It took more effort than I found comfortable to fight my nausea.

 

The ship rocked and turned with the force of a wild bull, weaving and twisting through the water erratically. The water outside the window flashed with frantic lights and explosions of fire, too much to keep heads or tails about. A low smoke curled in twisting sheets over the embroiled surface, and only the strike of lightning or sting of flames could pierce it.

 

I gripped the chair with all the strength I could muster, and the signal mage was no better. He stretched from the table legs to the doorframe in his terror. Even his mask- of which was shaped something like a fierce predator- could not hold his fear in doubt. Shouts and cries echoed throughout the ship, and though I could not add my own the signal mage was happy to make up for it.

 

“I cannot be expected to work in these conditions!” He cried to himself. “I’m a merchantman, damn it!”

 

Another horrible explosion rocked the ship, but the tinkling of glass did not accompany it.

 

What the hell was happening up there? We had just been heading back all quick like when this trouble had caught up. Wasn’t this ship supposed to be fast? How had Andril made up the difference? And why did it sound like he’d brought the entire fleet back with him?

 

“By Erithan, by Kelrione, by Celrion, by the Haliborne! Save this ship!” The signal mage bowed his head in prayer, though his hands remained stuck fast to the table. “Deliver us from these traitors!”

 

I rolled my eyes at him, but as his eyes were closed he couldn’t notice the disdain I tried to imply that he was breaking down in the company of a calm girl probably half his age. Or calmer than him, at least. I was sure I’d be adding something if I could speak.

 

The ship rocked again, and I heard jeers from above. I tried to focus on the waterline to see if I could divine anything through the froth, but nothing came but fire and smoke. Gone were the light beams of earlier and the beautiful schools of furred fish.

 

I paused and tried that thought again.

 

Wait, Gideon hadn’t been bullshitting me on that one! Why the hell did a fish even need fur? Why did orthungs have a better fish head than actual fish did? Did people wear fish-fur jackets? Was my fur clothing made of fish? What the [fuck] was wrong with this world?

 

More to the point, I couldn’t see anything that was happening up above, or tell at all what was happening. We were close by another ship, that much was obvious from all the manoeuvring, but as to when was the best time to pull my scheme, it was impossible.

 

I sighed. Might as well do it now then, I guess. Maybe I can make this ship an easy target, at least. 

 

I lunged towards the signal mage, and threw my bound hands over his head. I pressed my body as close to him as I could, trying to ignore what it probably would look like to an onlooker. I grinned as I felt the vestiges of magic waft off of me like so much mist.

 

“The hell?” His eyes snapped open and he pushed me off and back into the chair. His prior fear seemed a fading thing for a moment. “What, a little shaking and you want one last lay, you Summarkan b-”

 

I kicked my feet into his thigh before he could finish, bypassing the shield of his mask.

 

“Relicin.” I said, casting through my toe.

 

He froze solid mid-word, a creepy expression forever locked over his face. It was as if he’d locked eyes with medusa, though I found myself less than pitiful.

 

“And you were calling me rude?” I muttered. “And you go and say that? Does self-awareness not grow in Ostip?”

 

I heard the thundering of boots on stairs from above, and the familiar voice of the mage who had originally captured me.

 

“Moel, watch out! She’s broken it somehow!”

 

Before the voices could reach the door, I placed my hands on the door and froze that too, fusing it with the hull in a chunk of ice. Then, I froze my bounds as well and smashed them over the table.

 

Furious shouting erupted outside.

 

“By the Star, she’s loose! Enemy in the signal office! Flag the flagship!”

 

Ha! Jokes on you, I don’t know how to work the lamp anyway! No, my prey was something else.

 

I ignored the rest of the shouting and climbed onto the table. Then I put my hands on the ceiling in the direction of the rudder. Before I casted anything, however, I threw one more glance towards the frozen signal mage.

 

Did being flash frozen kill you? I’d heard of cryogenic stuff, but did this count? Or had I just killed him?

 

I chewed my cheek for a moment before shrugging. 

 

There hadn’t really been any choice in the matter anyway. I didn’t know any decidedly non-lethal spells, and this at least had the barest level of ambiguity to it. If I didn’t know, I could sort of act the same as one of the shooters in a firing line, even if that sounded a little callous to think.

 

I waited until we pulled hard into a turn and the rudder jerked to the side before I moved.

