The sound of the whetstone along her cutlass was soothing.

And, equally today, irritating.

Erm, Captain Erminea Galatea Kleinhoff of the Gryphon’s Wings, both wanted to calmly continue the maintenance of her swords, and also wanted to barge into the palace and demand to know why she had not received an invitation to the luncheon that her father and three of his other captains had been invited to attend. THey would be discussing, along with the longer established members of the Rhiadian military leaders, what would be the country’s next steps in dealing with various other neighboring nations.

This, she knew, was completely irrational. The Gryphon’s Wings, her magnificent ship, was currently half the map away from the Kingdom of Rhiada cutting through wind and sea toward the port city of Garnakichaun. Her father, Admiral Galler Kleinhoff, had sent his daughter off to lead a “trade mission” to the island kingdom of Lornholdt, ostensibly to protect the diplomats and traders that currently bobbed along in her wake on a prettily painted old tub of a rolling barquentine.

Sitting on the fine korwood chair in her cabin, Erm seethed at what she perceived as an insult to her station as her father’s most reliable captain, as well as the woman who had saved the king’s life not too long ago. Stretching out her right leg from the chair and placing the heavy sole of her boot on the edge of her desk, she pushed herself back, tipping the sturdy, heavily carved, dark wood chair back onto its hind legs. A slight flexing of her ankle with each stroke of her arm sending the whetstone along the curved length of her blade, she rocked the chair in short arcs back and forth. It wasn’t a great idea, but it had always been a soothing motion to the petite, dark haired woman on days when the sea was “too calm,” and the ship rode too smoothly across the surface of the beautiful salt seas.

The light coming into her cabin had been playing across the length of her sword as she had worked, but with an hour now invested in the care of her blades, the sun’s place at the ship’s stern had shifted enough that it was illuminating bright blue dyed fabric of her breeches. She slowed her rocking to watch the shadow of her window frames play across the tightly drawn linen that covered her knees. Erm had thought she had built up enough good will with both her father and with King Myrl that she would have been included in such talks. As things now stood, however, she wondered if she had been sent on this run specifically to get her away from the Rhiadian Court for the next two months. Just at the edge of sight outside her window bobbed the vessel which she and her crew had been sent to protect.

The fat hulled old sow had once been a vessel called the Silver Cloud, or some such nonsense, but after being taken as a prize in a depressingly short and bloodless battle, had been refitted, and her masts rebuilt from a four masted barque to a three masted barque rigged as a brigantine, called a barquentine. With her reduced sails, and her already incredibly wide and round hull, she was now a slow sailing, bobbing, completely unthreatening, wallowing sow of a ship.

Renamed Dove WIngs, which made Erm grind her teeth just thinking about, the king of Rhiada had sent her back out to sea as a diplomatic ship, and her father had sent Erm and her crew along as the stick to the carrot the waddling tub represented. The king was too cheeky by half, and she was trying to not fly off in anger anytime someone mentioned the similarity of names between the beautiful, sleek, deadly ship she captained, and the plodding hog that she was now escorting.

As her hands moved automatically along the curved length of her left handed cutlass, she let the slow, grinding melody of the honing stone sing her back to a calm state of mind. Repeating the cycle of movements three more times before she deftly flipped the blade to repeat the process on the other side of the forward edge. Her eyes caught a deep mar on the clamshell shaped steel of the handguard that made up the top two-thirds of the sword’s knuckle bow.

Erm frowned at the cut in the metal’s surface.

She knew that using a pretty, pretty sword meant that it would gather scars did nothing to soften her gathering scowl at seeing the blemish. This would be something that she couldn’t just buff out herself, and she might need to take her “lefty” to the ship’s armorer, Weapon’s Officer, Lieutenant Adrienne Harper, who was never called “The Harpy” to her face by any sailor wanting to keep their nose the same shape for any reasonable time.

A few hours gone now, she and the other captains of the fleet had been talking with her father through a set of matched scrying bowl Artifacts that used her father’s innate Talent to link all of his ships for communications. It was a magic common to Merrows, like her and her father. And her grandfather, for that matter.

And using these Artifacts, Admiral Kleinhoff had coordinated one of the most efficient naval forces of Thach. Now, through bargains and political favors offered from a king that had to be younger than Erm herself, Kleinhoff’s fleet was now the teeth of Rhiada’s fleet.

Myrl’s fleet.

And her father, who was in port at Ghlow, the capital, was now going to attend a fancy lunch with Myrl to talk about the upcoming plans and assignments concerning naval and trade interests both. And she couldn’t attend.

