Seaborn

I woke to someone jostling my shoulder and saying it was time for me to relieve Frederick and let the old man get his own rest. I had vague recollections of confusing and disturbing dreams, but besides a sense of disquiet they didn’t intrude on my waking hours.

I assumed control of the flood barrier from Frederick – noting that it sapped slightly more mana because of some additional structural damage to the ship, but nothing too onerous. Frederick hardly said a word, just clapping me on the back before he stumbled to his small cabin.

The first thing I did was fetch a bucket of seawater and wash the blood off me. After that, I maintained and inventoried my weapons. Fights happened quickly and pulling out a new weapon from my bag was a neat trick, but if I swapped weapons I rarely had time to store them again. I dropped them and moved on. If I picked it up again later in a fight, great. If not, I’d replace it when I could. I had forgotten more than once what weapons I had, though, so inventorying was part of my maintenance now.

Dawn was only a little ways off. Darkness yielded to gloom as visibility at a distance became better and better. Gloom turned into an easy diffused light that blended into an overcast day.

The sailors were not spared from their duties, being rousted from their hammocks as needed. However, Graves allowed the men to relax if they didn’t have duties, either to return to their swaying cocoons or idle with breakfast that Gerald had prepared.

The combatants got to sleep as long as they wished. After the fight they’d had, the men they’d lost, and putting their things in order before ever touching their berth, they would only be roused as a group if they were needed again.

When chief saw me sharpening my blades, he decided that this morning I was mage/combatant instead of mage/sailor, and didn’t have me hauling line or climbing aloft. For all that sailing was my life, I was glad to have some peace this morning.

An interesting dynamic I noticed was that for all that Graves spent time with the crew, he limited his interaction with them. He worked through intermediaries, his officers or chief. He never emphasized his authority over the army fighters, instead giving directions to Polis to pass to his men.

It made him distinct and separate from the crew. I could see how it fit the navy’s standard of ‘good order and discipline’ but most Captains I’d worked with who were aloof and standoffish like that weren’t liked and they usually made issues for themselves. What was the difference? A military mindset versus a civilian one? Sailing to catch game or carry cargo versus patrolling with the intent to dominate and control the waters? Having a chain of command filled with men who knew their role?

Idle musings, as I oiled weapons.

When I got around to tending to my light armor, I gagged. I hadn’t realized how badly cut up and covered in gore it had been. I hesitated but decided to discard it. I’d advanced to skill level 5 in light armor after last night, but what I had left just wasn’t worth keeping. I’d try to replace it soon.

Graves approached me after the sun had been up for a while. “Dom Harter, I want to thank you again for your intervention last night. You saved a lot of lives.”

I nodded dully as I counted the arrows and bolts I had left. Saved lives? Sure, I’d saved the crew of the Carpathia. But did my Lifesaver achievement advance? No. Instead, I’d had a long list of death notifications to go through. Some of those had been from warriors who tripled my levels, but most had been from crewmen around my own level or even lower. 11 of the Madu had been listed as ‘Madu seaman’. Not ‘Madu fighter/artillerist/warrior’. Seaman. The fraternity of brotherhood I was inclined to feel towards a fellow seaman clashed with my bias against the Madu. After my conversation with the Madu Captain last night, all that was overshadowed by the worry that those I’d killed – at least those seamen – were no different than the crew of the Mockingbird.

Graves cleared his throat. At first I thought it was because he was working towards saying whatever was on his mind, but a glance at his expression showed that he was annoyed at my lack of response. Ah. Respect the Captain’s authority and all that. I stood and gave the man my full attention.

“I make it a standard practice amongst my officers to debrief following an engagement. We will be having our discussion in an hour, if you would join us.”

“I’d be honored, sir.”

“Good. I also require my officers to fill out a written report. It helps cement their memories and their testimony, and can be shared with other officers to improve the navy as a whole. I’ll supply you with the materials and time to add your own report.”

“No.”

“No?” Graves said, affronted.

“No.”

He stared me down, face passing briefly over anger at being contradicted before changing his mind and sighing tiredly. “Come with me, Mr. Harter.”

