide-eyed as she peeked out of the Captain’s cabin.
That was a precaution. Irrel stood with his back to the cabin’s walls, sword not drawn, but not exposing himself. They were outnumbered ten-to-one by this group of Goblins, and as Seborn well knew, not all Goblins were friendly.
Like anyone, they were a people. But he did his best.
“Er…hello. Mapazu? I’m not an enemy. Kɪskaɪ no. Elame us.”
He felt like an idiot as they stared at him, mouths open. They were green-skinned, crimson-eyed, but had a much duskier hue to their skins, probably from sun exposure—and they wore clothing clearly made from bark or leaves.
Islanders’ clothing. Lots of feathers on some and in their hair. He didn’t miss they were armed, but it wasn’t good stuff. Wood, hand-carved.
But this is the island that gives the Minotaurs a fight of their lives every year. Seborn was wary and wished he remembered more Goblin from Garen.
Mapazu wasn’t the right word—it meant ‘come in’ more than ‘hello’. He only knew kɪskaɪ—enemy—and elame, which was friend. Oh, and how to say ‘my balls are about to fall off you damn Drake’ from when Garen had been hit at speed by a flying Eater Goat in the groin.
However, that worked. The Goblins were so astounded he knew anything that they burst into a chatter. They switched to common as Seborn shook his head.
“I don’t know—no fighting, right? We know the island.”
“Good, good! You elame! Best elame! Storm catch—pshkt! You fall!”
“Ship no go that! We this one? Take wheel not-that is good!”
“We very friendly. Zɪvɪnaɪ not. Is good go?”
He had no idea what…Seborn turned to Irrel.
“Irrel, I’ve only heard of the Goblin isle! I never visited—Garen himself had no idea it existed until I told him. Do you know anything?”
“We traded sometimes, but they speak good common. These young.”
The Dorhmin squinted at the Goblins. It was true, Seborn realized. He’d taken some of the Hobs as adults, but by the metrics of Goblins—who aged fast in any case—these ones appeared young. And Garen hadn’t been that old.
One was a literal Pebblesnatch-sized child who was clutching a pack from the ship. She was pointing at the ship with the others.
“We’ll bring you to the island safely. Deal?”
Seborn tried, and he got a chorus of screeches. One reached for the wheel and, to his surprise, tried to turn them around.
“No! Kɪsk! Bad! Those—zɪvɪnaɪ! Not go back! This way!”
What now? Seborn got his spyglass out as he wrestled the wheel back and saw the other ship was larger, coming at them, and…crewed with adult Goblins.
Hobs, every last one of them. The hairs on his Human half stirred. They were also armed and pointing at him.
“Tell them we’re not kidnapping you.”
One of the Goblins did just that, cupping his hands to his mouth. He shouted.
“Ech!”
Which seemed to be ‘hey’. Then he rattled off a string of Goblin that Seborn couldn’t follow. The other ship didn’t slow, but the warriors did stop aiming bows at him.
“What the hell’s going on?”
Seborn decided he needed answers from someone, and the clearest answer came from the little Goblin with the pack. She had put it down and was rummaging around.
“Those is zɪvɪnaɪ. We no is go. Other way?”
They wanted him to flee? Why?
“What’s a zɪvɪnaɪ?”
“Eh…[Zɪvɪnaɪ]. What word is…? Hit thing. Fight.”
“[Warrior]? Those are [Warriors]?”
She nodded, and the little Goblin tugged on Seborn’s arm. She presented him with something, and he stared at the bluest little ceramic pot he’d ever seen in his life. It was quite beautiful with melded colors.
“Is more. You take, we go.”
She had a sack full of…pots? And clay? Seborn stared down at the Goblin girl, then he saw the other Goblins motioning him to turn around. He checked their ages, even the Hobs, and the ones on the ship. Then he groaned.
“You’re runaways. Erin!”
——
On the Isle of Goblins, the Goblin Lord, Izikere, had cracked one eye open. That was how seriously the island was taking the departure of the runaways.
They’d timed it well—the magical storm might have blown them far, but they’d just been about to sink when the other ship had appeared. The fact it had survived was interesting enough, but all had been concerned they were about to kill the Goblins.
