Chapter Eighty-nine

It was both a pleasant surprise and an utter disappointment that it took only about a minute to convince Fenar of the merits of letting us loose on the ork galley. He didn’t argue at all; he asked a few questions to make sure we could actually do what I said we would. For a change, Krissy was a lot less confident about this than I was, but she knew better than to show any sign of hesitation or weakness in front of the man who had been training her — her respect sprinkled with a little bit of awe and fear worked pretty well in this situation. Then Fenar stormed off to find his daughter. Huh. If only everything in life was this easy. Still, I felt a sense of victory. Could it be that I wasn’t a pushover at all? Could I pull this off again? I hoped so, and I made a silent pledge to myself that I would further level-up my anti-pushover skills, no matter what.

I quickly severed the comm-thread going to Master Fenar’s soul — with mission accomplished, I didn’t have anything more to say to him, plus I was worried about him hearing Hank. With that done, we waited.

It didn’t take long for the Master of Third Rangers to drag the captain of the Furious Fist away from whatever captains were supposed to be doing during a chase. She looked more than just unhappy as she arrived to stand in front of Krissy and Kiwa under the sails of the mizzenmast — murder shone in her eyes, and it must have taken her exceptional self-control not to explode into an all-consuming, elf-shaped inferno of death. I realised half of that suppressed rage was directed at Master Fenar. My guess was that under normal circumstances no-one could drag a ship captain anywhere, and she was furious about her father abusing his “dad privileges”. The other half of the captain’s dangerous affections were aimed at Krissy, or us, for we were the reason her father had dragged her here in the first place.

Master Fenar looked unconcerned, his usual expression of perpetual disdain for everything and everyone unchanged. Krissy, and this time even Kiwa, looked like they had found themselves at the gallows without a fair trial.

Captain Fenirig Arla glared at Krissy for long moments, and every time I thought she was going to say something it ended up being some sort of mumbled grunt or curse I couldn’t really make out. When she finally spoke after what felt like the longest five seconds I’d ever experienced, she simply said,

‘Fine.’

And with that she spun around to leave to return to her duties.

I was taken aback, and so was Krissy. Master Fenar opened his mouth to say something to his daughter just as she was about to take the first step away from us, but he didn’t get the chance to speak.

‘One more word from you and I’ll throw you off the ship,’ the captain snapped at her father, her words dripping with venom.

For the first time since I’d met Fenirig Arte, I saw him flinch — only a little, others might not have even noticed it. But he did flinch. The woman stormed away, fuming, and I pitied the sailors and officers who would have to deal with her.

Krissy looked at Master Fenar.

‘One word from you and I’ll throw you off the ship,’ he said, passing the threat onto us.

Well, in my opinion, knowing when to keep your mouth shut wasn’t a sign of being a pushover, it was a sign of wisdom. We were very wise people. Except Hank.

‘Lovely chap,’ he cooed in his weird, monster-y way. ‘How about we eat him?’

‘Shutupshutupshutup!’ I yelled at the idiot-horror in a panic, thanking all the gods, real or imagined, that I’d had the foresight to server the comm-link with the scarfaced ranger.

Krissy tensed immediately, relaxing only when the man told us to wait for orders then returned to his earlier discussion with his rangers.

You’re going to get us all killed one day. Krissy complained, and I wasn’t sure if it was meant for me or Hank. Probably both, and I supposed with good reason.

At least Kiwa seemed happy enough.

***

Chasing down an enemy ship was as slow and boring an affair as I had suspected. Even the crew and marines were taking their time setting things up for the upcoming naval engagement. They brought out large, rectangular shields that reminded me of the ones Roman legionaries would use, lining them up on the deck, ready to be picked up by marines to form some sort of shield-wall. Barrels filled with arrows appeared, and marines and rangers alike were checking their bows. The crew assembled two ballistas resembling giant crossbows — I would have thought those deadly looking weapons would be permanently available and ready, but it seemed the Solace Navy did these things IKEA style and preferred flatpack weaponry. Only hours later, when the four ships of our small armada were about a kilometer away from the galley, and even I could see orks and their slaves running up and down the deck of their vessel, did Fenar call Krissy and Kiwa to quickly discuss some plans before the big event.

