98. Route to the Future

98.

We held a funeral service the morning after our modest celebration of remaining alive. Having the opportunity to eat and drink with friends, sing songs, share stories, break down and cry in more than one case – they all did good things towards putting the fleet into a mental headspace for moving on and continuing the mission.

I and my officers were invited to attend the ceremony king Jovan was presiding over on his flagship, but respectfully declined. Each ship captain was doing some sort of service, and we had suffered casualties of our own.

The numbers of our dead couldn’t compare to the devastation wrecked on the fleet, but I cared about my crew in a way I didn’t care about the navy. Our losses were personal to us. They were the first losses we’d experienced since breaking free of Jones and establishing the contracts of service between myself and the crew. In the wake of this loss I realized that an illusion had been destroyed for many of those under me: the illusion that days of loss were something of the past. We’d stacked the deck in our favor to an extreme degree and avoided what we could that was beyond our capabilities – but the sea claims its due, no matter our positions as stewards of it.

We bound the remains of our fallen in sailcloth with mementos from their comrades, weighted them down and sang as six shipmates per fallen carried them over the side and released them to drop down – down into the darkness of the ocean’s cold embrace.

I said farewell to the port and the land

I sailed away from their ill-treating hands

To search for my long ago forgotten friends

To search for the place I hear all sailors end

As the faces of the dead fill the space of my mind

I’ll search on and on 'til peace I can find

I fear not the monsters, I fear not the storm

I remember the fallen, do they think of me?

When their bones in the ocean forever will be

Plot a course to the night, to a place I once knew

To a place where my hope died along with my crew

So I swallow my grief and face life's final test

T’ find promise of peace and the solace of rest

As the voices of the dead fill the space of my ears

Their laughter like children, their beckoning cheers

My heart longs to join them, sing songs of the sea

I remember the living, do they think of me?

When my bones in the ocean forever will be

Now that I'm staring down at the darkest of depths

I'm not sure what I want, but I know it's not this

As my comrades call me to stand fast and go on

I make sail for dawn 'til the darkness has gone

As the souls of the dead live fore’er in my mind

As I live all the years that they left me behind

I’ll stay to the course but still live with mem’ry

I remember the fallen and they think of me

For our souls in the ocean together will be

Two times made a tradition, and that song was now firmly entrenched in the minds of my crew. I knew that I would be hearing that song many times in the coming years. My only reprieve from knowing it would return would be when it was sung for me.

The more cynical part of me expected that when I did die, there’d be none left to mourn.

For all the gravitas of the funeral at sea, it was with lighter, more relieved steps that we resumed our course to meet with the nonhuman alliance to discuss terms.

The Tempest and the Dark Raven continued to field aquatic threats, though none of the same threat level as the kraken or sirens. I tasked my officers to meet with those under them for a debrief on the battle and our strategy, and they brought those inputs along with their own analysis to a meeting with me. There were always things that could be improved upon. Major takeaways included:

- Adapting our artilleries’ field of fire – my trick with repositioning the ships’ depth and ballast had worked, but it was not the first time we’d encountered the problem of not being able to shoot down enough. Interestingly enough, it was the navy who inspired some design changes, as we’d peeked at their methods for shooting at us. Irony abounds.

- Coordination of rapid response teams. Gnar had worked extensively beforehand on drills that allowed us to shake out a couple teams to hunt down sirens while the ship took on the kraken with the strength we needed – but it had been a chaotic thing that could have easily gone very badly without the oversight we’d been lucky to have. Gnar proposed experimenting with designated squad roles – a combatant would be qualified to fulfill one of several positions based on their skills and abilities, and a squad required a complementary set to self-deploy. There’d be no rush to find predetermined team members because everyone would be practiced fighting with others in their given roles. The overall group cohesion wouldn’t be as optimal, but with some standardization we’d get a lot more flexibility. I was a lot more intrigued about the proposal before I realized Gnar was basing it off adventurers, but I allowed him to begin the experiment nonetheless.

- Forming a designated speed team. This was a proposal by Gnar targeted at me to ensure I stayed safe at the helm rather than run pursuit as a skirmisher. I gave him my standard answer: form a team that could at least match my speed. He’d tried before and encountered the tyranny of cultivating high-level skills, as it just wasn’t that easy to train people through the journeymen levels of an ability even with my bonuses to naval skill progression. I still foresaw a renewed number of marines swimming laps around the ship, though.

- Lastly, a recommendation for Marcus to take on dedicated apprentices. Besides me, that is. His utility during the battle saved almost as many lives as Drese’s mastery of life magic. There were only a few who had the requisite affinities to eventually become mages in a field, but given Marcus’ broad spectrum he could tutor all of them. Apparently he’d identified candidates with an aptitude for water, light, and dark elemental magic. It was agreed that they’d be reassigned to have the majority of their effort spent on learning what they could, while their previous roles would become collateral duties. The option of adjusting their progression towards magic rather than their current goals would remain with them, but learning magic would be mandatory. (There was some skepticism that anyone would deny the opportunity, but study could be long and boring.)

