Seaborn

I was bleary-eyed but awake and focused when the admiral’s ship signaled us the next morning, and we had all hands roused to come alongside the flag ship again. Once I had the knack, maintaining the flood barrier was as simple as breathing – at least when the damage and flooding wasn’t that bad – so I lent a helping hand to the lines because why not?

Graves walked the plank back to our ship and told lieutenant Siebert to turn the ship heading 340. We pulled away from the rest of the fleet.

Graves noted me and gestured towards the quarterdeck. I followed and when we had some space he spoke quietly, inquiring after my health.

“You’re pale, and you look like death.”

“It’s natural.”

“Because of your imbalance?”

“Because I’m always on the edge of panic these days.”

“Were you offered rest last night?”

“Yes. It’s no ones’ fault but my own that my dreams robbed it of me.”

His eyes were shrewd as they sifted through my demeanor for rebelliousness or hostility, but he nodded in sympathy. “I believe it’s men who don’t have such reactions who have something wrong with them, not yourself.”

I looked at the horizon, unable to hide the pain on my face. “It was late coming.”

He nodded again, slower, before directing a cabin boy, (‘boy’ was a loose term, as the lad was in his early teens) to gather ‘his council’.

I learned a few minutes later that his council was the naval officers; Polis to represent the army fighters and Frederick to represent the mages. I didn’t know whether I was invited as the second mage or if no one simply thought to dismiss me, but I didn’t object to hearing what was going on.

“Gentlemen,” Graves said. “The Carpathia is out of the operation.” There were several groans but no one interrupted. “Take heart! I said the Carpathia was out, not us.”

“We’re being transferred to other ships?” Polis asked.

“No. This ship is salvageable even if it’s not up to fighting strength, and Antarus needs every ship it can get. Since we can keep her up, we shall sail her to the new shipyard that’s supplementing Pristav. There we shall be given new commissions, and whether we all serve aboard the next ship together or not I will say that I am proud to have served with you and will write each of you letters of merit!”

His news that they weren’t part of whatever operation was going on disappointed them, but the way he presented it had them all smiling. It made me feel guilty. Not because of the charade I was playing, but because I couldn’t think of the last time I’d told one of my own crew that I was proud of them.

My betrayal of them had been piecemeal and slow. Theirs had been complete. I couldn’t ignore them forever, but I hoped that they kept the Death’s Consort going long enough to stay alive, so I could deal with my mistakes.

Well, most of them I wished to see alive. Burdette could sleep with the fishes.

Graves gave a more detailed brief, but there wasn’t anything sensitive or secret shared. The Carpathia and the Laya were both heading back together, the Laya the more damaged of the two.

There was one tidbit that caught my interest. Frederick dropped the name of a port in Nilfheim – presumably the previous target of the fleet – and Graves said that port was no longer the fleet’s objective.

“Interesting news was passed to the admiral last night: the Nilfheim port is no more. An unexpected – dare I say unprecedented – tsunami seems to have targeted it. Intelligence is thin, but the strategic import of the location is no more.”

There were surprised chuckles and jokes, largely by Polis, but the naval officers were wary. They had a right to be. I couldn’t help but reflect on the third class Jones had offered me besides Menagerie Master and the one I took – Berserker. The profession had promised the power of the deep, able to do incredible things in an act of wrath and defiance before releasing my spirit. It hadn’t been the choice for me, but I wondered if it had been for someone else.

The meeting adjourned, and Frederick offered to take over for me again. I wasn’t too proud to admit I was running on fumes, having been up and active for nearly two days straight. I passed off the barrier to him and then I went to find Gerald.

My reasoning for finding the cook was only partly motivated by putting something in my belly. The real reason was something Gerald readily agreed to – allowing me to pull a pallet into the corner. Exhausted or not, I took a swig of a sleep serum I’d picked up with the other alchemy supplies I’d raided and stored in my bag. I met the incoming darkness with trepidation, but it swallowed me up regardless of my fear.

When I woke, it was suddenly and with a good deal of confusion. I was refreshed, but had no concept of time having passed, much less having lingering memories of nightmares. If that was a result of the sleep serum, I suddenly understood how the stuff could be addictive.

With my disorientation (and having to think about which sector of the ocean I was in these days) it took me a bit of estimation to find out what time it was based on the sun. Either I’d slept about 8 hours or I’d slept over a day, and I couldn’t imagine them letting me get away with that!

I found Frederick and he gave me the promised instruction on spells before passing the barrier off to me and going to bed. For a first lesson, he was quite satisfied with me. It seems that I’d undervalued the foundation that Marcus Renshaw had established for me. My progress was slow, true; slower than an apprentice who didn’t have to split their time with sailing, fighting and leadership. I’d acquired shocking touch and developed water whip to a highly advanced level, but hadn’t picked up any other new spells despite my reading skill books and practicing the way Marcus showed me in Tadra.