I complied, following the Captain to his quarters where he gestured for me to close the door and sat down heavily on his bed. The bags under his eyes suddenly seemed more pronounced.

“Dom, you’re by far the most difficult crewman on board. After getting old mage conscripts like Frederick, that’s saying something! If you were less necessary – forget that – if you were just as necessary but under my traditional control you would be punished for your response to me.”

“I believe my cooperative performance had made you forget the nature of our relationship.”

“And there it is!” Graves said. “Dom, if I’d been asked five minutes ago I’d have said I planned on writing you a personal letter of recommendation along with glowing remarks on your performance in my report. Instead I’m reminded that you’re a stubborn, contrary mule who sided with the enemy! I have half a mind right now to clap you in irons and keep you there until we arrive.”

“Is that a threat?”

“No, that’s not a real threat …”

“Good. Then I won’t threaten you either.”

Graves’ face flushed and he held up a finger to me. “You’re pushing me far, Dom!”

“We’re what, a week out?” I asked.

“Just over a week, yes.”

Right, the Carpathia was slowed. “If our business arrangement is proving too restrictive for you, I’ll hop over the side immediately. I don’t believe you’ll have any further trouble before reaching port. With the spells I’ve learned from Mr. Frederick, I’d consider my services paid for. We can be done.”

Frederick’s jaw opened a little when he realized I was serious. “You’d do that? Just like that, you’d hop into the sea and chance your life on making it to land, where you’ll be so exhausted you’d be crawling to the nearest healer?”

I crossed my arms. I considered saying something about how he’d underestimated me last night, but couldn’t piece the words together. My stubbornness was answer enough anyway.

He sighed and sat back again. “Why the antagonism now, Dom?”

“Because I’m not in the navy. I’m not one of your sailors. I’m a contractor – and I’m in a very black mood and not prone to accept demands. I’ve been through enough!”

Graves chewed on his cheek for a moment before he stood and moved to his desk, which he made himself comfortable behind. “I feel like not all of that was aimed at me. Let’s unpack those statements, shall we?”

I glanced at the door. “I’m sure you’d rather be preparing for your officers meeting.”

“Oh, I’m smelling an opportunity here like blood in the water. You see, your sudden offer last night caught us all off guard. Take an enemy ship out of play? You even looked eager! Yet I should have paid more attention to the words of Sergeant Polis – or at least recalled them. We did forget that you had reasons for siding with the Madu. I’ve heard that you had a Madu friend that you were fighting to keep safe. That’s not the whole truth, is it?”

Graves was getting uncomfortably real.

“Your reason for wanting to attack that ship last night was real. Just as real, I’m guessing, as the reason you had for fighting against human ships. And now, those two reasons are eating you up, am I right? Or is it simply experience guilt over those you killed last night?”

What was Dom Harter supposed to say? Was it the same thing that Domenic Seaborn would say? What was the real reason, and did I have a motive for hiding it?

“You know, I can read your expression – or lack thereof. You make a terrible liar, Dom.”

“There are worse character flaws.”

Graves’ lips twitched upwards slightly.

“Why do you care? I’m not your crew, I’m just a mercenary. Why try and unpack what I’m dealing with?”

“I’ve purely selfish reasons. You’re incredible, Dom. Spellswords tend to have a short, if well-paid, life. The navy could use more. If I could convince you to join us – really join us – I’d consider it a significant contribution to the war effort.”

I struggled not to roll my eyes. At least he was honest.

“And … and it pains me just a bit to see someone as capable as you teetering on the edge of self-destruction. I don’t need a backstory on you to know you’ve felt a great deal of loss, but also tasted your own share of power. Am I right?”

I nodded dully.

“So talk to me. Tell me what it is about humanity that drove you to fight against them.”

The desire to drop the mask and have someone help me – to take care of me – was strong. Strong enough that I wondered if Graves was using some kind of skill on me. That made me hesitant, and while I hesitated I thought of how I was supposed to really get help from the Captain while maintaining my illusion as Dom Harter. Graves had an eye for deception, and I was no true spy who could lie at that level of exposure.

I shook my head, more certain now that Graves had used a skill on me since the desire to expose myself was still there after having reached a decision. “I’m sorry Captain. At this point I just want to find myself away from all this. I’ll fight aboard a navy ship if it takes me from Antarus, but I’ve no more loyalty to the confederacy than the value of their coin.”