Our conference hashed out a number of issues, our discussion taking hours longer than anticipated. It was all for a good result though, and the unexpected disappearance of the officers for half a day actually satisfied the crew, convincing them I cared about their well-being more than any verbal assurances could.

An administrative item that I regretfully tended to was the discharge of the spells I’d stolen from the siren matriarch in my belt.  We considered saving the matriarch’s spells to be used someday – they’d be valuable given her talents – but I ultimately decided against it. I valued the ability to simply absorb and cancel a spell more than I valued reusing it. Pulling a large group of people to my will wasn’t standard operations for us. I also had severe skepticism of my ability to make use her siren’s abilities since we expected it was tied to charisma (my famously lowest stat) rather than willpower – and it'd be a joke if I could enrapture enemy fighters but convince them of nothing except my own beauty.

The process for discharging them was painful. I didn’t have the mana pool that monster had. It took support from Marcus and Drese along with some potent mana restoration potions to cast spells so beyond my ability. Even with the support of such experienced masters, my HP took a hit and my mind felt cloudy for a day after each discharge. The belt was back to 0/2 charges though, and ready to surprise the next mage who had no idea I could do such a thing.

King Jovan might have his suspicions it was in my possession – my elites were clearly wearing the armor he’d shipped to Oorkom in the hold of the ship I was now sailing around in – but he didn’t say a word about it. Probably just considered it the secret cost of hiring me that he’d been expecting this whole time.

When I received word from Jovan through my communications mage – the man recovered from nearly dying at the hand of my liaison – I suspected bad news. Instead, we were invited to an award ceremony for none other than Tarball and his co-conspirators! It set off a lively discussion amongst my officers. Some believed I should deny any foreign awards and instead give out a commensurate accolade of our own design. I thought it was silly to be creating awards willy-nilly like that and scoffed that anyone would be seriously influenced against their crewmates by a shiny foreign medal. And so I set the precedent that anyone could wear a medal they’d earned if I approved it, no matter the source.

Surely there was no way this could backfire … other than the way my ship was starting to accumulate bureaucracy in the guise of traditions.

It was while I, a few of my officers, and a spiffy looking cadre of crew representatives stood watching the king of Antarus personally pin medals onto the non-human awardees from my crew that I noticed the hubbub from the lookouts: ships on the horizon bearing the flag of Nilfheim.

We were about to meet the delegation.

I returned to the Tempest but was invited to attend the peace talks after securing the area. That was assuming the Madu were still here to parlay, something I was also in charge of confirming. It was the kind of gesture that reeked of political maneuvering because it seemed like the smart move but also left you feeling like you were being sent to test the waters. Yes, I’d had peaceable interactions with the Madu in the past, but I’d also killed a number of them. Apparently since I’d killed some of most the navies on the ocean, I was still the best neutral party.

I had a white flag flown directly under my own flag – regrown from the repaired mast – and carried several diplomats to the flagship of the four-ship Madu fleet. I’d wager these ships were most of the remaining naval might of Nilfheim, if attrition rates held true.

Speaking of unpleasant history, the Justicewas once of the three vessels backing up the flagship. That was awkward. Thankfully they’d put forward the Protection as their lead, and I didn’t need to start the conversation on the deck I’d last gone on a killing spree.

I wished that Hali could be beside me to help walk me through the nuances, but given the bad relations she had with both parties she’d been pointedly uninvited and voluntarily re-donned her sailor persona to stay out of the way.

I realized that I wished she were beside me just to have her there – not just for her insight. I squashed those thoughts. They were for a future time not burdened by the current state of affairs.

My nerves were getting keyed up as we approached until I saw a metal contraption hanging from the port quarter of the vessel, and then my nerves dropped out as my sailing mind took over. First came the calculations to weight and ballast, because the Protection had nary a list to her though she might be a bit light at the bow. They must have done some substantial rearrangement, because they had a 15-foot all-metal contraption hanging from their ship!

It looked like two deep-drafted life rafts had been forged out of metal and then welded together to look something like a streamlined acorn. Even assuming it was completely hollow and empty, the weight should be a problem but it seems that they’d calculated around having it. What was it for?

And then there was a dwarf standing by the gunwale directly beside the metal rig – it looked like he was wearing the bulky flotation devices some ships used for passengers or low-leveled sailors – lightweight wood in canvas. Only this dwarf was wearing fitted segments around his torso, arms, and legs too, standing proudly as though he was wearing armor and not a training aid for landlubbers.

“This is going to be interesting …”

We were greeted formally. No, we were greeted ceremoniously. While it didn’t feel like a warm welcome, it was officious and scripted enough that both sides were eventually able to sus out the meat of this initial handshake: “You’re still here to parlay? No intentions of trying to kill us? Our higher-ups can come over and talk this out over tea and stare daggers without real daggers being drawn? Good. We’ll start the real talks later.”

