Vol 7, Chapter 10

◆ Coastal Waters of the Fourth Duchy, Captain Flint's POV. ◆


The ship shuddered like a madman in convulsions. The timbers creaked, and the lower deck reeked of soot.

The captain opened his eyes, but nothing changed. This wasn't a nightmare. The whole vessel trembled as though it might come apart at any moment.

And truth be told, so did he... Like a complete wreck.

Grimacing and pressing a hand against his aching chest, the captain rose from his cot.  His head felt unpleasantly chilled. His captain's tricorn was nowhere to be seen; he even checked under the cot to make sure.

Empty. Only dust and cobwebs. Without his supervision the crew had completely let themselves go… Wait.

Was he even alive?

The last thing he remembered was their collision with an iceberg, narrowly avoiding the ship's destruction. Judging by the rolling now, they were in open waters again... But the crew was nowhere in sight, the ship falling apart, and that strange rumble…

Nonsense!

Snorting, he shoved the foolish thought aside and headed for the upper deck. At once he met a sailor coming down, carrying short planks.

"Captain!" the man exclaimed, dropping his load. "I'll inform the healer at once that you're awake."

"Where's the first mate?" Flint growled, secretly glad to find a living soul.

"On the upper deck with the others, sir." The sailor bowed and bent to gather the fallen boards.

The captain's eyes caught on them. Familiar enamel, gilded edges...

"Where did you get those boards?"

The sailor trembled.

"T-the first mate will explain everything, sir." He stammered, scooped up the planks, and fled, leaving only splinters behind.

Suspicious.

Frowning, the captain rubbed his aching chest and continued upward. Splinters crunched beneath his boots, each step feeding his unease.

His fury at the chaos below was nothing compared to the storm that seized him as he emerged onto the upper deck.

"What have you done to my ship?!" he roared, making everyone flinch.

The deck had been savaged. Nails jutted, hacked planks lay strewn about, and sailors gathered them into piles. Even the mizzenmast was gone—replaced by an iron pipe belching thick black smoke into the sky.

The sailors dropped axes and boards at once.

Luckily for them, the captain strode straight to the first mate.

"This will be hard to explain..."

"Try," the captain snapped.

***

"...and then we thought we were being pursued by some ship with black sails. Fuel was running low, Mistress Asha hadn't recovered yet, so we decided to sacrifice part of the vessel..."

"Nike said it wouldn't affect seaworthiness!" the mentioned passenger interjected, but the captain waved her off.

"And you were unconscious, and we needed fresh water," added Ashley.

The captain exploded.

"Look what you've done to my ship! Repairs will cost tens of thousands of gold!"

"You're complaining? We barely survived after you led us into that frozen hell!" the Ashiran girl retorted, but he ignored her.

"If I'd known, I'd have told the Academy to go hang. Better to be hunted for smuggling than go through this! And where's my hat, damn you?"

Asha silently pointed to a head lashed to the mast—wearing his tricorn.

"Have you all gone mad? What kind of barbarity is this?"

"Oh, I forgot to mention that..." the navigator mumbled.

"Forgot to mention that my favorite hat is on a corpse?"

The captain approached the mast to retrieve it, but the dead head suddenly rolled its eyes.

"Easy there, mate. They just let me try it on. I asked myself," the head said, teeth clattering as if to warn him off.

The captain's hand dropped.

"Insane asylum," he muttered, sinking to his knees in a daze.

The crew exchanged wary glances.

The ship's healer whispered, "Go gently with him. He must have damaged his Source. This shock alone is heavy—maybe you should've eased him in more gradually."

"Maybe you should've mentioned that earlier?" Ashley hissed, snatching the hat from the head and setting it back on the captain.

"Don't worry! It's not so bad. We survived, and now your ship is unique. It can sail both under its own power and by sail!"

"Unique, sure. I can feel the whole thing shaking even here. Look!"

The captain slammed his fist on a plank; it sagged, a nail jutting a full centimeter out of place.

"The ship hasn't just lost stability, it's shaking itself apart! First thing when we reach port, I'm tossing this demonic contraption overboard!"

"Does he mean me?" asked the head.

"No, the pipe. You, I'll hand to the Inquisition."

"You can't!" Ashley cried.

"Exactly, you can't give me to the Inquisition," the head echoed.

"It's a true work of art! Maybe unfinished, sure—we could use a support frame, and..."

"The captain's right. Once we make landfall, I'll melt it myself," Asha declared, folding her arms.

"But why? We could just leave it—"

"My acquaintance calls it mono… mono… well, whatever. The point is, things like this should belong only to us, not to just anyone. That's it!"

"Enough chatter. You'll get this filth off my ship. Then you'll get off yourselves. This voyage has already ruined my life; I'll have to mortgage the vessel just to pay the healers. I'll be lucky if some fool buys it for even half its value."