Graves shoulders slumped, and I passively pried open his stats to see a chunk of his stamina was missing. “Very well. Though I’ll warn you against playing hardball on the shore. You might find yourself locked up instead of afloat.”

I accepted his warning and left.

It said something about the danger of his skill that when I went and found Gerald prepping another meal, I still felt like talking. It said something else about my experiences over the last year that when Gerald asked me if something was wrong, I actually shared.

I didn’t spill my secret of being Seaborn or having made a deal with Davy Jones. I couched everything in vague, nonspecific terms. But I shared my struggle with my identity, my struggle with goals and long-term vision. I shared about how I’d taken a leadership role, only to fail those below me and have them betray me. I admitted to him that made me scared to lead anyone again. How I’d done hard things that turned into vile things, and the ghosts of the dead haunted me at night.

Gerald had put down his tools to give me his undivided attention at first, but somehow by the time I finished sharing I was standing beside him, helping him put the finishing touches together. He didn’t say a word the entire time. Apparently it was what I needed, because by the end a weight was lifted from my shoulders.

After a minute of silence, when he was sure I was done talking, Gerald turned to regard me. His hawk-like focus held me up as I waited for what I’d realized I was looking for: someone who knew me before this whole story started, when I wasn’t Seaborn but just Domenic, to tell me I wasn’t the monster I saw in my reflection.

“Dom,” he said, clapping a hand on my shoulder. It was as comforting a gesture as could be given between people who weren’t all that close. Then he said the words I so desperately wanted to hear. “You are a good man.”

Maybe Gerald didn’t know the whole story of my identity. Maybe he didn’t have the right to vindicate me without having seen my mistakes. Maybe his words shouldn’t mean anything.

But, oh stars, they meant everything! My vision blurred as tears welled in my eyes. I was forced to turn away before they began cascading down my cheeks.

Gerald slapped me hard on the back and made some comment about helping him get the dishes scrubbed. There were no more words shared while we tidied up, not until the simple and wholly inadequate phrase I shared as I was about to head back topside.

“Thank you.”

I joined Graves’ little council only slightly tardy, and if the look he gave me was for being late or noticing his skill wasn’t effecting me anymore, I’d never know. The meeting was uneventful, though it did offer some insight into how the navy thought and fought.

When Frederick got up to relieve me of the flood barrier, I was itching to practice and pestered him about learning a lightning spell. He adamantly refused to share the technique of his lightning storm, but was contemplative of me learning a ‘simple’ lightning spell.

“You’ve got some of the principles down, your shocking touch spell is proof of that. You don’t have all the components, though, and I’m loathe to teach you here.”

“I picked up a few things about the flow while watching you cast.”

He gave me a look that said I better keep such things to myself. “Flow is the right word for casting lightning with air magic, but you’ve got to think about more than just that. You’ve got to understand where it is flowing. Causing lightning to fall from the sky is different from shooting it from your fingers. If your mana is fueling the spell, you have to be careful where it flows within your body, or you’ll take damage even on a successful cast. That is the last thing you need to understand before you can gain the spell.”

“Can you teach me?”

He hemmed and hawed and finally agreed to show me as best he could through his own casting. If he slowed the spell down – something that took remarkable knowledge and control to do without it failing or blowing up in your face – and burned extra mana to highlight what he was doing, I could get a picture of the process. So, for the price of a mana potion to replenish his pool (if he knew how low on those I was getting, he probably wouldn’t have agreed), I was able to watch as he cast lightning in slow motion – right up until the arc of light shot up into the sky.

He then forbade me from practicing on the ship, but if he was right then conceptualizing the flow of mana-turned-lightning as it left my body was the last step. To console me – or make sure I didn’t practice lightning when he wasn’t looking – he tutored me on the thunderclap spell. It had commonalities with lightning, naturally, but surprisingly it also tied in with air push and gust. He swore I was nearing a breakthrough with it, but when I went below to rest it was with an empty mana pool and no new notifications. Yet.