A communications mage relayed the word to the Antaran fleet. I left most of the delegation on board the Protection and turned north – sailing directly between the two fleets facing off – before slipping under the waves and joining the Raven in patrol for threats. I supervised for the half-rotation around Nilfheim’s rear to ensure there weren’t any beasties tailing them, then returned to the Protection along with the two I was permitted to have accompany me.

I’d initially wanted Drese to come along. It seemed perfect: the madu life master could ease any conversation with Nilfheim, as well as keep me alive in case anything were to go wrong. However he’d shaken his head and told me it was better for him not to show up and raise questions of conflicting loyalties. If he’d wanted to leave my service, this would be his chance. He was not one of my crew, and as a word from his matriarch had sent him with me a word could pull him away. It said something about his decision to stand by me that he removed that easy opportunity.

I’d asked Marcus, but he’d laughed in my face and gave me a list of reasons he shouldn’t go before telling me he didn’t want to.

With my nascent vision of having my entourage display my neutrality thoroughly crushed, I asked each of my officers and advisors in turn. Jorgagu begged off as being too hot-tempered to take to a stuffy diplomacy meeting. Sadeo and Gnar were both too useful to the might of our protective patrols. Gerald claimed protected status as a simple cook.

Rhistel agreed and so made one of my two ‘bodyguards’. He was at least interested in the proceedings and knew how to keep a neutral face. For my second, I called Arnnaith forward.

The half-elf boy had surprisingly been thick as thieves with Redmund lately. I’d half expected Arnnaith’s surliness to make a resurgence when the crew gained a child younger than him, but he’d gone the other direction instead and seemed to adopt Redmund as a protegee.

There was a niggling voice in my mind that Arnnaith wouldn’t be a strictly positive influence, but I saw it as good for the both of them anyway.

Arnnaith had been fulfilling his cabin boy duties faithfully after I’d essentially demoted him to the role. When he wasn’t acting as my shadow or assisting me, he was working with Gnar, as the other Tactician in my crew. He had learned a lot and was about to the point I was going to assign him to the Raven under Jack. With how familiar my two tacticians were with each other I believed they could streamline plans and signaled communications.

So he was by no means a bad choice to bring to the table. It was just that – like Rhistel – he didn’t exactly scream ‘bodyguard’. I was definitively the most martially inclined of our troupe, and my level wasn’t going to scare anyone. My profession and reputation might.

I was overthinking all of this yet again. How anyone aspired to a political office was beyond me.

We forewent using a raft and just hopped over the side and swam the mile distance. Rhistel and Arnnaith both had their swimming above 10 and were hardly strained by the exercise. We swam under the hulls of the Protection and the H.M.S. Margrave that had tied off together and noted the additions that both ships had emplaced by military engineers working with shipwrights. The scientific pursuit of ways to kill me continued, but hopefully a good by-product from the research would be making ships more defensible from sea beasts.

We swam up and hailed the crew of the Margrave, who didn’t bat an eye and lowered a rope ladder for us to climb. Dripping wet in our best apparel, the three of joined the negotiations.

Err, party. There was a lot of socializing going on, with camps of people huddled together sending out emissaries to other camps of huddled people. Musicians were playing to give cover to the conversations, and both vessels had a spread of local delicacies being mostly ignored and alcohol either being rapidly downed or carefully swirled in hand.

A glance at the bar showed a fine whiskey on display but I denied myself the liquid courage.

“Which group do we mingle with?” Rhistel murmured, seeing the intricate dance going on.

“The food,” I replied immediately while Arnnaith mouthed the words he expected at the same time. I saw him in my Domain and shot him a look but his expression was of pure innocence.

I also saw king Jovan’s pet vampire below deck, carefully staying out of the sun. I still hoped that she was just insurance, and not an assassin, but then Jovan had given up far too much with this expedition for it to simply be a ploy for a matriarch’s blood.

We took plates and shamelessly pillaged the Antaran delicacies. Hopefully someone would have the nerve to follow us in line now that their presentation had been ruined, these dishes were far too good to be relegated to scenery. A military man had pity on us and came to welcome us, then chatted amiably about nothing at all to give us a cover for standing there and eating. When we finished he excused himself with a smile. I made a point to remember his rank and name so I could send him a present if I ever got the chance.

With little else for the Margrave to offer we made our way to the Protection, using the gangway they’d prepared. I anticipated the sea state would pick up enough in the coming hours to make keeping the ships fastened together untenable, but it was up to these people how they wanted to spend their time.

I passed king Jovan and a Matriarch, both flanked by absurdly leveled guards, having a ‘casual chat’ that I expected would be where all the real decisions were made. I gave a polite nod in their direction since they both took notice of me, and moved to Nilfheim’s food table.

Impartiality expressed. Nailed it.

I’d had Madu food before, and if I couldn’t have told you what everything was … well, I couldn’t have told you all the Antaran delicacies either. I knew enough to sample what I expected to like and warn my companions of elven descent to avoid the green sauce. Arnnaith still considered it, but decided not to push his luck in front of this many upper-class.

Before we stepped away from the table, a dwarf barged up to it. His sudden presence made Rhistel step out of the way, freeing the dwarf to ladle a large scoop of green sauce onto a fillet of some type of fish.