Frederick was actually pleased as punch when I admitted this. He said that many apprentices rush to acquire their first spells, and then have a long plateau if they have to relearn ways to conceptualize new spells that didn’t synergize with their beginner picks. Looking at what I could do and discussing my understanding of multiple different concepts, he said I was primed to cross the threshold and should be able to pick up a few new spells just in the next few weeks!

That also brought up a discussion he suggested I have with Captain Graves – the matter of whether I would participate as a combat mage. It wasn’t necessarily part of our agreement, but aside from maintaining my cover as a Madu sympathizer, I had no objections. The experience would even be welcome.

Currently, my magical abilities centered around augmenting my martial ones. I wasn’t a professional warrior but continued to pull out victories against better trained people by playing to my unique advantages. Participating in shipboard combat on the surface would have a different dynamic to it.

If I learned some of the spells Frederick could teach me, I could use my magic as a battle mage instead of a front-line fighter. That would mean a lot of things. The two most pertinent ones were that I would be out of the melee meat grinder but I would also be a priority target once identified.

The old salty conscripted mage left me to think on it while he went to bed. He repaid me for the prolonged discussion by making me wait through the night until late morning the next day to relieve me. Since my mana pool was large enough to handle that, I couldn’t object, but since I was also helping out the seamen it meant that my sleep schedule was non-existent.

The nights were my time to think and reflect … to process everything that had happened and I’d done under the light of both moons. The chains Jones had placed on me had been real, and my responses to them were reasonable … sometimes. I couldn’t point to a single instance where I’d lost my way and become the man I didn’t want to be, but there were indications of where I’d slid down the slippery slope:

Refusing to free my crew as promised because I’d refused to look to the Madu for help. That first transport, where I’d thought letting half escape was good enough effort. Raiding Gildra because my crew had deserters there. Enjoying the excitement and risk of setting traps in the Murdock. The Mockingbird …

Yeah, I was at the bottom of the slope by that point.

It was during one of my midnight contemplations when I made a discovery, a very important personal discovery … Jones had lost a measure of control over me.

Perhaps in hindsight that should have seemed obvious, given how our last interaction went and the lack of repercussions I’d felt, but in my defense I’d been doing a lot of running around since then and the very idea that Jones would lose even the tiniest iota of the absolute control he had was utterly foreign. Yet, when I looked into myself I realized that his mandates had weakened.

His order that I take risks for the sake of challenge and XP was all but gone. The order not to invest XP in my ship was similarly weakened, though I didn’t intend to help out the Death’s Consort at the moment. The order not to level was still present, being his first and strongest order, but even it lacked the concrete finality it used to have. I didn’t think I could work around it yet, but there was hope!

I wondered if Davy Jones tried to engage me like he had in the past, if I could resist him enough to break free of his control entirely.

Whether Jones’ control had weakened or not, my curse hadn’t. If it was tied to my profession as Captain of the Deep, I hoped I wouldn’t lose it. My curse had some steep downsides, but I’d accept most of them for the tradeoffs. It was my master that was fouling things up.

Watching the moons Callis and Uropa fight over the ocean tides, I couldn’t help but compare Davy Jones and me to them. Entirely separate beings who pushed and pulled the sea in our own way, now fighting with each other. I hoped we didn’t remain locked in our contest the way the heavenly bodies were in theirs.

The Laya sailed behind us, and we made sure not to let her slip too far back. Over the next weeks, we made slow progress along our course while I made leaping progress in my magical studies. As Frederick promised, I did acquire new spells.

Congratulations! You have learned the spell Feather Fall!

Congratulations! You have learned the spell Water Shield!

Congratulations! You have learned the spell Honed Air!

Feather fall let me have a measure of control over my descent through air. The unique thing about it was that it had a small initial mana cost to cast, then burned stamina to maintain. As endurance was tied for my highest attribute, I didn’t at all mind having a spell that didn’t cause a drain on my mana.

I spent most of my time underwater these last few months, but I’d discovered a niche use of my water whips when chasing Meg the strange adventurer: mobility through lashing something solid and pulling myself to it. I’d also discovered that I was limited in my ability to push or support myself in the air with my whips, so having a complementary spell to slow my fall speed if I overextended myself was huge.

Water shield was a protective spell that summoned a sphere of flowing water around the caster. The shield was weak to piercing attacks, but could be actively maintained with additional mana to replenish or even layer upon itself. Alternatively, I could freeze the shield once cast to make it more durable but could no longer maintain it that way. It would be frozen at whatever grade the water shield had been.

Not to mention I’d be stuck inside.

Honed air was a development of air blade. When applied to a weapon, the spell added air damage as well as giving blades a wicked edge.