Inconvenient winds made the rest of our journey take 15 days, which passed without any incident; either from the non-human alliance or the confederacy. When we did arrive it wasn’t to Pristav, the main port of Antarus and my erstwhile home, but to a shipyard on the northwestern part of the island. The shipyard had been hastily constructed when it became apparent that the nation’s other ship production areas were insufficient to maintain and build up the required fleet.

Most settlements that were built had an eye for longevity and ranking up: a higher ranked town offered more options and perks than a simple hamlet. When the crown decided to invest in a town, there was normally a great deal of work and planning that went into it while people complained about everything taking too long.

Stockton shipyard was an illustration of why that planning was necessary, and what the consequences were of moving ahead without it.

The shoreline had nearly a dozen cradles for ships to be built, but those cradles took up what was likely the most viable seaside building land around. The town that had cropped up around the shipyard had poor foundations that were already showing. In addition, while it often went overlooked there was a great deal of planning that went into sewers – otherwise any city with a population over a thousand would reek in a way no civilized magic-wielding professionally skilled society would tolerate. Here the waste was channeled into a stream that emptied into the sea – the water was filthier in this little town than the whole port of Tulisang had been. The dangers of that were already manifesting as monstrous, insectoid water dancers skimmed across the water in swarms.

Archers and artillerists were training on those, either as part of a quest to suppress them or because some administrator thought the troops might as well grind their skills on the disaster of poor planning. I was primarily annoyed because the sea here would be inhospitable if I tried to sneak off and relax beneath the surf for a bit.

The town was expecting us, the fleet having sent word they were sending their crippled ships back. The workers were all in place to begin unloading weight from the vessel.

First, a magic user came on board and relieved Frederick from the flood barrier. Frederick grinned, said ‘land at last!’ gave a casual salute to Graves as he hopped onto the dock and began shouting ‘free’ repeatedly. He gave me a casual wave when he saw me staring, before clapping his hands together and sauntering off the pier. That last gesture had been a last congratulations on attaining my new thunderclap spell only yesterday.

“His obligated service ended with the Carpathia’s return,” Graves said wryly from behind me. “I could have held onto him for another hour, but he’d have made me miserable for it. I’m just glad the crown made some of the old recluses get into the war effort and do some good.”

“Talented people can do more harm than good if they’re pushed into a bad situation.”

“True, but I never let Frederick get that far. He’s a codger, but not a bad soul.”

My domain alerted me to the pair of armed guards approaching, and my muscles tensed even as I worked to keep my face neutral. “Captain?” I asked, my voice laden with meaning. Maybe my thunderclap would see use sooner than expected.

“Relax!” he said, rushing to placate me. “Jeez, someone’s tense. You’ll be escorted – unbound – to the colonel in charge here. If you’d prefer, you can be treated as a POW of the adventure society, or comfortable house arrest. If you still intend to sail out with another vessel make that known. I’m certain that arrangements will be made.” He handed me an envelope.

“What’s this?”

“My letter of recommendation.” At my quirked eyebrow, he continued. “It’s what I believe to be an honest assessment. You’re not the dedicated fighter I’d like to pass off, but your capabilities aren’t to be ignored.”

I eyed the envelope, thinking of the story where the messenger carried and delivered his own execution order. “Tell me, do you regret picking me up?”

“Not in the slightest,” Graves said without hesitation. “Now, if you asked whether I’d take you on again given my pick of a crew, I’d have to give it serious thought. I say the truth though, when I tell you you’re a bloody fine apprentice war mage and sailor. I wish you luck, Dom, on all the days you don’t find yourself on the other side of the battlefield.”

“Thank you, Captain.” I replied. I didn’t wish him luck in return, but it wasn’t rude not to. I already knew that he expected to be given another commission as soon as there was an opening. The loss of the Laya on the way back wasn’t a mark against him, but rather a testament to his abilities to fight off the enemy ambush. He’d be at home politicking until he had the chance to earn more glory at sea.

I couldn’t leave as freely as Frederick, having to wait for both administrative and traditional details to be completed. I meandered the deck, staying out of the way and amusing myself as my guards tried to be discreet in tailing me and finding themselves cursed at for being in the wrong places at the wrong times.

