The Undine lurched violently, sending the tray of empty plates scattering across the table and onto the floor. Dramos had braced himself against the arms of the chair and managed to keep himself upright.

Doriel was already running for the door. As he pulled it open, the chaos from outside poured into the Captain’s quarters. He launched himself forward, barking orders as Dramos followed after him.

The ship’s deck was chaotic, with sailors darting back and forth, yelling as they tended to the damages to the hull’s railing, loading the vessel’s cannons and climbing on the masts and rigging. Doriel had already ascended the steps above the cabin towards the helm, taking over the steering as he pulled on the wheel causing The Undine to rock violently to the side.

Dramos had to brace himself against the door frame to keep from falling over. He no longer felt sick but the disorientating rolls of the churning seas and his weakened body made standing upright difficult. No one else aboard the vessel seemed to have any issues with their balance.

The spray of the ocean washed across the deck, as more canonfire rang out. Dramos sloshed his way towards the railing on the starboard side and clung onto the shrouds fastened to masts above.

As Doriel turned their ship, Dramos caught sight of their assailants. The ship wasn’t much smaller than The Undine and boasted three large masts with torn and tattered banners, in a deep green, flapping in the wind between them. The churn in Dramos’ stomach had nothing to do with the sea. This was one of the Saviour’s vessels.

As Doriel continued barking out orders, Dramos couldn’t help but be impressed by the efficiency of his command and the obedience of the crew. They heeded his every word, obeyed every order and within meer moments the ship was loaded and primed for retaliation.

Doriel steered them around the smaller ship and ordered a barrage of cannonfire.

The cannons tore through the vessel’s hull. The main mast was struck. A loud cracking could be heard from over the roar of the waves, as the wood splintered and the beam teetered for a heartbeat. It swung forward and slammed into the fore-mast. Wood and fabric from the sails rained down on the ship and its occupants.

The crew of the attacking vessel made no attempt to flee or move from the debris. They were too frenzied and primed for war.

“Prepare to board!” Doriel yelled out, as he steered their ship back around, calling out another assault of cannonfire to take out the final mizzenmast, leaving their assailants handicapped.

Around Dramos, the crew began to draw their swords and prepared to launch into hand-to-hand combat, as Doriel navigated their ship to saddle up next to their enemy. Large planks were dropped between the two and the men rushed across to engage with those who had survived the damages. From what Dramos could see, there were not many - but they did not relent and met the Bellaurose’s crew with fury. The clanging of steel and metal, rope, and wood along with the cries of war echoed across the waters as blood coated the ocean.

Dramos had left his swords in his own room, but given his deteriorated state he wasn’t certain he’d be able to yield both of them with any effect, so he stood uselessly at the railing watching.

It did not take long for Doriel’s men to overrun their enemy and when none of them refused to surrender, they were met with the end of a blade.

Dramos had seen battle before, but this was a slaughter. Even though their enemies refused to surrender, many were so injured there was little fight left in them. Doriel’s crew was vastly superior at sea as they were with their weapons.

He turned to look up towards the Captain. Doriel was standing at the edge of the upper deck, surveying the scene ahead of him, a look of disgust on his face, but he did not order his men back.

Gritting his teeth, Dramos pushed off the railing and made his way towards the steps at the base of the helm, intent on demanding the Captain stop the unnecessary and excessive loss of life. As he neared the top of the steps, he saw from the corner of his eye, a figure clad in all black pulling himself over the railing behind Doriel, a knife in his teeth. He dropped the knife into his hand, cleared the deck and stalked forward, towards the Prince’s exposed back.

There was no time to yell, as Dramos flung himself forward, slamming into the assassin, just as his knife came down.

A terrible ripping and pained cry ran out as Dramos used every ounce of his strength to wrestle the man to the ground.

The assassin had not seen Dramos, and the element of surprise had afforded him the advantage his weakened state needed. He caught the man’s wrists, vaguely aware of the blood on the knife, as he pried it from his hands and immediately plunged it into his heart.