Because she was here. Sailing a turtle’s pace to Lornholdt of all the damn places she could be going, to ensure a fat, ugly cork of a ship carrying a load of bean counters and professional arguers, arrived safely to attend trade talks with King Vlamus Graike.

Vlamus the Mad.

King Graike Wethair.

The Merrow King, ship sinker, green be His hair, and long across the waves be His reach.

And her grandfather who she had not seen since she had been a very small child, when her mother had still been alive.

Her grandfather, though most of the crew didn’t know this fact. Her father had been disowned by her grandfather. And she herself was not certain as to why that had happened, though Erm knew her father didn’t hate his own father. He just didn’t want to die in his father’s dungeons, either.

But her grandfather had put a bounty on “That Pirate, Galler!” And Vlamus had not been the last king to do so. Since leaving his father’s island kingdom, Galler Ekino Kleinhoff, once called Galler Graikeson, had sailed as a wanted man on every sea and ocean of Thach.

Now, as Myrl’s Second Admiral and First Admiral of the Diplomatic and Trade Fleet, Admiral Galler was just as feared on the open ocean as he had been before, but he was a part of a nation now. And anyone who sought his salt-crusted old hide would have to declare war with Rhiada to claim any of the bounties other nations may have been offering.

Galler Kleinhoff had taken a commission with a country. Admiral was no longer just a title he had given himself, as he had made deals to ensure his fleet’s security.

With the Kingdom of Rhiada.

With Myrl.

She thought of that horrible night when she and members of her crew had saved the king. The creatures that had swarmed the palace. The blood.

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How Myrl had stood nose to nose with a mad wizard, and fought him with a scepter and a belt knife.

She thought of how he had stabbed at the insane sorcerer even as he had fallen under the mage’s last attack.

And she thought of all of the lunches she had taken with the young king as he had been convalescing, and trying to heal from his horrific wounds. His dark, curly hair over his high cheekbones, eyes hidden under those unkempt locks like pearls hidden beneath the fronds of kelp in a gentle sea.

That man can EAT! Her mind added out of nowhere. She laughed, even snorted, at that thought. Many of her meals that she had taken with the young king had been the highest quality she had eaten in a long time, but Myrl just shoveled three servings down his gullet for every spoonful she had consumed.

Their meals went beyond his appreciation for her crew showing up to help when they had, it was more than that, Erm was certain.

At every meal, Myrl had acted like she was the most important person with whom he would be meeting. He didn’t fawn over her, and he didn't attend to her as her crew would. But, he… listened?

Erm knew it couldn’t have been just that. But, in some ways, some very important ways, it was exactly that. He listened to her. What she said meant something to this man who was not in her command, and not facing her across the bloodsoaked deck of her or his ship. He wasn’t some cocky midshipman in a dockside tavern trying to either impress her with his bravado, nor was he trying to prove he was a “better” captain than the renowned Merrowess Captain sitting before him.

Myrl and Erm had just been two people eating meals together, and talking about nothing and nonsense.

She shook her head to clear the particular nonsense, and went back to sharpening and re-honing. With that, her mind began to reattach itself to her task list for today. Then that same list for the week. And then finally for the coming month. Reaching toward her desk, she made note of some items her officers would need to attend to in the coming days once they reached Lornholdt.

Erm then set her cutlass aside, sliding it back into its dark blue scabbard and slowly stood up, stretching out as far as her petite form would allow, finally wiggling her fingers angrily at the ceiling of her cabin. With a quick shrug of her shoulders, and a relief laden popping noise from her spine, her arms dropped back down, and she flexed her neck as she grabbed up her deck coat and strode for the door.

Using the scrying bowl earlier to talk with her father for their weekly chat made her realize, again, how much work her father did to keep the fleet, HIS fleet, in proper trim, and how much effort beyond just captaining a few ships it was.

The tasks she had grown up with now had her staying on top of her ship and crew. Once she had gained her own ship, it was running smoothly due to all of her father’s hard wrought training and conditioning of Erm and her siblings. Erminea had started taking other ships, sometimes on her own, and sometimes in coordination with other ships in her father’s fleet, all of those lessons came into play and all of their efforts and choices all those years suddenly looked rational.

But…

And Erminea knew it was a HUGE but; now that Rhiada and her father had made those deals, the Kleinhoff Fleet was now three quarters of the Rhiadian naval fleet. At one time the coast-hugging fleet of Rhiada, now the sea spanning trade and defensive fleet of the Kingdom of Rhiada. It made a difference. She and her siblings, and her

Until Myrl came to the throne, the Kingdom of Rhiada had a small navy that mostly just (barely) protected its own coast. Then Myrl, …Hallowed by his name in my father’s ears…, had contacted the Admiral about an alliance.