I ran across chief, the sailor taking a moment from running around to shake my hand and wish me luck. “You’re a bloody good sailor, hope to see you out in the fleet again.” He nodded significantly at the envelope in my hand, and I gathered that he’d been a proponent of the Captain endorsing my future work.

Gerald was staying out of the way. He said that people got more uptight when there were strangers around, and he wanted to avoid trouble. He had his own endorsement, one of several in his year of exemplary service. Of course, he’d still be suspected of being a traitor and face new hostility aboard his new assignment.

We shook hands and wished each other well, but I think we both doubted the chances of our running into each other again. The odds of us having this encounter aboard the Carpathia had been astronomical. With him determined to avoid trouble by serving in the navy and my unknown – but hardly cut for military service – future … well. He had been a friend to me when I needed him.

When it came time to step off, my guards stopped being discreet and hung close to me, like they expected the need to grab my arms and frog-march me to the colonel. I made a note of my slowly ticking land timer when I stepped onto the dock. Again when I stepped from wooden planking to solid land and my timer began counting down in earnest. I was nervous to see that little amount of time, but my days of training in Tulisang assured me that I would be able to do whatever business I needed and move on.

If not … well, plan B included the use of spells, skills, and weapons.

Marching through the town that looked like a slum, I expected the colonel to be a slovenly man to match. Instead, I entered a pristine, immaculate office. The walls were coated with portraits of military men and certificates of achievement. The desk held just the right amount of paperwork to show that the colonel was a busy, important man with lots of work to do – but not so much to look sloppy. The man himself was in full uniform, including medals, that looked like it had hours of work put into it (my guess being it was his aides’ work). His hair was slicked back and his neck bulged over his tight collar.

My first thought was this was a prissy man. My second was I hoped he wasn’t as good at reading expressions as Graves was.

Either the man’s smile naturally didn’t include his eyes, or that was a false hope.

“Mr. Harter – I hear you were picked up after the fleet’s last engagement with the enemy.” Even his voice seemed oiled.

“Yes, colonel,” I said. Details of our journey – including the loss of the Laya and my involvement delaying the Justice – had been shared as we rounded Antarus from the south. I lifted the envelope containing my letter of recommendation. “Service aboard the Carpathia was more to my liking.”

“Indeed,” the colonel said, while one of my bodyguards took the envelope and handed it to him. He sat and read it. We waited. The letter was two pages, and once finished the colonel reread several sections. Finally he folded it and looked at me with the clear note of analyzing me.

“Well Mr. Harter, I do believe a man like you deserves the best fit this outfit can provide. However, even Captain Graves notes that you have some difficulty with authority. Not to worry – as it happens we have a vessel being stood up here that would fit you perfectly. I’m assigning you to the Isa. Congratulations, and welcome to the fleet.”

I had a feeling that being assigned to the Isa was supposed to be a slight – a slap to the face or petty punishment. However, I was just glad that things were turning around smoothly. This was a risky part of my plan, and I’d seriously considered vanishing before we reached Stockton. I’d take a ship – even a lousy ship – if it meant a route away from here. Siebert had been the one to tell me my desire of getting recruited to a ship going to the Broken Isles was a pipe dream – at least there was a rumor that saying you wanted to go somewhere guaranteed you a different deployment.

Signing the paperwork was a streamlined affair these days. I acquiesced to the prompt alerting me to my commitment, dismissing the warning that I had ongoing hostilities with the faction I was signing up for. Before I had time to worry about my land timer, a friendly infantryman was walking me towards where the crew of the Isa was being gathered.

Fate is a funny thing. Just an hour ago I’d been remarking that I would probably never see Gerald again, but I found him there getting harassed by his future crewmates.

I also spared a glance for the Isa, and what I saw checked my stride as I was hurrying to my friend.

The Isa

Ship Class: Brig

Captain: Lieutenant Commander Darius

Ship Durability: 25,430/28,000

Ship Level: 2

Almost I thought it could be coincidence, the name of the Captain. Almost. It had been awhile since I’d seen the Athair and its Captain, who’d then been Commander Darius. If, however, Commander Darius had been demoted and sent to the Isa, supposedly a punishment detail …

Fate was a funny thing.