 

“Looks like we’ve hit the turning point!” I called to the people outside. “Relicin!”

 

Ice exploded over and through the wood, spreading to the rudder and the room above in the flash of an eye. I heard shouts of alarm from above, and the ship continued to turn. That wasn’t all, however, because the ice froze everything in a circular spread around the point, and I grimaced when I looked down and saw half the window frozen.

 

I watched it carefully for a moment, only to sigh in relief as it held firm. 

 

Then the ship rammed something.

 

I was thrown from the table in a huge crash, slamming against the floor like a bundle of bricks. Wood screamed and cracked and screams erupted around us, but all I could focus on was that spreading crack in the window.

 

“Ah.” I said. “Shit.”

 

The window exploded inwards, and a wall of water came with it.

…

Endril had never felt so alive.

 

Bolts of starfire bellowed from his sword tip at the twisting ships, erupting in brilliant plumes of blue against the shield. The shouts and fuss of battle was all around him, and his ship cut through the water like a Brepolese caravel as it dodged and weaved the Ostiper’s daring attempts to ram it. Behind him, over half his crew sat channelling magical wind into the sails, and though a quarter of them looked too drunk to breath Endril knew they had a good ten minutes of this left in them still.

 

Magic flowed straight through him like a conduit, leaving him in the form of blue fire as soon as it had time to reach him. If he kept casting like this, he could probably keep up the firepower of  twenty men for over half an hour. It was an advanced technique, one that had taken him years to master, but it was all they had now. And with it, you could keep up an indefinite attack, a stream of fire so hot that it would put even whitewood to the flame.

 

Of course, the matter of stopping was a bit of an issue. As was controlling the range, the power, the fine tuning, the shaping, casting anything more complicated than spatal… just about every input for the spell relied completely on the local atmospheric mana. That meant every input had the same, hopefully overwhelming, amount of energy shoved into it. And whatever you started casting, it would continue to cast until the air around you ran out of mana, which wasn’t something a human could measure. It could be either seconds or hours, and only a very specific tool could tell. And with the possible input pressure, only very simple spells could be used with it, and very dangerously at that

 

But that’s alright. Endril thought. Even the masters use spatal sometimes.

 

He followed one of the ships for as long as he could, though Endril found it hard to aim with a blinding plume of fire in front of him. A joy went up in him as he heard its shield finally crack and the screams of a hundred sailors quickly turn to smoke, accompanied by only a small wonder if something was wrong with him.

 

That being done, he directed his deluge over the nearest ship as it began to turn towards him, only too late realising that his helmsman had accidently manavered them into a pincer. Another ship started to turn from an opposite parallel up ahead, and Endril quickly did the calculation in his head.

 

“Full stop!” He called back. “Full stop!”

 

He swept his hands towards the ship in front, hoping beyond hope that he’d be able to break the shields and roast it before it connected. For a second, Endril almost thought he could see a crack in the air, and his spirits soured.

 

Instead, the local mana ran out.

 

The fires sputtered out like a woodless fire, and a small wave of backlash hit him. He staggered down from the railing and gripped the wood for support, cursing all the way.

 

Ten pitching minutes? Really? That was the culmination of this place’s mana?

 

Endril braced for impact, but didn’t dare to look up from the bow. His ship probably wouldn’t survive even a single ram from the side, and he was reluctant to watch the arrow that was destined for his throat.

 

When it did come, it was from rather farther away than he expected.

 

Screams and shouts of alarm broke out from across the water, and Endril opened his eyes to what could only be divine intervention.

 

The ship that had come from parallel had instead turned past them, ramming the Ostiper flagship directly in the side. A huge gaping hole took on water there, and the flagship listed dangerous to the side. 

 

“Those that think treason seem keen to repeat it!” He shouted with a laugh. “They run themselves on their own swords!”

 

The few Minuans behind him still sober enough to understand shouted for joy, and raucous cheers of dubious rationality broke out. A cheerful song in old Lmeri came up from some in the back, though it had little to do with sailing.

 

“Full forward!” Endril called. “Let’s cleave the last one and be one with this lot!”

 

As soon as the words had left his lips, however, something outstanding happened.

 

A pillar of ice shot up from the back of the last Ostiper ship, exploding out of the water behind it like a mountain’s fist until it had arrived just a few enchia above deck height. It rent a massive hole just below the waterline where the signal office was, the only place such an attack was likely to punch through, and Endril could see that the entire back of the ship had frosted over. The back of the ship was lifted from the water a small amount, and the front tipped slightly forward. For a moment, everyone was silent. Then, the shouts from the sinking ship were overwhelmed by what sounded to Endril like a roc’s dying screams magnified by a hundred.

