Chapter Eighty-four

Krissintha Arlonet Dar Ghelain was impressed; the Furious Fist was very different from any of the ships she had ever set foot on.

Her memories of the Dalar’s Heart were blurry and mostly bad, consisting of the stench and the darkness of the hold, the deplorable people aboard — Quenta and Tommi the exceptions — and of course a giant kraken that had appeared out of nowhere to break the ship to bits and pieces.

Of the Island Queen she had fond memories, regardless of the fact that it had been an ugly, floating box cobbled together from scraps of the Dalar’s Heart, some trees and Kevin’s spiritual nonsense-glue. And a kraken once again, dragging it down to a watery grave. Still, Krissintha knew that the Island Queen was always going to have a special place in her heart.

Then there was The Graal’s Enormous Pride, the ork galley, a little, waterborne piece of hell. Those memories were still fresh compared to the others, and she tried not to think about it at all.

The Furious Fist, which had Master Fenar’s daughter, Fenirig Arla as her captain, was a work of art. Everything from the deck-boards and guardrails to the masts and sails were perfectly crafted, delicately ornamented, and she could just picture all the arguments that must have taken place between the craftsmen and the navy people, trying to negotiate a balance between elven aesthetics and robust functionality. Despite lacking any real insight or expertise, she was sure she would not come across a better and more beautiful ship even if she spent the next half of her life looking for one.

Krissintha could see the other three ships from the deck as she was leaning against the guardrails, peering into the distance; the Brave Soul, the Dauntless Will, and of course The Righteous Wrath, which had the honour of accommodating captain Rimarle Alas’s ugly-cute dog, Fifi. A pug according to Kevin, although how reliable a drunk familiar was on matters concerning dogs, she wasn’t sure.

The shore was getting farther and farther away, and the rangers were settling into their new, shipboard lives for the coming days, all under the watchful eyes of the few marines and sailors who had either taken it upon themselves to supervise the landlubbers, or just had nothing else to do at the moment.

The Furious Fist was the second largest ship Krissintha had ever seen — smaller than the ork galley, but much bigger than the Dalar’s Heart, not to mention the Island Queen. Even so, space was still an issue that led to a number of disagreements between the crew and the passengers, but nothing that a marine officer, higher ranking crew member or a ranger scout-master couldn’t solve with a few, strict words. Master Fenar and his daughter had disappeared somewhere immediately upon boarding — mediating between grunts was probably beneath a navy captain or a master of rangers — but Toven was seemingly in his element, whooshing around the quarterdeck, smiling at angry sailors, quelling arguments and yelling at complaining rangers.

Krissintha wanted to stay at the edge of the deck a little longer and enjoy the view of the receding coastline, but Kiwa tapped her on her shoulder.

‘Toven’s eying us,’ she said.

Krissintha looked, and the freshly appointed scout-master second rank, owner and protector of the holy tea mug, beckoned them to follow him so they could claim whatever hammocks in whatever dark corner of the ship's below-deck was going to be theirs to occupy for the duration of the week-long voyage.

***

It took less than a day for Krissintha to learn that she was better off spending most of her time on the quarterdeck. The salty but fresh air was a better option than the stuffiness of the hold, where the elves had proved once and for all that they too could smell as bad as humans if enough of them were crammed into small, warm places.

At least Kiwa was excited about this development; she insisted they claim a small section near the bow where they could practice using their familiars’ Mana. Krissintha was fine with that — there wasn’t much else to do on the Furious Fist, a problem the seventy-something rangers aboard also had to deal with, and soon Krissintha and Kiwa weren’t the only ones performing compact versions of sword or spear drills while dodging each other as well as annoyed sailors or marines.

By the end of the second day, they fell into a routine: coating their swords with Mana, shooting invisible blades at the sea, or using the limited space to hone their control over their Mana-strengthened bodies. It was awkward, slightly dangerous, but by the third day they had gathered a small crowd of spectators each time they were on the quarterdeck, marines and rangers who were interested to see how spiritualists used the power of their familiars.

Krissintha didn’t mind — she knew that after almost a month of doing nothing she needed the practice. As Master Fenar would say — paraphrased of course, without all the swearing and name-calling — “the better you think you are the more room for improvement you have”. He was right, more right she ever wanted to admit. Regardless, she wanted to make sure she was in fighting shape after having the cast removed from her arm only a few days ago, and that her ankle could support her. So, she ignored the audience and followed Kiwa’s instructions as well as the occasional hints from Kevin as to how to direct Mana to do her bidding more efficiently. It was helpful, and she was becoming better and better at using the invisible power to counteract the effects of her freshly healed injuries. Or just her human weaknesses in general. The gentle swaying and sometimes harsher rocking of the ship provided extra opportunities for balance exercises. Kiwa liked those, Krissintha did not.

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The familiars were mostly quiet — she could hear snippets of hushed conversations between the three spirits, most of which revolved around something they called Essence — which apparently came in different colours — and ways to change it into other things. She had very little idea what it all meant, and the familiars did their best to keep their discussions quiet. She suspected Kevin had made another of his so called “comm-nodes” in order to keep her out of the metaphorical earshot, however that worked. She didn’t mind — whatever they were up to, it was better to not know. Probably.

The fourth and fifth days passed much the same, and it was on the sixth day of the journey that Master Fenar, Captain Fenirig Arla, and the commander of the ship’s marines, Kadavel Beren, called a meeting.