"Captain… you're not giving up sailing, are you?" the first mate asked, his voice trembling.

"No, but… we'll have to turn to cabotage. Buy a small schooner, dismiss part of the crew, and save gold for years. I doubt many will agree to such terms."

"Better to be first mate on a schooner than a sailor on a warship," Naik said gravely.

"Splendid."

The captain rose from his knees, adjusted his tricorne, and felt at his belt.

"And where's my magoscope?"

"Here, Captain," the first mate said, handing him the device.

Muttering about thieves, the captain pressed his eye to the water lens. Truth be told, he could have made one himself—if not for the sickening emptiness in his chest. But he had no desire to think about that now. He needed to reach the Healers' Guild as quickly as possible.

Luckily, land was already on the horizon. More than that, it was a very familiar port of the Fourth Duchy.

Only one problem—it was burning.

Black smoke rose above the port warehouses. Perhaps it would have been wiser to turn away and spend a few days reaching another, calmer port, but…

Every lost day meant his chances of restoring his Gift grew ever fainter.

So…

"Open the gun ports, crews to your stations. Arm the men! We're docking."

*************************************************************

◆ Port, Asha's POV. ◆

Chaos reigned in the port. Work brigades with red armbands shouted slogans, some demanding higher pay, others calling for the port master's execution. Judging by the fact that not a single inspector came near the ship as it moored, the port master had taken such calls seriously—and had likely already fled far away.

"Perhaps we should still find a quieter port?" Marvin asked, peering overboard.

"Oh come on, what could happen to us? Just a bit of unrest," Ashley dismissed it.

Asha silently shoved the possessed head into her bag. Even though weeks at sea had finally settled her stomach against the waves, she would gladly have gone anywhere else—into the heart of the unrest, or even into the middle of an enemy army!

"Well, at last I can bid you all farewell!" the captain declared in relief, descending the gangplank.

"Not so fast. First we need to find out the state of transport in the city, then arrange wagons and collect our share of the loot and the steel from the steam engine. Only after that will we part ways."

"By loot you mean the alcohol from the expedition ships?" Don't even hope I'll hand over any navigation equipment! Consider it payment for the loss of my Gift because of you!"

"Not just alcohol, don't forget the food," Asha said, folding her arms.

"We'll have to discuss shares…"

The group of mages strolled calmly through riot-torn streets, continuing their conversation. From time to time Asha paused to extinguish barricades blocking their way. Scattered guards and lone strikers didn't dare approach them. But then…

A group of several dozen strikers blocked their path. Bold enough, considering any onlooker could tell the five of them were mages.

"Do you support the strike?" a burly man demanded sternly, torch in hand. Behind him, another warehouse blazed.

"What's that?" Asha asked lightly.

"It's refusing to work until we're paid fairly!"

"Oh… then I support it," she said, giving a thumbs-up.

The man smiled faintly. "Clearly one of ours. No wonder you wear red… And your companions?"

"Of course they support it, don't you?" Asha answered for them.

Everyone nodded—except Flint.

He placed a hand on his cutlass and glared defiantly at the strikers.

"And if I say no?"

The man spread his muscled arms affably, but his fellows closed ranks, drawing short clubs from their belts.

"We're not forcing you to support us. We'd like everyone in the city to show class solidarity, but we don't want to trouble common folk…"

"Then out of the way," Flint snorted.

Grumbling rippled through the strikers' ranks; the captain's words pleased no one.

"But I was speaking of common folk. If you're a captain of one of the ships that paid our comrades pitiful coppers for years, then I'm afraid you'll have to pay our union arrears for all that time. Right now."

"You want to rob me?" Flint said in shock, stunned at the audacity of common dockworkers.

"This isn't robbery. It's justice. Your ship is worth tens of thousands of gold, yet you begrudge silver to those who bent their backs in honest labor!"

"Enough. Get out of my sight and we won't kill you."

"We?" Asha clarified. The captain looked around and realized he was alone. Not only the passengers, but even his first mate had stepped back.

"Sorry, Captain. I still haven't recovered and couldn't handle a hundred men."

"A hundred?" the captain repeated, and Naik waved toward the houses, where residents peered out. Some were armed; portside neighborhoods always had a peculiar kind of folk, ever ready for any venture, whether smuggling or robbery.

"Incredible. I was never robbed at sea, and now they rob me on land!" Flint said, lifting his hand away from his cutlass.

"Robbery is what you did to the workers," the strike leader answered triumphantly, seeing the captain ready to back down.

But the sight of approaching guards washed the triumph from his face like a tide erasing lines in sand.

"The guard, finally," Flint sighed in relief, lowering his hand from the hilt.

The five guards hardly looked capable of facing even thirty workers, yet the strikers began to scatter.