That they hadn’t meant they’d live…but what had gotten the Goblin Lord to crack one eye open was the [Captain]. One of the [Shamans] who had enhanced everyone’s vision and hearing until they could focus on the distant altercation was frowning.
“Why does he keep screaming ‘Erin’?”
Her voice was loud as thunder even with the directed hearing spells, but she had to ask. Another [Shaman] scratched at his head.
“Must be bad seapeople curses. He’s not a [Slaver]. Not a bad smell. So…he’ll turn the children back. We should give him something as thanks.”
Definitely. What other outcome could there be? Everyone nodded. They had been worried for the young Goblins’ sakes when they had fled the island. It happened now and then. Every Goblin learned warfare, and this group had not wanted to. They’d smuggled a scrying orb they’d traded for and stared at the world and that Goblin Chieftain and dreamed of more.
That was not the role of the Goblins here. They resettled continents, rebuilt tribes. They were warriors—even if their talents lay elsewhere, like the little [Potter] whom even Greydath had remarked upon in his visit.
The group would not be punished much, and the foreigners thanked. Maybe even with repairs to their ship, which seemed a bit pancaked. That was the plan…right up until the other ship turned around.
“Uh. What is he doing?”
“He’s fleeing. Why? Did they hold him hostage? Or threaten him? Or lie…?”
The [Shamans] began panicking. They started casting spells, but they were out of range, and their own ships had already set forth on their own voyages; this was a fishing ship not meant for pursuit!
“Goblin Lord! Can you stop them?”
One appealed to Izikere. The Goblin Lord watched the ship with its new crew departing as the Drowned Man Captain took the helm. He was swearing and shouting at the Goblins hugging him. She could hear him clearly.
“—off of me! I’m not doing this for charity, and there aren’t enough damn pots in the world to pay me! I’m just dropping you off, and you can find the Flooded Waters tribe on your own. You are not crew. Wrong word. Tissl, take the helm! How old are you lot, anyways?”
She cracked a smile as she sat still, moss growing up her legs. The Goblin Lord could have stopped that vessel with a spell, but she remembered Greydath’s argument. The Drowned Man spoke a Goblinfriend’s name. So, she decided to let them seek a different fate even as the Goblins around her argued and fretted.
The world was changing. Besides—Izikere closed her eyes.
Between that sword and the armor the half-Elf was wearing, it seemed like a fun ship to be on.
Thus, Seborn Sailwinds and his new crew sailed onwards as the Goblin ship behind them gave chase, then turned back. His first act as the Goblins scrambled over the ship, repairing it with pieces of their ship and familiarizing themselves with their new home, was to have an altar built.
Just a few planks of wood. A hanging bar above it where you could tie things. He found a bit of twine and a piece of plankwood no good to anyone and scrawled on it in ink. They’d have to get a statuette or just a Mage Picture later. Before the curious Goblin’s eyes, he hung up the prayer, or perhaps message.
The shrine had ‘Erin Solstice’ on it in lieu of a statue. The missive read:
I’m getting really sick of this shit. I appreciate us not dying in the storm, but one more thing like this and I’m going to poison your drinks the next time we meet.
—Seborn
Then he took the wheel, and when no one was looking, he smiled ruefully.
A Drowned Man had a strange team with Goblins in it as he went on his adventures.
It wouldn’t be the first time.
Author’s Note:
Hello, I haven’t forgotten Tessa. In fact, her chapter is written and waiting edits but it’s uh.
Looooong.
Much like the last chapter. Thus, I’m doing what a sensible author allegedly does: use their backlog. This chapter and the next one are both being released because neither one’s long enough to qualify as a full chapter, unless I were to expand them. And I don’t know if I will, so better to post now, eh?
It’s been an intensive writing week even by my standards so I’m rather fatigued, but I’m slowly, slowly, creating a backlog in which I’m ahead. Hopefully by more than one chapter! I’d love to also finish those mini-chapters, but doing more than a chapter-a-week requires me to have that stored material.
Like a chipmunk or something, hoarding texts away so I can hoard more. Or a farmer, I dunno, I’m not used to this. I’ll see you after the 7th Hive interlude where I’ll say something awesome.