“Ah, this stuff has the right spice for the old constitution!”

A glance at his open stats showed a Constitution twice mine. Arnnaith’s lips were pursed and he seemed satisfied with his sweet white sauce now.

The dwarf turned slightly and eyed me from under a bushy white eyebrow. “I am Keathi Higntur. I rule over the great Sea Hall. If you have no more pressing engagements, Domenic Seaborn, I would speak with you.” He cast a look around at the groups that we were clearly not a part of and carried his plate covered in green sauce up the curved stairs to the fantail.

I glanced at my companions, grabbed one more sphere of rolled fish, seaweed and some grain, and we followed.

Keathi took a deep breath of the sea air and chased it with a large bite from his plate. Amazingly, he avoided getting any color on his luxurious white beard, which had many plaits and braids with gold crimps. He was built powerfully, even for a race known for their stout stature. Arnnaith had been going through a growth spurt and roughly matched him in height, but was no doubt a third of his weight. And while there was some softness to the old dwarf, it didn’t imply weakness.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Keathi Higntur. I only visited the Sea Hall once as a lad, but it was a memorable place.” A stark place – the mountain sloped straight into the sea, the harbor a massive crag carved out towards the heart of the mountain. Even in the summer months I’d been there, snow had clung to the slopes. The Atlas ocean never truly warmed – there were simply seasons when the icy water wasn’t solid. The dwarves were reclusive, but they’d sold enchanted harpoons for good prices and bought food at very good prices, so lots of whaling ships would make a stop there for help keeping their ledgers in the black.

“Is it a pleasure, Seaborn?” Keathi asked. I nearly sighed. Between my Scarred Visage and Patricide titles, I wasn’t the right person for charming conversation.

“That remains to be seen, but I still have hope.”

He grunted and took another bite. Arnnaith and Rhistel saw they weren’t part of the conversation and sat against the gunwale to experiment on their own selections, the traitors. Since I was the only one letting the hot food get cold and the cold food get warm, I shrugged and dug in as well.

Keathi could say what he liked at his own pace. If I wasn’t going to enjoy this conversation I was going to at least enjoy my meal.

“Hrothgar Stonebreaker,” Keathi said abruptly. “The name mean anything to you?”

The food turned to ash in my mouth. I forced it down anyway and my stomach roiled. I looked out at the horizon. “It means something to me.”

“Good, you remember him at least.”

I clenched my jaw and closed my eyes for a second, just letting Domain see around me. Rhistel and Arnnaith had both frozen as well. Keathi was looking at me hard, but there were no weapons being drawn or assailants approaching.

I took a deep breath. “Was he kin of yours?”

“No, not kin. Just a mercenary dwarf unlucky enough to be captured by the humans.”

“Unlucky enough to be rescued by me,” I said quietly.

“Indeed. I read the letters ‘Voice of the Crew’ and one of them spoke of how he died, in the ambush by the Spirit. Perhaps you’d like to tell me more?”

I didn’t. I disliked thinking about those days at all – they were my lowest point, the shame on my soul, the thing I sought redemption from.

Keathi’s question wasn’t a true request. I still considered ignoring it and walking away. But I owed Hrothgar a debt I couldn’t repay. I could at least tell his story to his people.

And so I told Keathi about how I’d found a singular dwarf in a hold filled with slaves. How he’d accepted my bargain to save his life, along with the rest of the crew that became mine. How he was nearly the strongest warrior I had, and certainly the most reliable. I’d leaned on him hard, making him the center of the fighting teams I’d scrapped together. He’d held off foes, drawing attention with his ability to taunt and tanking hits that would have broken weaker people.

And I told him about how he’d been the target of a dozen magical attacks during our battle with the Spirit in the Broken Isles – the most devastating loss I’d suffered to date.

“That’s all something,” Keathi said when I finished. “You’re honest about how you used him up. Now tell me about him. Did you know him, at least? Did you value the dwarf you used up?”

I glared at Keathi. “He was my crew. Of all the mistakes I’ve made as a Captain, I’ve never casually thrown away my crew’s lives!”

Keathi held me in a steady gaze while the angry flush returned from my cheeks. I took a breath. “He once found a bottle floating in the water. It was all covered in barnacle growth – clearly it had been floating for a long, long time. He was so excited, though! He must have heard stories at some point of marooned sailors getting help by sending messages like that. It was a mystery straight out of the stories.” I chuckled. “He opened it up and the message said ‘bet you wish this had grog in it.’”

That got a quiet harrumph from the old dwarf.

“He … he was a good person. He wasn’t the strongest fighter I had – the strongest was a mad dog, crazed. But Hrothgar was reliable. When I … when I was committing atrocities under Jones’ heel, I found small ways to rebel sometimes. I once tasked Rhistel here to take Hrothgar and root out any people hiding below decks.”

“I objected,” Rhistel said. “I told you I wanted no part of the violence. You knew I had a soft heart.”

“I did. Deep down I wanted you to circumvent me. I sent you with Hrothgar.”