The assassin's eyes lifted to Dramos for a fraction of a second, wide in shock. And it was the whites of the eyes that caused Dramos to recoil. They weren’t white at all. They were pitch black. As Dramos leaned back, he could only stare at the black blood pooling out from below the lifeless body and onto the ship’s deck.

A loud thud to his left snapped him back to the moment as he turned to see Doriel’s collapsed form huddled near the railing, his red blood seeping into the black pool.

Dramos pushed himself off the would-be assassin's body and crawled toward Doriel. His long navy blue cloak and vest were slashed through and Dramos could see a severely deep wound running across his back from his right shoulder down to his left hip. With every weakened breath Doriel took, blood oozed from the wound.

Doriel was laying on his left side and was attempting to raise his right arm to grab Dramos’ sleeve, but with the injury across his back and shoulder he couldn’t move it more than a few inches. He tried to push himself backwards to free his left arm, but Dramos held him firm, not letting him roll onto his injuries.

“Hold still,” Dramos barked, casting his eyes through the rungs of the railing towards the other vessel. Doriel’s men were still occupied and there wasn’t anyone else around to yell for that would hear him. A gurgling sound made his stomach plummet as he looked back down.

Doriel was trying to say something, as blood trickled from his paling mouth. Dramos had to crouch over him to hear.

“Po…poc..,” Doriel stammered.

“Easy now Captain,” Dramos soothed. He’d seen enough men die to know what was to come. If he could afford Doriel a little comfort in his last moments, it was the least he could do.

Doriel kept trying to raise his right arm and continued to sputter, his brilliant blue eyes frantic.

Dramos could only watch hopelessly, and reached over to grab his hand. Doriel’s grip was surprisingly strong as he kept trying to move it backwards.

“Poc... pock...”

Understanding finally hit him, and Dramos released Doriel’s hand in a hurry to fish inside Doriel’s pant pocket. His hand closed around a small, heavy object. He withdrew a perfectly round blue opal.

Dramos may not have been born with magical powers, but he was well aware of what he held in his hand. He thrust it into Doriel’s palm, and squeezed his fingers over it. He could’ve sworn he heard a sigh of relief from the Prince, before Doriel lost consciousness and his head lolled to the side in Dramos’ arm. His hand released the stone with a clatter onto the deck.

For an agonisingly long minute, all Dramos could do was listen to the sounds of swords and swearing and yelling and the flap of the sails in the wind and the wash of the water against the boards, until there was a loud pop and a flash of blue light.

A tall woman wearing a full length, elegant sleeveless blue dress appeared out of thin air next to them. An intricate tattoo of mysterious shapes and swirls in a dark purple ink ran all along her shoulders and down her arms to her wrists. Her long lilac coloured hair, with a peach tint towards the tips, was braided into two long strands that crossed over her back. Her face was young and beautiful, if not severe, but with her long, pointed ears there was no way to know how old she actually was.

Dramos watched as she fixated her cold eyes on Doriel and dropped to her knees next to him. Her hands began to glow green as she reached them over Dramos’ arms and placed them across Doriel’s back.

Dramos could only watch in amazement as the blood receded into the wound and it slowly sealed itself back up. The elf next to him kept her eyes closed in focus and though her hands did not tremble, her body was shaking with the effort.

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When she paused and opened her eyes, it was not to look over at Dramos, but to fish around the inside of her dress’ breast. She withdrew a vial of blue liquid from between them, popped the cork and quickly drank the contents, before closing her eyes and placing her hands back on Doriel’s body. This time a white light began to pulse off of him, and Dramos could feel the strength returning to Doriel’s body, as it grew taunt and he was able to support his own weight again. He took a shuddering deep breath as the Mage next to him withdrew her hands and sat back on her heels panting. Dramos eased the Prince over onto his perfectly healed back.

Doriel stared up at the pair of them before his blue eyes, twinkling in the light of the sun, landed on the elf woman.