 

The planks of the ship ripped from each other in the middle, and the front of the ship detached from the back. Wood and ice cracked and broke, overcome by the forces of the world, and the front started to slide into the freezing waters below. The back stayed, held into the air like the head of a speared beast. And only then did Endril notice the figure on top of the pillar of ice.

 

They sat regally on that pillar, framed by mist and falling snow. The thunder was starting to lessen too, and spots of light broke out from the clouds in shining pillars down to the lake below. None of these happened to land on the person, but instead it looked to Endril as if they were shining in nonexistent starlight anyway, wrapped in glinting blue flakes of magic. For that moment, they were no mere mage, for no mage could chance to mimic the regal posture of the stars so succinctly.

 

Not regal. Endril realised, transfixed. Divine. 

 

“Saphry?” He called tentatively, afraid to be wrong.

 

The figure waved back drunkenly, and Endril found himself laughing like a madman as the illusion of godhood shattered.

 

Of course! The one and done mage! How could I think differently?

 

“Get us over there!” He called back to his helmsman. “Our demonbane seems to have stranded herself!”

…

“Cast!” Gelarin called. “Cast, pitching hells!”

 

A hundred explosions of magic erupted from the side of the deck as the mages fired. Superheated plumes of fire struck the well-weakened shield, cracking it in half and bathing the Ostiper deck in flame. Gelarin watched with satisfaction as figures in the blaze staggered around and burned away, and when it was done no one was left standing topside.

 

The helmsman inside turned the old trade vessel away, and Gelarin let it go. Internally he told himself the pity was a nod to the old days when naval combat had an element of dignity to it, but he knew the reality was just that it would’ve taken too long to properly crack the hull.

 

The battle was going horrific so far. Even with the Summarkans hitting them in the back, the Ostipers still outnumbered their forces by some amount. And though Gelarin had attempted to bring some order to the field, he had quickly been forced to let his force split into wings as the Ostipers had focused on them. It was better than what the Minuans were doing, of course, but the chaos of it all still held better for the Ostipers and their larger force. It would be a matter of morale at this point, not tactics, and Gelarin wasn’t certain it would go in their favour.

 

“Switch to port!” Gelarin shouted. “Prepare spells for forty enchia at the ship due port!”

 

Gelarin felt his voice going raw as he shouted, but he was still only barely able to make himself heard over the cracking wood and shouting. In the north, a couple of the Minuan vessels had managed to get themselves boarded, and the cries and clashing from there could only be interrupted by the thunderous roar from the heavens.

 

He pointed his arm towards the ship and was about to shout the command when something hit the ship. Soldiers and sailors fell forwards under the force, the deck moving out from under their feet. A sharp crack flew through the air, and soon after came the sound of firebolts hitting the hull. Behind them, two short masts from one of the smaller Ostiper vessels slowly backed away.

 

“Ship behind!” Gelarin called. “Full ahead!” 

 

A sudden cheer went up behind them, and Gelarin quickly saw the reason. Straight over their eastern railing, another Ostiper ship a while away was turning towards their side. Its ram seemed to glow under the water, and Gelarin found himself cursing.

 

“Pitch it all, turn us east!” He called.

 

Getting hit on the side was much worse than a front or back strike, a fact clearly demonstrated by the fact that their ship wasn’t currently sinking. Hopefully, at least. And if they were able to take it at an angle and slide their ship down, it would be even better.

 

His ship, however, didn’t turn.

 

“Rudder’s out!” A messenger shouted from the stairs. “We’re stuck!”

 

“Balefron have it.” Gelarin said. “Full forward!”

 

A firebolt from the ship behind, still barely inside the shield, catapulted into their mainsail. The flammable fabric immediately came alight, and though spells to suffocate it came quickly enough it wasn’t enough to stop a huge hole from burning through it. Soldiers scrambled to the back to fire off what revenge strikes they could, but the Ostiper slipped back out again once it saw the attack had worked.

 

Without the mainsail, the ship could only inch forward or backwards, and it was practically stuck when going against the wind. 

 

Who will tell Heril’s mother? Gelarin wondered. If I’m gone too?