***

Krissintha hadn’t been in the captain’s quarters until now; it was off limits to crew, not to mention ranger grunts and stray spiritualists. It was marginally larger than the few other cabins she’d seen, affording moderate comforts to the occupants — the captain and her father currently — but the main selling point in her opinion was the kind of privacy ships could seldom provide for their crews. But with ten or so people crammed into the place, the captain’s cabin was losing its allure rather quickly. Kiwa had been right: the quarterdeck was the best place to be, winds, spraying saltwater and exhausting exercises be damned. Looking around at the faces of the gathered officers, she suspected she wasn’t the only one of this opinion.

Master Fenar, Tovaron Ento and another ranger whose name she couldn’t recall stood together with her on one side of a table, on which a large map was spread out, the original lines barely visible under red and green markings, probably corrections based on the information extracted from the late Orkuz Graal and the navigational materials found on his galley.

Captain Fenirig Arla and three of her officers stood on the opposite side. Krissintha had seen all of them running around the quarterdeck, yelling orders at sailors, but she hadn’t heard their names.

Kadavel Beren, the commander of the marine contingent on the ship, had also brought two of his officers with him, and was studying the map intently. Krissintha was sure similar meetings were taking place on the other three ships as well, to make sure everyone knew the plan and their roles in it.

‘This is roughly where we are, about a day and a half before we get here,’ the captain of the Furious Fist began the meeting, pointing at the map, indicating their current location and then their destination a couple dozen miles off the orkish coast. ‘Once we reach this point, we’ll ferry a group of rangers to land here. It should be far enough from any barbarian settlements for us to go unnoticed.’ She glanced at her father. ‘Are you sure you don’t want some marines to go with you?’

Fenar looked like he was about to burst out laughing — Krissintha wasn’t sure she had ever seen the man laugh. But in the end his face settled back into his normal, slightly annoyed and condescending expression, and he shook his head and said,

‘They’d just slow us down, and stealth is key. Just make sure you keep this glorified dinghy no more than four miles off the coast as we make our way to the ork harbour. Once we scout it out and give you the go ahead, your marines will have enough work.’

The captain, her officers and even the marines scowled, looking like they were about to unleash a barrage of less than kind words at the Master of Third Rangers. The man himself started smirking, no doubt ready to give them a what for. Captain Fenirig Arla opened her mouth to say something, her eyes cold as ice, but luckily Toven came to the rescue.

‘We’ll try to keep close to the coastline as we approach the harbour,’ he said, all heads snapping to look at him. He patted Krissintha on her shoulder. ‘Misery’s familiar said he can now keep his chitchat-thing going at a distance of five miles at least, isn’t that right?’

‘Yeah,’ Krissintha said. ‘They … uhm … he worked on improving the … well, whatever it is that needed improving.’

‘You don’t sound very confident, spiritualist,’ the captain remarked, raising her eyebrows looking at her. ‘In fact, last I’ve seen you, you were acting weird as well, so if there’s something we should know, you’d better tell us now. We don’t want to fuck this up on account of your familiar not feeling well.’

Like father like daughter, Krissintha thought, rude and demanding. But she had a point.

Kevin, we’re going to be fine, right? She asked the spirit.

As fine as we can be. The answer came. The comm-nodes and the new threads work fine, and we’ve got some extra tricks up our sleeves.

You don’t have sleeves. You have tentacles.

You know what I mean. Kevin protested.

Don’t worry Krissy, and forget my brother. I’ve got this. Hank chimed in.

‘Yeah, will be fine, everything works as intended,’ Krissintha said, trying to convince herself more than anyone else. ‘Just don’t go too far from the coast, and we’ll be able to communicate.’

‘Good,’ the captain said, and turned back to the gathering. ‘Once the rangers set up the perimeter to prevent anyone leaving the harbour to take news to the rest of their shitty clan, we’ll commence the assault from land and from sea. Once our marines hold the harbour, we can begin dismantling their shipbuilding capabilities, and the rangers can move on to find our people and make the green bastards regret they were ever born.’ She looked at her father. ‘My marines will hold the harbour as long as necessary, but try to be fast for once, will you?’

Huh! It seemed Fenirig Arla did have some misgivings about her own father’s handling of things, probably based on experience. But a round of nods showed that everyone was clear on the plan. The meeting then progressed smoothly, discussing more minor details and contingencies, until it degenerated into a contest of who could badmouth the orks better: sailors, marines or rangers.

Krissintha thought the marines were winning; beating the colourful words of Kadavel Beren proved to be difficult for everyone else in the room. She had never heard anyone say “son-of-a-toadwhore-shitgreen-fuckface-pissdrinker” in one breath, and she hoped she wouldn’t have to again.

Another difficult-to-ignore thing was Kevin’s and Hank’s attempts at participating in the contest, pretending she didn’t hear their lovingly crafted but weak insults for the orks, involving mostly mushrooms and someone named Super Mario. Kevin had always been talking a lot of nonsense she didn’t understand, but now there were two of them doing it. Life was strange sometimes.

It was both good fortune and bad luck that a sailor barged into the captain’s quarters, panting like he’d just ran a hundred miles. All heads snapped to the poor man, and Fenirig Arla’s expression was a sure sign the sailor was in for an imminent tongue-lashing for interrupting the weirdness the meeting had turned into, but before the captain could get a word out, the man spoke.

‘Captain! Barbarian ship spotted. About thirty miles starboard.’