The discussion was short, and I could sum it up in a single sentence: “When we get close enough, get on the galley and do your weird spirit-fuckery.” As far as plans were concerned, simplicity was probably best. What no-one told us was how close we’d get to the enemy ship, or how we were supposed to get on it. Did Fenar just assume we knew what when and how to do, or he just couldn’t be bothered to go into details? It was probably the latter.

Then, as the crew began preparing long, thick ropes, attaching them to the harpoon-like munitions of the ballistas, as well as thinner ones with metal hooks that individual sailors could throw, we realised how things were going to go. Or how things were supposed to go. I was painfully aware that “no plan survived contact with the enemy”, and that contact with the enemy was approaching fast.

***

I wasn’t an expert on naval battles, but the tactic the elves had settled on seemed simple enough. From what I could see, it involved three out of our four ships. The Furious Fist and the Righteous Wrath were catching up to the galley, manoeuvring to position themselves on both sides of it — port and starboard I recalled the terminology — while the third ship, the Dauntless Will was in the middle, coming up at the galley from the rear — or the stern. The fourth ship, the Brave Soul, was sort of left in reserve or something, I wasn’t sure, but it was a few hundred metres behind us, just sailing along and minding her own business.

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We were now less than a kilometre away from the galley — I could see the orks were working their rowers to the bone, the oars moving in unison, propelling the ship forward, their triangular sails fully unfurled, aiding their futile attempt to get away. However, the much better designed elven ships were gaining, and it was a matter of a short time before we intercepted them.

The orks expressed their displeasure of this turn of events by shooting rocks, burning barrels, and other dangerous objects at us and the other ships, using what seemed from this distance like a few small catapults. I hadn’t seen catapults on the Graal’s Enormous Pride, then again, I guessed they wouldn’t need those for raiding the coast of Solace hit-and-run style. These guys, on the other hand, were definitely equipped for a naval engagement.

As we got closer, about four hundred metres, arrows began to rain in our direction, courtesy of the numerous orkish, human and elven archers on the galley. I had to give them A for effort, but as enthusiastic as they were in employing small and large projectiles, their aim left a lot to be desired. The rocks and burning barrels thrown by the catapults kept missing our ships by a considerable margin, and the arrows simply fell at least fifty metres short of their intended targets. This was probably the reason the marine and ranger archers were still on standby, and those who had been assigned to the shields hadn’t even touched them yet, letting them rest against the rails of the quarterdeck. We were still way out of range, which the well trained and probably somewhat experienced elven captains and crew knew. So, in my opinion, the orks were either panicking, or they just didn’t care and were itching for a fight.

‘Are you nervous?’ I asked Krissy.

She stood on the deck along with Kiwa, next to one of the raised platforms on which one of the harpoon-ballistas had been erected. She wasn’t trembling or anything, and the expression on her face was calm — which was probably better than the grin on Kiwa’s face — but I knew it was the same, forced calm she had employed when talking to Fenar. She really should have been an actress.

‘I am not looking forward to this,’ she said, shaking her head slightly. ‘Why am I letting you do this? There must be easier and safer ways to quell your tentacled appetites.’

‘Sure, we could eat everyone on this ship if going over to the other one is too much trouble.’ Hank offered the solution with his usual tact.

‘We’re not doing that, Hank, shut it!’ I yelled at him.

Krissy gritted her teeth, stifling a curse that wanted to escape her, then said,

‘Hank, you’d better not joke about things like this.’

‘I don’t think he’s joking,’ I said flatly.

‘Of course I am, of course I am! What do you take me for, bro?’ the idiot-horror protested vehemently.

‘Well, you’re Hank,’ I said, his name becoming synonymous with uncontrolled greed, hunger, condescension and a bunch of other negative words. At least in my mind.

‘Yeah, I’m Hank,’ he chuckled.

That summed it up for me, and before any of us could say anything else, the three elves crewing the ballista next to us began to crank the winding gears and loaded the first projectile. Marines finally picked up the large shields and formed a loose line on the deck to protect the archers behind them, who were also getting ready for their first volley. It seemed like we had come close enough to the enemy for the battle to begin in earnest, and I couldn’t help but recall movies such as Ben Hur — once again — or Pirates of the Caribbean, simply because this engagement was going to be a strange mix of the two, with an extra topping of spiritualists and their familiars going on an eating spree. And that reminded me of something.