 

“Cast at will over the eastern railing!” Gelarin shouted. “Everything you can, damn the cost!”

 

Soldiers crowded to the rail and the first row crouched. Waves of intermittent fire came from the tips of spears, stronger than before. Even Heril stood there, throwing what feeble party tricks he had managed to learn as a kid. 

 

Gelarin, however, could just watch. He knew it was hopeless to try at this point, he’d seen enough battle to see that. As the spells buried the ship under its shields, it became a moving wall of smoke, a drifting bill of execution that slowly ramped up speed.

 

I hope I become a ghost. Gelarin thought. Then I can at least haunt Prince Corto for sending me here.

 

And then, above the din of combat, a single voice rang out.

 

“Hark, the misled of Ostip!”

 

It boomed across the lake like the voice of a mountain, or the wind given words. It was regal and passionate, and men across the boats had to but blink and look towards it as if under some spell. The ship ramming them furled its sails and slowed, and even the Ostipers behind them quieted. Even Captain Gelarin couldn’t help but grow quite in admiration at the voice, and something inside him told him he should obey it. It did not command attention, but merely required it. 

 

Strangely, the noble officers at the end of the ship did not seem to share that sentiment. Gelarin scowled at them.

 

“I hold you to account! Seek no solace in the darkness of lie-weavers and swindlers, of traitors and the Gryphon!”

 

Finally, the owner of the voice came into view. A white ship with the top of mast blown off sailed into view from far to the east, and upon its bow stood a figure bathed in a rare sunlight. He held a sword planted into the wood in front of him, and it flickered with fire. A halo of light seemed to play about his head, and despite the distance Gelarin somehow got the distinct impression of disapproval.

 

Beside him stood another figure, just as radiant. A girl with a silvery glow, with small playful spots of blue fluttering about her head. The stars reflected around her hair, as if she wore a crown of mirrors. Gelarin felt an intense kindness from her, tinged with a yearning sadness. There came a sudden urge to drop his own weapon where he stood, and he heard clanging as several of the soldiers around did just that.

 

“See where their lies have led you! To death! To horror! I bring upon my brow the Fires of the Dawn, and beside me stands the Ice of the Stars! That is what you fight against! That is what Lord Nann fought against! But he is no more. He has been slain by my right hand, skewered wholesale by his own lies.”

 

Gelarin found himself nodding along, and the nobles on the deck didn’t interfere. On the Ostiper ship directly opposite them, however, he saw that people were running about, and that someone was sprinting between each soldier and laying glowing hands upon them, after which they started to look around in confusion.

 

Do they not know who this is? Gelarin thought.

 

“Verol stands by the honest man.” The figure boomed. “By its honour, and by the light. These the damned have no use for, so cast them out! Cast them out or hide not behind your proud ignorance! For I am the Herald of the Everstar, the righter Heir of Verol!”

 

With that, what looked like dozens upon dozens of small blue lights were conjured around the girl. They fluttered in a flock towards the ships, and the sound of birdsong filled the air in between the creaking and snapping of wood.

 

As they got close they separated and flew between the gathered ships. Gelarin could see that they were not lights, but birds of ice. One flew cheerfully to his hands before flying away, and murmuring broke out among the soldiers.

 

“The Snow Witch.” A soldier whispered beside him. 

 

Gelarin nodded. Rumours had reached them of a secretive mage from back in the capital, and now it was obvious that Prince Endril had managed to enlist their help. 

 

“I offer you an accord.” The voice continued. “I am not king, nor had I hoped to be. I had hoped to bolster the Church, as my uncles before me. I had hoped to rule over magic, not man. But now you find yourselves under my mercy. Leave this field! My soldiers will let you go. You may return to your floating camps and convene after the death of Lord Nann. Or lay down your flags and join us! Verol will have need of righteous sentinels in coming days. If you do not, you will face the fire and the depths, and if you manage to win it not win you Minua, nor will you find a safe landing on her shores. Your quest is pointless now. I will grant you a quarter-bell to consider, under the flag of parley.”

 

Soldiers on Veroline vessels cheered, but there was only a dread muttering from the Ostipers. 

 

Gelarin, however, was not disturbed. He knew full well that they would accept, because that voice was the voice of a proud and confident king.

…

Endril stepped down from the railing uneasily, and immediately almost tripped. He tried to keep his face a mask from the soldiers watching him, though he allowed himself a sigh.