“What the hell took you so long?” he asked, wiping the blood from his mouth on the back of his sleeve.

The elf Mage chuckled. “Always a pleasure to see you, Dor.”

Doriel made a move to sit up but both Dramos and the Mage reached out to hold him back.

“Now, now, you know better. Give it a few minutes, you stubborn ass,” she said lightly.

Dramos said nothing and couldn’t help but stare at the Mage. He had never seen her before but knew she had to be powerful to have teleported to a spec within the middle of the Cenavalis Sea. Judging by the lack of Tides and the navy blue dress, she was likely a well established member of the Bellaurose Kingdom’s court - and her candour with the Prince led him to believe she was quite close with the Rosemore family.

She finally tore her gaze away from Doriel to look at Dramos. Her eyes were like steel, as they roamed over his weakened body and across his shallow, shaggy face. She frowned and Dramos didn’t appreciate the look in her eyes.

“Please tell me this isn’t who she sent,” she said to Doriel, who chuckled and lifted himself onto his elbows.

“A couple weeks at sea has that effect,” Doriel replied.

Dramos shot him a cold look, which only earned another chuckle from the Prince.

Doriel’s eyes then fell to the lifeless body behind Dramos and his face firmed. “He did, however, save my life.”

The Mage followed his eyes and landed on the body. Her lip curled in disgust.

“Was the entire ship full of them?” she asked, turning back to Doriel, whose features mirrored hers as he nodded.

“The Queen will need to know of this,” she spoke softly, as though bracing for a blow.

Doriel groaned and Dramos suspected it had nothing to do with him sitting up further. “Care to tell her yourself? She likes you better anyway.”

The Mage rolled her eyes but the corners of her lips twitched upwards. Dramos and her helped Doriel get to his feet.

“Come along now, let’s get you cleaned up. That’s another vest you’ve gone and ruined.”

Together they led Doriel down the steps just as his men were returning from their raid. The seas were eerily quiet. They lined up and stood at attention once they caught sight of Doriel. If they were surprised by the state of him, they didn’t show it.

“Well done men!” Dorield called out as the broad man from the docks approached and bowed. “Vaughan, see to it the men are taken care of and return us on course.”

“Aye Captain,” Vaughan nodded.