‘Put these on!’ I instructed our hosts as I brought two masks out of Jack’s Room.

I didn’t wait for their response; I slapped the misery mask onto Krissy’s face along with a little, invisible and breathable spirit glue, while assigning the laughing mask to Kiwa, the same one Kenta or Tommi had been wearing when we had first set foot on Solace.

‘Oh, come on? Is this necessary?’ Krissy complained immediately.

She didn’t like the mask very much, but I thought it looked kind of creepy-cool, plus it provided decent protection for her face against flying splinters or shrapnel. Maybe even a sword strike. Not that I would ever let her go anywhere near an enemy without Mana-Armour on, but one could never be too careful.

‘Oh, I like this,’ Kiwa cheered, poking at the mask, testing how it was sticking to her face without touching her skin. Once she was a thousand percent sure the mask was going to stay where it was, she looked at Krissy and said, ‘Looking good, boss. The damned orks will shit themselves when we land on their dinghy.’

***

We were only about two hundred meters from the enemy, and when the first of the orkish arrows hit the side of our ship, it was my cue to use my Mana Armour skill. Tilry was able to do something similar, but her Mana Pool was less than half of mine and her host needed the staff for the fighting. So, Kiwa stayed close, and I had a tentie hovering around her, giving her the same invisible protection as for my own host — I could afford the MP/minute cost without stretching my resources too thin.

Not even half a minute after the shields had lined up, and the archers — both marines and rangers — were in position to shoot from behind them, we were in range, and the battle changed gears to become the fast paced, action-packed event anyone who had grown up watching movies would expect.

A volley of the galley’s archers finally reached us — arrows struck the shields, the hull, some tearing holes in the sails or lodging into the masts. Some of those arrows were burning, probably dipped in something flammable like oil, but the crew of our ship not only knew how to find cover, they were also quick to put out any fires the arrows caused, even up on the masts and sails — although the latter was gaining more blackened holes than was healthy. As far as I could see no-one was hit on our side yet. A couple of the sharp sticks bounced off my Mana-Armour harmlessly, clattering on the deck. A few larger objects — mostly burning wooden things — splashed dangerously close to our ship, but whoever or whatever was operating the orkish catapults, were consistent in missing their targets. On top of that, the galley was basically being sandwiched between the two elven ships — not to mention a third one coming up from behind them — which meant the orks were fighting on two fronts, having to divide their attention between their port and starboard sides. We didn’t.

The Furious Fist was drawing closer and closer to the galley by the second, and we were almost side-by-side with the enemy, albeit still at some distance. The exchange of volleys became faster and more desperate, and I saw a number of unprotected slaves and even a couple of orks falling victim to arrows. Unfortunately, a few of our own elves suffered unlucky hits as well. No fatalities though — thanks to the shields — and the ship’s surgeons were quick to respond, dragging the injured down to the hold.

Then, finally, it was time for the two, giant IKEA crossbow-things to shine.

The huge, spiked, harpoon-like spears shot out with a whistle, pulling the thick ropes with them, the ballistas themselves letting out a loud “pang” as their strings propelled the projectiles towards the enemy. Sailors and marines cheered as both shots exploded through the hull of the galley, right into the rowers’ deck. I couldn’t see for sure, but I wouldn’t have been surprised if the harpoons had gone through the entire ship and out on the other side, pulverizing some poor sods on the way. My suspicions were confirmed when a pair of similar munitions burst out of the galley’s hull on our side — ones that had been fired from the Righteous Wrath — lodging themselves into the wooden structure, their spikes keeping them there firmly.

A bunch of our crew members then began to crank the pulley-system to which the thick ropes were attached to. It looked like two fishermen were competing over a big catch, reeling it in from two sides.

Captain Fenirig Arla speed-walked over to us, a marine providing cover for her with his large shield.

‘It won’t be long now. Are you ready to make the jump?’ she asked hurriedly.

‘Jump?’ Krissy asked, her eyes widening under her mask.

‘Jump, yes, jump. Did you think I’d personally build a stone bridge for you?’ the captain roared at us. ‘This was your fucking idea, so you either jump over and kill the bastards before my marines will have to give blood and life to do it, or you’d better hope you’re a good swimmer.’

Then the captain stormed away along with the marine, and Krissy muttered,

‘Fuck!’