The reason was simple: the guards were only escorting a mage.

A tall woman, her hair more orange than red with age. Her crimson robe, though reminiscent of a mage's attire, was far better suited for long travel.

"Oops!" Asha darted behind Marvin the moment she recognized the woman.

"What's going on?" he demanded, unwilling to become a human shield.

"Sorry, reflex," Asha muttered, embarrassed, but she stayed hidden.

The woman barely glanced at their group and walked toward the blazing warehouse. A flick of her hand, and flames tore from the roof, walls, and blackened beams. They rose into the sky, twisting into blazing spheres. In an instant, the warehouse was extinguished, and fiery clusters rained down on the arsonists.

The full fury of the fire they themselves had set was about to crush them... And in a way, it was fair! Yet Asha knew all too well how easy it was to go too far while believing oneself just.

The fire sputtered out before reaching its targets. The woman froze, then turned and strode quickly back toward them.

"Was that you who did this? Looks like she's coming here," Marvin said nervously.

Taking a deep breath, Asha stepped out, exposing herself. The woman's eyes narrowed with anticipation.

"Well, well. No wonder I didn't notice you before. Something so small, like you, Asha, is hard to spot."

"I'm glad to see you too, Aunt. Still looking down on everyone, I see. Seems the Fire Council erred in not cutting you down to size, both in pride and in height."

"How bold. By the way, the Council already knows the Second Duke no longer shields your tiny backside. Many were disappointed when you fled to the Commonwealth, better if you had stayed there… but since you're here, they'll be very, very pleased when I bring you to them."

"Madam, the Fourth Duke hired you to quell the strikers, not—" a guard tried to interject, but his armor instantly glowed red-hot, and his clothes caught fire.

"Don't interfere. This is more important than a few hundred crazed ragged workers."

The guard collapsed onto the pavement, struggling to remove his breastplate, only burning his hands worse on the searing metal.

"You're not going to put him out? The Fourth Duke won't be pleased if you keep roasting his men," Asha said dryly.

"Please. He sent me here to burn all the strikers, even if that meant torching the entire port district along with them. He won't care if a few guards get roasted too."

"Well, I care."

A snap of her fingers, and the guard's armor cooled so fast the metal cracked from internal strain. Taking it as a sign, Marvin lit a flame in his palm. Ashley glanced around for iron and found it—the captain's cutlass tore itself from its scabbard, nearly taking off his fingers.

"Counting on your friends to help you?" the woman sneered, her gaze sliding over them. "Weaklings. Especially that parody of a fire mage. Maybe I should burn him? I love watching them consumed by their own flame."

Marvin cursed, trying to shake off the fire that, under the Ashiran woman's will, turned against him, searing his skin. Another snap, and it vanished.

"No need. I'll handle this myself," Asha stepped forward.

"You want to challenge me? A full rank below?" the woman scoffed, making the guard's armor glow again—this time pouring in so much power it nearly melted. A second later it cooled so violently it frosted over, then split apart with a sharp crack.

"Ahem." The captain cut in. "You know, I think I'll be on my way. Clearly, no one needs our help here. I've got to see the healers anyway, damn it!"

The woman fixed him with a scornful glare and waved dismissively.

"Roll along, cripple."

The captain hid his angry glare behind a bow. Alas, one without strength could only submit.

"Good luck, Ashiran. Come, Nike."

The Ashirans exchanged glances. But it was clear enough: his wishes of luck hadn't been meant for the elder.

"You'll need it," the aunt declared, and for the third time she superheated the armor of the unfortunate guard who had become a kind of training dummy in the duel between two mages.

This time, however, Asha didn't cool it. Instead, the armor melted and shot forward like a molten jellyfish, splattering over the woman and engulfing her head to toe.

But molten steel didn't trouble her in the least. She smoothed it down with her hand, shaping it into a flowing lava cloak that draped from her shoulders.

"Thanks for the new outfit, brat.  Now, will you come with me, or are you still not done playing?"

Asha feigned thought, but her eyes followed the burned guard, who crawled away with the last of his strength. She didn't want him to die once the real fight began.

"You think too long," her aunt scoffed. "Unusual for you."

"Think too long?"
"To think at all," she clarified, shrugging off the cloak with a single motion. Like a blazing manta ray, scattering sparks of molten metal, it shot toward the girl...

But mid-flight it cooled, lost its glow, and turned into dull silver metal.

"Catch!" Ashley shouted, and the iron, as if launched from a ballista, flew back at the woman, forcing her to curse and leap aside.

Iron shards ricocheted off the cobblestones like crossbow bolts, while the steel sheet slammed into a house wall, sending up a cloud of dust.

The woman rose to her feet... only to meet the captain's saber.