Dramos and the Mage led Doriel back to his quarters, before he was excused, and the door was sealed after him.

~~~

Dramos sat alone, perched on a barrel near the bow, sharpening his blades, as the cool night air brushed across his shaggy face. It’d been weeks since he’d been out of his cabin at night. He felt he’d never take the stars for granted again. The seas were calm, and with barely any wind they bobbed lazily like a cork in the still waters.

He caught a glimpse of himself within his reflection on the dark ocean’s surface. His face was pale beneath his long beard and his hair fell to his shoulders - a dishevelled mess. His shoulders and chest didn’t appear as bulky as before, as his clothes hung off of him. He really had no business being upset with how the Mage had perceived him.

Doriel had remained in his room after the attack, along with the Mage. He was visited often, by each member of his crew, and eventually they were all granted permission to retire for the evening. Only a few men patrolled the deck and sat perched high in the crow’s nest above.

Dramos finished sharpening his weapons and moved back towards the railing to peer over and into the water. His swords felt heavier than usual as he strained to lift one of them to his face, intending to clean up his beard and hair.

“For the love of Aesor, please don’t cut your head off.”

The elf’s light voice carried over, causing Dramos to jump and nicking himself in the chin. He swore and rounded on her. Her dark eyes looked silver under the moon’s light, as she let out a delightful chuckle that soured his mood.

“Thank you for that,” he glowered.

She offered him a mocking bow before coming to stand beside him at the railing. She said nothing and cast her gaze out across the sea.

Ignoring her, Dramos returned to his shaving efforts. It took longer than it should have but in the end he’d managed to shape his beard back to a more respectable, shorter length. He didn’t dare try to sheer it any closer. Best to wait for a proper knife and stable ground.

As he turned his attention to his hair, focusing only on getting the sides and as much as the top tame as possible, the elf finally spoke again.

“The Prince informed me of what occurred. The Queen will compensate you handsomely for saving his life.”

Dramos’ eyes shot to her and he noted how tired she appeared. “You’re the one that healed him. I was too late to prevent the blow.”

“That blade would’ve pierced through his back and into his heart, killing him instantly. Your efforts bought him the time I needed,” she stated matter of fact and Dramos made no effort to correct her.

“Has he spoken to you at all about the situation and what the Queen requires?” she asked a moment later, turning to look at him fully.

Dramos continued cutting strands off his head. “No. I was told not to speak of it and that I’d be informed once we arrived.”

“Well, we are nearly there, and luckily for you, I’m here now.”

He lowered his sword and turned to her, narrowing his eyes. The haircut would make do for now. “And you are who, exactly?”

The elf’s eyes were piercing, her face was stern. It was a moment before she spoke. “A confidant of the Queen.”

Dramos rolled his eyes. “I gathered as much. Do you have a name, Queen Confidant?”

“You do not recognize me?”

He didn’t. “Should I?”

The Mage frowned. “You really haven’t been involved in this war, have you?” Dramos said nothing and she shrugged her shoulders. “In any case, we are not here to discuss me. With your permission, I’d like to enter your mind so we can discuss-”

“No,” Dramos’ response was sharp. For a moment the two only stood there staring at one another. Dramos squared his shoulders and used the anger that had been bubbling at the surface to cloud his mind.

“Have you something to hide, Dramos of Trelladain?” she said, narrowing her eyes.

“I do not know you. I do not trust you,” he said, his jaw clenched.

“Is there anyone you do trust?” she asked.

Her eyes didn’t leave his face and he worked hard to maintain an indifferent posture. He did not want to give her the satisfaction of knowing she was hitting on the right nerve.

When Dramos remained silent, he caught the quick upturn of her lips before she spoke. “Perhaps that’s for the best. And we are desperate enough to reach out to you for aid.” She took a step away from the railing, and her hands began to glow black. “I’m going to cast a shroud of darkness around us that should block out any wandering ears or eyes. The Prince may trust his crew, but I tend to treat things as you do. Steel yourself.”

A moment later the stars and moon winked out, and only the sound of his heartbeat and their breathing surrounded him. He raised his hand in front of his face but could not see it. The ship had felt stable a moment ago, but with his sight completely impaired he could now feel the gentle rocking of the boards beneath his feet.

“Still here?” the Mage’s voice was close.

Dramos had nodded before realising she couldn’t see. “I am.”

“Good. It goes without saying that what I reveal to you today is to remain between us. Is that understood?” her voice was cold, and stern, leaving no room to question her.

“Understood.” He’d been tempted to ask what the consequence would be, but knew himself well enough to know he’d never break whatever vow he was about to sign into.

“Archmagus Ena and Queen Rosemore have been working together for years to put a stop to the Corruption. The Saviour has been trying to thwart their efforts.” Dramos grunted. This wasn’t new information. “Recently the Saviour has taken on more… extreme measures. You were witness to that today.”

An assassination attempt on the man in-line to the throne would certainly be considered extreme.

Dramos’ muscles tensed as he asked, “Has he made an attempt at the Queen?”

The mage’s voice was thick with bitterness. “Not directly. He’s aware of the damage he can do to her by targeting those close.”

“The King.” Dramos swallowed.

“Precisely. Which brings me to the point. We want you to help us find him.”

Despite his surprise, he still felt a chill snaking down his spine. His voice was barely louder than a whisper when he asked slowly, “To be clear, you want me to find King Edward Rosemore?”

“That’s correct.”

Dramos’ question was blunt. “Is he alive?”

The Mage was quiet for so long that he thought she had left. When she did speak, her voice was thick with sorrow.

“Her hope is fleeting… but it is all she has remaining.”