I may have made a mistake with honed air. Not because of any downsides of having the spell, but because Polis had seen me practicing with it and air blade and naturally started challenging me to spar.

I would admit that I had neglected incorporating air blade into my fighting style. Most of the time I used a trident, spears, or any number of weapons before I picked up a sword. Those never seemed to lend themselves to the type of spell the same way. Polis wanted to make the point clear to me that I was wasting potential.

Since I’d turned Polis down several times (thinking he was just being antagonistic) by the time I acceded and agreed to fight him it was an event worthy of the entire crew watching. I had an idea of how this would go, at least at first.

I squared up to him in the ring of bodies made by the eager crew like I planned to bowl him over. He was at a disadvantage because when he analyzed me he saw the illusory identity I’d created, not my true capabilities. I wouldn’t go all-out for a spar, but the skills I included in my persona painted a picture he was picking apart to guess my fighting style.

When Lieutenant Siebert – who was monitoring the bout – gave the signal, I darted forward like Polis expected. He planted himself with his buckler and axe like we both planned, ready to deflect whatever strike I’d planned.

And then I danced back, a grin on my face as I dropped the sword I’d first presented and pulled a harpoon from my bag.

His surprise was momentary, as he adjusted to the change in weaponry and charged in close to negate the advantage of reach I had. The jab I tried to keep him at arm’s length was deflected with his buckler, and he lowered his shoulder to bowl me over.

With my movement buffs, I slipped to the side and dodged him – barely, the man was good – and used my harpoon to tangle his legs. His base was too solid to be tripped up, but to the crowd it looked like I was playing with him. In a way I was. I’d been having real combat experience, but that was different. A spar was an opportunity to try out new things, new ways of countering and attacking.

I didn’t expect any subsequent bouts to go the same way, so I enjoyed myself while this lasted.

Polis activated a skill when he got close enough to me: shield bash. He might not be able to get the full use of the skill with just a buckler, but his swinging, shielded arm still should have knocked me heels over teakettle.

Fun fact: feather fall also makes it easier to get knocked into the air.

Neither of us were quite expecting me to go flying over the heads of our spectators, but as I oriented myself and slowly drifted down, I gave Polis a grin. He’d given me range.

The next harpoon I threw landed dead-center of our combat ring – actually throwing the spear at him would be a dangerous and deadly attack. None of the weapons I’d pulled from my bag had the protected edges our first weapons had started with, but Siebert had watched my judicious use of those and allowed it. I had the sneaking suspicion it was because the lieutenant wanted to see the army sergeant taken down a notch.

My throw was indicative of my aim and ability, which I believed was enough to claim I could have put the spear through Polis. His scowl at me said that he understood that too.

And then I drifted down enough that the press of the crew hid him from view. Then the gunwale …

My uncontrolled shield bash/feather fall flight had taken me over the edge of the ship.

“Man overboard!” someone shouted.

I could have used my whips to latch onto the rigging and pull myself back, but decided not to overplay my hand. Climbing back aboard the ship sopping wet seemed to mollify Polis, though not by much.

“That’s what that kind of cheating gets you!” he exclaimed.

“Cheating?” I said with mock surprise. “What rules did I break?”

“The rules of the spar! You didn’t even use the weapon you brought with you. Everything came from that dratted bag of holding.”

I shook my head. “My ‘bag of tricks’ came into the ring with me, and you made no objections. If you don’t want it included, you’ll have to specify that.”

He glowered, but demanded a second bout. I acceded, and before we’d scarcely begun he was screaming and swearing about me not using magic either while I laughed at him.

Once Polis pinned me down into the exact rules of engagement we were to observe – and I did allow him to make those stipulations – our fights went differently. He was a trained warrior, with skill levels that trounced my own. I had enough experience that he didn’t exactly mop the floor with me, but he was clearly superior in this method of fighting. Hence, why I didn’t normally fight people in this manner.

It was good practice I didn’t have to pay for though, and I wouldn’t object to it. The man had a point about several things about my fighting style. It was several days of routine fighting before he agreed to spar with my magic unrestricted again, but what professional melee fighter didn’t also want a bit of experience taking on a mage?

Our practice became a spectacle again, one that required a much larger area to be cordoned off for our use and was thus strictly regulated by Captain Graves and enjoyed by the crew, who crowded the rigging for good views.

After one particularly engaging bout where I’d frozen my water shield and Polis had instantly destroyed it with a skill, scattering ice fragments into the crowd of onlookers, Graves and Frederick approached me.

“Dom,” Graves said. “We’d like to talk with you about your role as second mage.”

“You’ve made great improvements in your spell list and incorporating them in combat,” Frederick said, nodding at the practice area where melting ice was still laying around. “You’re at a level of proficiency and capability where any college would recognize you as an apprentice war mage.”