Rhistel nodded. “He was the one who had the idea. I was still agonizing over what I should do when he discovered a hidden sailor and sent him out the hawsepipe – that’s the hole where the anchor came out of.” He clarified for the dwarf. “It was so matter of fact for him. He’d gone below decks and he was going to sneak those hiding off. He never asked me about it, never questioned if I was on board. He was going to make it happen. I respected him in that moment. Together we got all those below decks swimming for shore. We spoke frequently after that. Never about what we’d done, but we saw eye to eye.”

“A dwarf mercenary befriends an elf … now that’s a story.” Keathi looked back at me. “We dwarves aren’t quick to make friends. If the world decided to burn itself … well we’d shut our doors and keep mining down. But the Madu folks have been good to us over the years – even helped us fight orcs in the olden days!” he said with a chuckle. Those were olden days – an expansionist faction of orcs had tried to muscle into the mountains dwarves claimed. After roughly two centuries of war there weren’t orcs in the mountains anymore (though goblins were impossible to completely eradicate). Though Bandarn had never directly fought, the racial blood feud that had been created still soured relations between them to this day.

“So it’s taken time to rouse us – time and our friends losing their land to humans. But we’ve come to support our old friends. If this king wants to play nice now, let him.” Keathi waved his hand dismissively. “It makes no difference to us. But we’ll stand by Nilfheim either way.”

“I’d hate to be against you,” I said politely. “But if you’re looking for me to pass the word, king Jovan isn’t my monarch anymore.”

Keathi gave me a tight smile. “We’d have stood against you and this Davy Jones too. If you’d been more callous with Hrothgar, I might have claimed a feud with you independently. As is, I will pass the recommendation that you be treated with neutrality. That’s what you claim to want, isn’t it? We can respect that.”

Keathi slapped a hand against his chest abruptly. “I do believe this sauce is actually having some effect … I must get some more!”

As I watched the dwarf amble away, I realized I’d narrowly avoided having another enemy – one who for all his current joviality would have brought a fearsome power to bear. Not that my ships would have cared about his martial might if we sank the ship beneath his feet and sailed away, but it would have lied heavily on my conscience to do that when they had just cause for being upset with me.

“Hrothgar, you have a protective people. I wish you could have made it here.”

Even with my Domain, I couldn’t deduce what the signal was, but Keathi had somehow wordlessly communicated that I was alright and more dwarves introduced themselves. One was a predatory old strategist who claimed he’d been dying to play a strategy game with the sea Captain that had brought terror to the world’s navies. I pushed Arnnaith forward, a proposition that didn’t amuse either one of them, until the strategist slipped by describing his game as ‘three dimensional’. Gnar and Arnnaith both had a chip on their shoulder about that phrase, as it was commonly thrown about but we were the crew who actually lived and operated in the dimensions of underwater sailing and fighting. The old dwarf had earned himself an antagonist.

I was much more interested in the dwarf wearing wooden armor – the flotation devices. It was well known that dwarves didn’t float, so I’d forgive him that, but he actually had the sailing skill! Not quite to the journeyman ranks, but I felt a sense of pride for him!

He was standing on top of the metal contraption slung along the Protection’s quarter. I asked what it was, and he challenged me to hop on and find out.

That was hardly a challenge, and I readily made the jump, my curiosity unabated. I’d taken a cursory look through my Domain when we were in range but after verifying there was no clear threat the design baffled me. “Why have a hatch in such an oddly shaped anchor?”

“This?” the dwarf said, stamping his foot on the metal surface. “This is no anchor. This is the future!”

“Is it some form of diving bell manipulated by the ship?”

The dwarf scoffed. “This is its own vessel!”

My eyebrows shot up. “What?”

“Its own vessel! It’s a dwarven made ship!” I looked at him, then at the very heavy metal surface we stood on. I waited for the punchline to the joke, but couldn’t see how it was worth dragging this thing out here.

The dwarf could see my incredulity. “It floats.” He pronounced.

After a moment to process his statement, I did laugh out loud. But the dwarf’s smile only grew more confident when I did. “Surely,” I said, checking my mirth. “Surely you’re joking? This thing? I mean no offense, but it bears more resemblance to an anchor than a ship …”

The dwarf wasn’t breaking.

“It floats? What magic did you discover to do that? Any water mage trying to manipulate this thing would quickly burn out of mana!”

“Good sir, this vessel does not float by magic. It floats by engineering.” After a moment to savor my flabbergasted expression he elucidated. “I’ll grant you, it currently floats a few yards under the surface, but it works! It has a series of deployable fins, ballast tanks to help it control its depth, and a propeller for locomotion through the water!”

I swallowed, my mind flooded by the implications. “If I may,” I said, darting around him to get a look at the rear. I noted that he was very careful about where he placed his feet and stayed on the slightly flattened top. Flotation or not, sailing skill or not, he was not a swimmer and dreaded the water.