 

By the Star, that was the most nerve-racking speech I’ve given. Endril thought. Worse than the trial. And probably less fluent.

 

He nodded to Sir Gaet beside him, and the officer gently set Saphry down on the deck, where she immediately started nodding off. Silst sat on the ground beside her, glaring at the girl with pure malice. Endril didn’t want to be in the room whenever that argument erupted.

 

I suppose I’m lucky you used that spell and not something stupider. Endril thought.

 

Saphry was a bit reckless, in the prince’s opinion, and more than a little too happy to burn through mana reserves she didn’t have. But even her little stunt was nothing in comparison to what he had just done.

 

He had used the King’s Voice, for heaven’s sake. It wasn’t even just taboo for him to use it, it was practically illegal. It was just a normal spell, of course, though the Evandals tried to keep the illusion that it was a family ability. He’d sneakily used it several times in less powerful forms on perilous occasions or on difficult people when they were being troublesome, but to use it so powerfully and openly on thousands of people like this? He had practically just declared himself the legitimate current king without saying it. His father would not approve in the slightest.

 

But he had seen no other option. His fleet was on the verge of obliteration, and he was nowhere near close enough to help them without a chance of hitting his own forces. All his forces save the Summarkan wings had been scattered or broken, and half of them were in the process of being boarded while another quarter sunk. And though he had spoken as if their victory was in doubt, it did not seem like it from where he floated. The only thing he had was that their commander and all their signal ships were dead and they had no organisation. They might not realise the advantage in numbers and position that they held. That was why he had decided to use it.

 

But even then, the voice was not exactly foolproof. People of noble birth weren’t affected, no matter how small the lineage. And worse, it was only a simple counterspell to both dispel it and block further application for a while, and he had clearly seen all of the Ostiper minor nobility going about their ships plugging that particular hole. Whatever decision they made, it would be without the clouded mind of suggestion.

 

Still, it at least allowed his forces a small break to reorganise, and that was enough. He might even be able to get close enough if they held the truce for the whole quarter-bell.

 

There was a tug on his boots, and Endril saw Saphry pulling at him.

 

“Eh… that was wiiild…” She slurred. “Real… real neato.”

 

“Ligan.” Endril said.

 

Saphry continued to babble silently, as if she didn’t realise.

 

“Get her to a bunk and tie her to it.” Endril said to the soldier beside her. “Keep someone sober near her and make sure they know Falvlirin. We might need her presentable.”

 

“My lord? You don’t us to use it immediately?”

 

“For now, this is better.” Endril said bluntly. “Go along, now.”

 

The soldier saluted and led Saphry away and down the stairs. Silst nodded approvingly at him, and Endril felt a pang of empathy for the poor drake. It must be hard to watch over someone like that. He’d given Silst a single letter to deliver and Saphry had gone and gotten herself captured in that time. Incredible, really, though it ended up in their favour.

 

Endril waited with bated breath as time ticked on. Most ships didn’t move too much so that they could transmit to one another, and Endril was sure that the first five minutes of that time was just the Ostipers deciding upon a new signal ship to parse everything through.

 

Slowly, he got closer.

 

“Come on, come on…” Endril muttered. “Your lord’s dead, just leave!”

 

If he was leading them, he would not think twice before rejecting such an offer. They wouldn’t get another chance to get close to the Minuans like they had and now their enemies were joined in one group. They might even realise that the Minuans would have no further point to fighting a naval battle either, not if their allies were saved and they could head back to the Minua unmolested. Even without a leader, they had enough ships in close quarters that they could easily not just win, but completely destroy the fleet if they managed it. And without a prince to rally around, Minua would have no reason to rebel.

 

But, of course, the enemy wasn’t omnipotent, nor did they have Endril’s view of the battle.

 

And as the last few seconds of the quarter-bell ended, Endril began to lose hope. He stood up and started walking to the back to give an order to the helmsman.

 

“Is that…?” An officer muttered behind him. 

 

“It is!” A soldier cried. “They’re pulling back!”

 

Endril stopped and walked back to the railing as calmly as he could. He cast his eyes over the lake again, stopping when he saw the line of ships floating towards the south.

 

The Ostipers had decided to leave.

 

Endril allowed himself a smile and put an arm on Silst’s back. 

 

“Looks like we’re living another day.” Endril said.

 

Silst nodded, and he almost grinned wider than the prince.