After months of negotiations by scrying bowls, they had struck a deal. But, there was that big BUT again, Myrl then became king without a coup. Without going to war. Without needing a fleet.

Her father had almost flown into a rage at the news. Until Lord Ashe had stepped through a shadow on the deck of his flagship, The Kraken’s Tail, that evening. Old Galler had not been expecting that, to say the very least.

He had brought her father a gift. And held out to the little Admiral a letter from the King offering him a new deal. A special deal. One that he said would give old Galler Kleinhoff everything he and his fleet had ever wanted.

Erminea’s younger sister, Sonja, Captain of Regret, had speculated that it had been some ridiculous sum of gold. She didn’t know how her sister thought some days, the woman was a competent captain but a horrible daughter. Erm knew her father better than that, though.

They had gold. The fleet had gems the likes of which some nations didn’t and couldn’t even conceive. They even had an island all their own, with a fort, and a defensible dock. The fleet had taken more treasure than many of the greatest nations of Thach; an amount that many of those same nations would be envious of.

Her father, however, wanted legitimacy.

Being exiled by his own father had done something to old Galler. Being hunted by other countries didn’t bother him in the slightest; but when Vlamus had cast him out, Galler had been hurt in a way that went far beyond what a cutlass could do.

And so…

The fleet now worked for a real kingdom. A true nation. And all they had to do to get regular pay, regular supplies, regular port calls… was to be someone else’s leashed monsters.

Throwing open her cabin door and it was three steps worth of dark hallway taking her to the main deck.

Stepping out from under the stairs leading up to the quarterdeck, and the short protruding awning that was the front edge of the quarterdeck, and onto the main deck of her beloved double-barque, the Gryphon’s Wings, the fresh sea wind cooled the sweat from her brow, and brought her the peace that only being asea could bring a real captain. Erm took in a huge lungfull of salt laden air, and smiled to herself. Smiled at the world.

A smile with teeth.

This was HER legitimacy.

All else was bilge.

Knowing the duty schedule of her officers’ as well as she knew her own hands, she called out as she stood in the glorious sunlight of her beautifully clean deck. “MISTER GERN!”

A return hail from the poop deck, high and behind her called back in the deep whalesong tones of her right hand man. “Captain ON DECK!”

Every crew member who reasonably could, stood to attention and faced their captain.

“I see Mister Brunson hasn’t run us afoul of reefs. How do we stand?” There was a just audible cry of “...oy!” in complaint before Gern answered her.

“Captain, Mister Brunson decided to show up for duty this morning sober as a new mast! We are on course, and steady. Our little friends are three points south and aft. We have reefed sail to one quarter to maintain our speed to match.” Gern’s voice became louder as he walked forward toward where she now stood. She could hear his heavy steps as he had come down the flight of steps from the poop deck to the quarter deck, and now he stood behind and above her on the quarter deck, his massive sausages of arms folded behind his back as he stood at attention. “I have advised Mister Brunson that we will be altering course two points south this next hour to lead the duckling through Lonholdt’s reefs, but I plan to remind the doddering old man again in an hour.”

Again, a distant voice of protest sounded. “...I’m RIGHT here, do none of you tern-faced worm eaters hear me…?”

Feeling the cold sea air flow into her nose, Erm smiled. Brunson had lost heavily at the weekly officer’s card game two nights before, and now had to suffer the indignities of all of the officers to whom he had lost until he could pay off all of the markers he had thrown about, certain he had a winning hand.

He had possessed a low pair.

“MISTER BRUNSON!” The captain called out.

“CAPTAIN!” came the immediate reply.

“ARE YOU KEEPING THE WINGS STEADY?”

“YES, CAPTAIN! I AM! FOR ALL MY LIFE IS WORTH, CAPTAIN!” The older Ghorma man responded, his blue skin gone purple after long hours in the sun.

“GOOD MAN! NOW STOP WHINGING!”

And with that, the entire deck crew broke into mad laughter.

Gern made his way down the stairs to the main deck to join his captain, and then stepped to her right, to stay out of her sunlight. Gern was not an incredibly tall man for an Ocre, but he was tall enough that he would dwarf his Merrow born captain, and he knew Erm hated being loomed over.

He had been about to speak when a shout came from the gull’s nest at the top of the starboard forward mast.

“SERPENT SIGN FOUR POINTS TO NORTH! SERPENT SIGN!!” And with that, bells began to ring about the deck of the Gryphon’s Wings as the crew began moving to secure the deck for combat.