I scurried to the back and there I saw a boxy shape and attached to it a rudder. I couldn’t see the propeller. Behind me, the dwarf suggested I might have a better view from the fantail. I excused myself, cast feather fall, and leaped towards the gunwale, earning a gasp from behind me. When clinging to the outside of the gunwale, I could just see the curve of some propeller inside the boxy apparatus.

“Having fun, Captain?” Rhistel asked from the other side of the gunwale.

“Do you know what that is?” I asked.

“I heard something about it being an experimental liferaft, safe from sea beasts. Clever, if they can power a magical beacon long enough for a rescuer to make it out.”

“That’s not just a raft,” I said. “That’s an innovation to the world of sailing!”

Before Rhistel could pull a further explanation from me, I was launching directly for the propeller, causing the dwarf aboard to pale further. A simple water whip secured me without putting weight on it – I didn’t want to damage it if it was delicate, though nothing about the dwarven engineering screamed ‘delicate’ to me. My mind matched the design with what I knew of water’s behavior and I found it stunning in its simplicity and efficiency. Turning the propeller by any means from inside the vessel would generate thrust, and that thrust further directed by the apparatus surrounding it … were these wings on articulating joints? With that ability to direct the force, this vessel could turn … and roll – didn’t that dwarf say something about deployable fins? For stabilization?

I pulled myself back on top of the vessel and canceled feather fall in front of my tour guide. “This is incredible! May I look inside?”

The dwarf glanced at me, then at someone on the Protection. He heaved a sigh. “Just like the engineers … no, we didn’t exactly build the thing with your … dimensions in mind.”

“I don’t mind cramped spaces,” I deflected and hopped down the hatch.

He wasn’t kidding when he talked about wrong dimensions. When my feet clanged against a deck, my head and shoulders were peaking through the hatch of a deck above it. I was used to cramped quarters, but the dwarves had absolutely filled this place with a claustrophobic series of pipes, valves, and wide-mouthed horns of some type. While the height was far too low for me, the width was wide enough that I could pop onto my hands and knees well enough. So I did, and found where the propeller shaft had multiple places for someone to grab and turn it. It would require several people of high strength to have any efficiency, but the dwarves were known for their strength. Their stats were naturally ‘imbalanced’ with higher strength and constitution, so this design could work for them.

“Having fun, Captain?”  Rhistel called from above.

“You could say that,” I said. Looking towards the front, I could see crates of stored supplies. I identified those as non-perishable rations – did they have water stored or did they plan on having a water mage summon potable water?

“Well Captain, I think folks up here are getting worried that you’ll discover more state secrets than they want you to know.”

“Hmm?” I paid attention with my domain to what was going on outside again. There was a small crowd looking at the Rhistel and the tour-guide dwarf. I suppose he might not have been a tour guide. “Ah.”

I might have gotten carried away.

I didn’t need to see this all with my own two eyes. Now that I knew what I was looking at, I could spy on the whole design with my Domain from the deck of the Protection.

I clambered up the hatch and straightened my hat and coat before turning to the dwarf beside Rhistel, who had his face twisted up in consternation as opposed to my officer’s wry amusement. He wasn’t one to laugh, he nerded out over animals.

“This vessel is simply fascinating,” I praised, though more calmly than the manic rush I’d just been moving around in. “I would dare say revolutionary! I would love to have a discussion on whatever you’re able to discuss, and offer whatever humble suggestions I may.”

The dwarf cocked his eyebrow. “Suggestions?”

“Yes, you probably have reasons for the schematic, but did anyone think of a design more like a tube? The wide profile for the aft section reduces flow through the propeller.”

The dwarf chewed on his mustache for a minute before sighing and pulling out a charcoal stick and paper. “Well why not have a chat?”

I was still talking with the dwarf – who’d at least warmed to me and my expertise after a few hours – when the weather deteriorated enough for them to pull the gangplank and separate the ships. This seemed to mark the end of the social event and the start of serious negotiations. As a gesture of good faith, the talks were held aboard the Protection. King Jovan was letting his power base move a hundred yards away.

He still had two dozen people with him to support and protect him, as well as myself with an interest in making sure this went off without a hitch. I doubted he enjoyed relying on my influence, though.

The dwarf begged off our discussion to see to his vessel, and I decided I’d monopolized his time enough. I found Rhistel having a discussion with Keathi that they broke off when I approached, the lord of the Sea Hall wishing me safe voyages and departing. Rhistel ignored my quirked eyebrow, so I let it slide. I trusted him.

I could only find Arnnaith because I knew where all my crew was. He was two decks down and still with the dwarven strategist who’d challenged him to a game. When we intruded on them they were loudly arguing while trying to stabilize a stack of four different playing boards they’d somehow propped up suspended above each other.

“I’m telling you,” The dwarf said in a voice just shy of a shout. “A fourth dimension adds needless complexity to the principle!”

“You’re the one who wanted a fourth dimension to represent aerial opportunity,” Arnnaith retorted, pointing at the teetering fourth board on top. “As if ships existed to use that plane? Adding another layer to the underwater side actually makes sense – that’s the dimension we are talking about exploring.”