The blade struck her palm, but instead of piercing skin, it burst into molten fragments. She flicked her hand, disdainfully shaking off the remnants.

Marvin belatedly summoned fire around the fire-mage's head. Not to harm her, but in hope of blinding her.

The woman laughed, turning easily toward him. "You think we can't see through fire? We are fire!"

Her long leg stomped the pavement with force; stone blocks heaved and cracked, releasing streams of lava.
"Practice, and maybe you'll learn too!"

The thick wave splashed across the street, forcing the pair to flee. Asha, however, walked up calmly to the bubbling lava and tapped it with her boot. The leather of her boot began to smoke.

"Hot. Damn. Looks like I still can't swim in it for long..." she muttered, turning to her baffled aunt.

"And now, since you wasted strength on nonsense... I'll just say this. You were right. There is still a whole rank between us... But now you're the one lagging."

A wave of cold spread from her feet, freezing everything in its path. Melted stone solidified in grotesque shapes. The damp coastal air crystallized into ice across the pavement. The woman's gasp expelled not steam but snow. She struggled to summon flame, but the cold swallowed every attempt.

"Recently I realized heat can be drawn even from ice. What's wrong, auntie? Can't manage? Practice—maybe you'll learn too," Asha said kindly, stepping forward one pace at a time.

The woman staggered back, but at that instant the cold surged like a lynx, pinning her legs to the cobblestones. She tried to speak, but coughed up shards of ice instead.

"You know why it won't work? Because this is below zero."

Bluish liquid pooled at Asha's feet. It streamed along the ice crystals, heedless of the brutal cold.

"If you don't want to become a statue, nod."

The woman nodded slowly.

Asha released the cold and finally shivered, tugging her shoulders tight. Whew. Better lava than this.

Wind swept in from behind, cloaking the port in thick mist. Snowflakes melted on rooftops. Clearing her throat, the woman rasped hoarsely:

"Looks like you've learned something during your exile… niece."

"As you can see… Tell the Council I no longer need the Second Duke's protection."

"You don't want to tell them yourself? I don't believe it," the aunt croaked.

Asha shrugged. "I can't take on the entire Council even now. And why would I? All I want is to be left alone. I'm heading north. I'm telling you this so your people don't wander into my path."

Her aunt gave a raspy laugh. "You never were very bright. Now that you've shown your strength, there will surely be those who want you to take a seat on the Council."

Asha folded her arms angrily. "Have you all lost your minds? First you banish me, afraid I'd take my father's seat, and now you're inviting me back?"

"That's called politics. Only strength decides. A Junior Mage interests no one. If we'd truly feared you, we wouldn't have let you live in peace, roaming the forests. But a Senior Mage, or even an Archmage… The Council would gladly welcome you among its ranks."

"Five minutes ago you wanted to drag me there in chains. I'd say you were afraid."

"Thinking was never your strong suit, niece… Ow!" she cried out as the cold crept higher, freezing her legs up to the knees.

"Not yours either, if you don't realize I can end this problem simply by killing you."

"That won't solve anything. Sooner or later the Council will learn of your power anyway. If not from me, then from someone else."

"I don't care. Just don't come after me." Asha waved dismissively and turned to leave.

"Wait!"

"What now?"

"You want to go north, don't you? Then you should know the city is surrounded by troops. The Fourth Duke was very, very displeased with these strikers. He called it a dangerous precedent, so unless you want to be stuck here for a month or two, help me. Together we can restore order quickly, and I'll even give you half the gold the Fourth will pay. And believe me, this time the bald miser spared no expense."

"Better tell me where the Healers' Quarter is."

"A couple of blocks north, look for golden spires. So, what about my offer?"

"Not interested," Asha dismissed her.

"Told you, we should have gone to a quieter port right away," Marvin complained, rubbing his burned hand.

"No worries, we'll just find the captain and get out of here," Asha said lightly, trying to reassure him.

Because of the thick fog, finding the Healers' Quarter was not easy. Only after winding through many streets did they stumble upon a small white-marble building with a gilded spire. Even outside, echoes of shouting could be heard. Exchanging glances, they opened the door.

"I'll mortgage the damned ship, anchor me to a moray! My frigate is nearly intact! What's better, gold or a ready vessel, eh?"

The captain's voice thundered against the marble walls.

An elderly healer nodded solemnly in time with his words.

"A ship still needs to be sold, but I'm offering solid gold right now, and half again as much!" The second disputant's voice was no less loud. Oddly, it too sounded familiar to Asha.

The healer nodded again, encouraging the second speaker.

Asha pushed past her friends blocking her view. To the healer's left stood the captain and his first mate. But to the right was a gray-haired, aging yet wiry man in the black-and-white garb of a traveler.

"Oh, it's Grandpa Count!" Asha said bluntly, pointing a finger at the old man.