“Given Mr. Frederick’s assessment, it would be within my authority to recognize you as such, including the benefits that come with the role.”

I continued to stretch, having gone without my movement buffs for the last bout had left me feeling tighter than normal. “What’s the catch?”

“If you were to be hired on as an apprentice war mage, you’d be expected to fulfill the duties of one. You current contract states you are to have no interference in any engagement.”

I nodded, thinking about it. While it looked like I was pondering my willingness to fight the Madu I’d been fighting for, I was really debating whether trying to uphold an illusion of sympathy for Nilfheim was worth it in the long run. I decided that it wouldn’t hurt me to be seen as more mercenary.

“This ship is heading back to port, so any fighting would be on the defensive?” They nodded. “Then let’s talk about these benefits.”

My spare time was usually spent with Gerald. The tarish cook didn’t have many friends on board, either because of racist crew or his reserved nature. Because of that, he was a lot less reserved and friendlier around me, obviously aching for company. He kept odd hours, his day centered around preparing the meals for all hands. That meant he was up long before sunrise and heading to be before it reached the other horizon. Since I kept odd hours too, working the rigging or manning the flood barrier, we often only had each other for company anyway.

Maintaining the flood barrier was boring. Really, I was just a source of mana for it to maintain itself. If we could sleep while maintaining it, it wouldn’t even be a chore for Frederick and I. As it was, he consistently griped about it and how my practice was eating up my mana pool, so I should take the hard shifts for inconveniencing him. I didn’t argue, the night under the moons being my time to center myself and salvage my identity from what Jones and I had done to it.

“You sure you get enough sleep?” Gerald asked me one evening, chopping potatoes with a precision a rogue class would be jealous of.

“I’m used to ships’ life,” I said as a non-answer, peeling some of the tubers for him. That was true and it did help me, but the deeper truth was that if I wasn’t utterly exhausted when I laid down on my pallet then I needed sleep serum to keep the nightmares at bay, and I was wary of being dependent on the stuff.

“I’m glad that Captain got that tub for you to heal in, anyways.”

“He’s a good fellow,” I replied. The truth of that matter was that I wasn’t the only one who’d gotten cracked ribs or dangerous cuts from sparring or normal ships’ work. Frederick had some healing abilities with both light and fire, but they were more about cauterizing wounds or stabilizing major issues. My cleansing waters spell was slow, but Graves had often decided my mana would be best used to heal one crewman or another. At the cost of an improvised tank and some buckets of seawater, it was an easy call. I could even power the spell while manning the flood barrier, though if I did I’d be waking Frederick early because that drained my pool faster.

“What are your plans when we reach home?” Gerald asked. It took me a moment to translate ‘home’ as ‘Antarus’. The navy really didn’t know the kind of man they were putting down.

I thought about whether I should say my plans out loud, having taken to holding things closer to my chest, but there didn’t seem to be any harm in sharing. “I plan on getting aboard another ship, same as I always do.”

“I know your contract with the navy is just for this voyage, but if you’re not sailing with the fleet they’ll take you as a prisoner of war. They’re treating adventurer POW’s fair, after the scandal about the adventurer they’d tortured for information and the society placed sanctions on them, but you’ll be locked up all the same.”

“Then I’ll sail with the navy,” I replied.

“Weren’t you one of those always talking down about navy sailors? You guys had given me serious doubts about enlisting! I spent my whole first voyage waiting for things to get worse.”

I chuckled as he shared more about his first voyage and how his nervousness had led to miscommunication and ensuing shenanigans. When he finished his story telling, I explained that as a seaman I still did have a bias against the navy but didn’t intend to sit under house arrest on land. I wanted to head towards the Broken Isles. When I mentioned the Isles, Gerald turned serious.

“I’d be avoiding the Isles if I were you. There’s stories about Davy Jones and his lieutenant turning the sea there red. I don’t hear much news, just the dregs of overheard gossip, but everything coming from the Broken Isles is bad. Everything was secure there, no real fighting at all after the initial push, but then those cursed ships started raiding and pillaging. It really pushed the jarls to get off their butts and join the confederacy, escalating the whole conflict even more.”

As Gerald told me about the horrors laid at the feet of the Death’s Consort and the Perdition – the latter was presumably gossip – I felt my mood turn depressed and black. There were many attacks that I didn’t regret and wouldn’t take back. The world had declared war on me, and I’d retaliated. That didn’t mean I liked hearing about how I was considered the boogeyman, sometimes portrayed and more capricious and horrible than Jones.

I’d long since stopped paying attention to the updates to my quest chains Terror of the Sea and Tall Tales.Terror had seen far more progress than the other, though. These stories didn’t help.

When pounding boots on the deck above, shouts, and the bell ringing an emergency came, I was glad for it.