“If we stick to the movement rules we theorized, two vessels could dance around each other all week with four planes of movement!”

“Only if neither wanted to win!”

The dwarf nearly slammed his fist onto the table, restraining himself at the last second to avoid toppling their shoddy proof of concept. They both finally took notice of us. “Well what do you think?” the dwarf challenged.

I glanced at the construction and the knick-knacks they had on each level to represent playing pieces. “Looks harder to assemble than a simple board.”

They both scoffed. “This will be the true test of conceptualized strategy!” the dwarf boasted. “A two dimensional playing field allows for memorized strategies to carry the day. This …” he gestured at the board. “This creates exponentially more options and incredibly diverse play!”

“Sounds like something someone said earlier,” Arnnaith said just loud enough for the dwarf to hear, which earned him a scowl.

“It’s fascinating,” I said. “You’ll have to teach Gnar to play it. Then convince someone with money to fund the creation and selling of these boards. Have fun with that.”

Suddenly both of them were smirking. “Hey Captain, mind if I use one of those chests of gold we’ve got sitting at the bottom for a little side hustle someday?”

“You underestimate what bored dwarves will do,” the old strategist added. “I show a proof of concept to the wizened ones in the jade hall … ha! This could be the new fad within a week!”

I shook my head. “Then you two have fun hashing out the rules. Arnnaith, take all the time you need, I’ll give you a shout when things change.”

The lad nodded, giving me and Rhistel assessing looks to make sure there wasn’t some duplicitous message we were trying to send, and then returned to arguing with the dwarf. “Keep the fourth dimension as sky above the sea then, but only for the sake of including wildcards to the play – wyverns or rocs and such. Of course …”

“Ain’t fair to add further harassment to the pieces stuck on the surface without balancing additional attacks to the deeper pieces!”

“Maybe a different class of threat popping into each depth? Deep sea monsters to counterbalance avoidance of all surface attacks?”

“We’d have to design the threats as well as the playing pieces – we haven’t even started on that …”

I hoped that they’d reach some version of consensus before I was forced to pull Arnnaith away. Games always splintered into a thousand versions and I hated ‘house rules’ that negated how I learned a game. It’d be worse if they split and went off to create two entirely not-quite-different games from the start.

It had been a while since I played any kind of game. Maybe I should invite my officers to a game of cards every now and then?

I returned topside with a confident stride and noted with some amusement that most of the diplomats lacked any kind of balancing skill like Sea Legs and were finding handholds to help. With the swells at less than 10 feet, I hardly noticed.

King Jovan had moved to the bow with the matriarch and continued their discussion alone, a dozen guards of both nationalities enforcing their privacy. The handful of dwarves had withdrawn to the gunwale by their contraption and were apparently discussing the suggestions I’d made to their sailor. I was excited at the thought that such devices might provide the innovative leap the world needed to contend with the increased danger of the sea. Of course, the dwarven engineers would need a lot of help developing the needed seamanship skills, so it would have to be a careful marriage of resources.

And funding. The short little prototype they’d carried along with them must’ve cost a hefty chunk of gold. The seas were a long way away from seeing an iron-clad Emerald.

I once again forewent the social obligations and kept my own counsel (suppressing the urge to tutor the helmsman as well). I was a neutral party trying not to overthink my neutrality, lacking any solid rapport with either side, and attempting not to feel the awkwardness of a loiterer after an event has died. The fluff and diplomats had disappeared, and the decision makers were conducting their affairs on behalf of nations.

I stared at the horizon and wished for the helm of the Tempest in my hand, the rush of saltwater flowing over the decks and through my hair.

I spent over an hour there, watching the weather deteriorate and exchanging some quiet conversation with Rhistel. It couldn’t last, and a madu approached me.

It seemed that while I kept myself apart from the socializing, each representative group here had made an effort to make contact with me themselves. That was nice.

The madu had aged, faded scales and dressed conservatively in their fashion. She lacked the seals of office that the matriarchs wore but I’d noticed how the other madu deferred to her. She was probably an advisor or elder or something. If I’d been smart or at least a little politically inclined, I would have quizzed Drese on who I might expect to meet here.

We greeted each other politely, with fragments of bows and pieces of the courteous phrases that started conversation. I was determined not to crumple to the desire to be off this deck before I’d put my best foot forward with the last (hopefully?) diplomatic meeting I was likely to have here.

“On behalf of the old mothers, I wish to thank you for your part in ensuring our negotiating partners reached this area safely. There is no telling what kind of losses might have plagued our nations if such a thing failed.”

“I considered it a duty to end something I regret having any participation in.”

She nodded as if fully expecting the words I’d said. “To that matter, I wish to extend sincere apologies – on behalf of the structured nation of Nilfheim itself – for the involvement of Yuthe Seel in fostering bitterness between us. To that end, I wish to extend this gift to you.”

With a subtle movement, she withdrew a small bottle from a pocket in her sleeve and presented it to me. The bottle wasn’t even a handspan long, made of clear glass with a cork solidly placed in the mouth. Inside was a ship, a miniature galleon of exquisite detail that would have been admirable even outside of the bottle. To finish off the presentation, there was some light enchantment that kept the water filling the bottle swirling, bringing life to the replica sails.

I thought I recognized what was going on. This was an olive branch – an otherwise useless bauble acting as a symbol of trying to make a fresh start. It wasn’t a greater gift because they didn’t think themselves really in the wrong. There was still a gift because they didn’t want a deadly enemy.

I admired and expressed my appreciation for the gift before sighing, memories of times past galvanized into my head and bringing their weighty baggage with them. “Do you know that I raised Lawless Jack under my command? The mercenary who attacked my ship, led the slaughter of my shipmates, tortured me and then prodded me off a gangplank to find my death drowning in the deepest, monster-filled depths around … I brought him back and he now enjoys a position of trust amongst my crew.

“To blame Nilfheim for an act of war during wartime is foolishness, and from me is hypocritical. I met Yuthe Seel once, and even saying ‘met’ is a strong term. She was dismissive of me, and upset with Jack for failing his mission, which I’d thwarted. She pushed Jack into disposing of me.

“Somehow in my mind, this cemented the madu as an enemy even after I’d gotten past Jack’s actions. He was a mercenary, and to me it made sense he did what his job was. For the madu it was personal – the defense of your homeland – and because of that I couldn’t let go of it somehow being personal against me.”

I licked my lips and carefully avoided looking at the sails of the Justice staying within range. “I am sorry for the grievances my prejudice and bitterness made.”

The elder remained silent for many long, long moments. Perhaps she was fighting down less productive recriminations, or maybe she was waiting for me to admit the debt that I’d carefully not expressed. I was willing to make repayments to ease my blood-guilt, but I wanted to do so by my own conscience and not at a nation’s behest.

She finally spoke. “It takes a wise person to admit and confront their own prejudices. In the interest of our nation, you are pardoned from any crimes. On behalf of those who experienced loss,” her slitted eyes bored into mine with significance. “You are forgiven.”

It wasn’t until she’d bowed and stepped away that I let the impact of those words of forgiveness impact me, knocking the breath from my lungs and making my knees wobble despite my Sea Legs. Rhistel was there, clapping a hand on my shoulder. He knew how powerful those words could be too.

“The nerves of steel it must take to look into the eyes of someone who killed family and forgive them …”

He nodded. “These matriarchs are not revered for nothing. Perhaps it’s our relation to the fae, but there’s not a single ruler I know of the elder race that would do such a thing.”

I took a fortifying breath and wished they hadn’t whisked away the whiskey along with all the other alcohol when they’d cleared the food. A reflection on my father’s method of using it to dull such emotions was enough to make me loathe the thought of a glass in my hand.

I remembered the moment I’d forgiven my father. He’d denied it and forced a battle to the death. Maybe it took strength to forgive as well as accept forgiveness.

“Bah,” I said, straightening and rolling my shoulders. “This bottle is a nice little memento. I’ll have to have a display made for it in my cabin.”

Rhistel accepted the diversion away from emotional vulnerabilities with the aplomb natural to males of any race, it seemed, and we spent another hour talking even more about nothing.

Arnnaith emerged from below deck with a sheet of paper covered in notes and numbers which he folded carefully before sticking it in a damp pocket. Thankfully the nature of my curse preserved such things, otherwise I’d have no navigational charts intact.

His stoic expression broke into a grin when he joined us. “That old dwarf is going to change the values we agreed upon as soon as he’s back home, but it was a fun diversion and I look forward to introducing Gnar to the game. By the by, Captain, you might be interested to hear about what he assumed some particular dwarven playing pieces might be capable of.”

It took me a moment to catch on, but then I was reminded why Arnnaith had the Tactician skill – there was more than just game development going on while they discussed their rules. I laughed and cast a glance over at the submersible metal ship. “I may have an idea, but I look forward to comparing notes.”

The Justice began signaling the Protection and while I was partially stymied from the full message because they were using some code or another, I was able to gather the gist of it: there was a ship on the southern horizon. Apparently with a lot of sails.

The message earned an acknowledgement and nothing was done but have eyes peeled towards the south – which encouraged me and a few others to keep watch in other directions as well. Eventually what was visible to the lookout in the Justice’s crows nest became visible to us on the deck of the Protection. I pulled out a powerful spyglass of my own and took a look.

Identifying ships could be a tricky business at range, as the identify skill couldn’t always work. Knowing more about a ship helped pick them out at longer ranges, but that was before obfuscation skills came into play and muddled everything again.

I didn’t need my identify skill to ping to recognize the ship approaching: there wasn’t another on the ocean’s like her.

The Emerald had arrived unannounced.

Authors note: Domenic’s distaste for Personal Flotation Devices (lifejackets) is in keeping with the attitude of many sailors (even today). That said, it’s a stupid attitude and if you’re out on the water do your local coast guard a favor and wear your PFD’s. I did some training with coasties and it was scary how quickly your odds of survival/recovery go down the drink when you’ve got nothing.