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A net closed around Yerdan and pulled him from the cold sea, bringing driftwood and splinters with him. The roar of battle still echoed in his mind but faded as it made room for the sloshing of water and the smell of salt. Water dripped from his drenched clothes and clattered onto the deck of the ship that pulled him aboard. Before long, its hard, sun-warmed wooden planks supported his body as the net gently released him.

The blur of a man stood over him against the sunlight. A tall silhouette of unknown intent. Was it a friend? Or was it a Mahearean?

“He’s alive, thank the Tribunal. He’s alive.” The man knelt beside him, and his face came into focus.

It was Ulf – his tunic torn, revealing a nasty cut in his shoulder, but alive. Yerdan could do naught but smile.

Then Ornea, too, joined them. “Oh, thank the Gods.” She embraced him. “I thought I lost you.”

“We won, then?”

Ulf’s face went grim. “Yea. But it cost…” He did not finish his sentence and instead motioned around him. “Look.”

Ornea helped Yerdan up. They were not aboard Captain Drebbin’s ship. This was the Hauler, one of their cargo ships. Originally, it was a trade vessel, but the captain recommissioned it to carry the loot of their conquests.

Around the ship, the aftermath of the battle was laid out plain in carnage. Countless corpses floated in the waves, together with broken boards and shredded sails.

“Where are the other ships?”

Ornea shook her head.

“All of them?” How was that possible? Their entire fleet was gone. So, too, were the Mahearean war galleon and its escorts. So, too then, was the treasure they sought. Everything had been for naught.

His thoughts were interrupted by a raspy voice. “I found him. I found the captain!”

Yerdan pushed the others aside to make it to the railing.

In the water drifted a still figure atop a large wooden plank. His face and body had been scorched by fire, but the clothes were unmistakable. It was Captain Drebbin.

“Don’t just stand there, get him out!” Ulf yelled at the sailors.

Just like they had done with Yerdan, they fished Captain Drebbin out of the water with a net. Carefully, they lowered his body onto the deck, the flotsam still beneath him.

Yerdan hurried to him. Only now that he was close did the horror of the captain’s disfigured visage truly dawn on him. His skin had melted, and his flesh seared to form blackened ridges. They spread a sickly rotten tang. Ashen flakes covered his body, and his once lush hair had vanished completely.

A raspy breath caused Yerdan’s blood to freeze solid. Wheezing. Rattling.

He was still alive.

Captain Drebbin’s eyes stared at him without lashes. Without blinking. What once glistened with intense green had been reduced to a cloudy haze. His hand grabbed Yerdan’s bare forearm. The grip was coarse and forceful, though it lacked strength.

“Who…” His voice was barely audible and resembled the grind of gravel. “Who burned… the galleon?”

It was Captain Drebbin.

Yerdan aimed the ballista at the war galleon. He pulled on a lever and, with a snap, the locking mechanism released the string that connected the ballista’s arms, and it flung a large bolt across the water towards its target. But Yerdan had no time to see where it landed. He was already preparing the next shot. At his side, Ornea supplied him with new bolts.

Turn the crank. Click. Place the bolt. Aim. Fire.

Turn the crank. Click. Place the bolt. Aim. Fire.

Turn the crank. Click. Place the–

The ballista disintegrated into a cloud of splinters and debris as the ship’s secondary mast smashed into it. The mass of wood, rope, and sail then tumbled into the seawater below. But the damage was already done. Cracks ran through the boards beneath his boots. They would give way at any moment.

Yerdan scrambled to his feet. He grabbed Ornea and dashed away from the bow, which crumbled into the deck below.

“Are you alright?” he asked as they inspected the damage. The ship’s bow was mostly gone, but the devastation was contained above the waterline, which itself was a miracle.

“I’m fine.” Ornea nodded, but her relief quickly turned to alarm as she pulled Yerdan down onto the deck. “Watch out!”

“Loose,” commanded Captain Drebbin from behind them, and arrows whistled as they flew towards the war galleon.

On both their flanks, the other ships in their fleet had started similar attacks. But one of the ships lagged behind, its stern raised higher than it should be. They were likely taking on water.

Ornea’s eyes beamed with fury. Her hands clutched her scorched staff, and Yerdan knew what that meant. She was collecting as much of the fire element as she could. All they had to do was to get her close enough for her to unleash it upon their enemy. But not the war galleon. They could not risk the gold it carried.

From atop one of the galleon’s two escorts, a light ignited. Intense and bright. It was almost as if the sun was rising. Then, as if propelled by a mystical force, the light was launched into the air, trailing towards the fleet.

“Incoming!”

The light descended upon the ship on Yerdan’s left, blanketing it with fire. Men jumped overboard, their backs aflame, screaming.

This was supposed to be easy. They should not have been this well defended.

“Should we lower the–”

“Leave them,” ordered Captain Drebbin. “We’ll circle back for them after we’ve killed these Mahearean swines.”

Another bright light incinerated another of their ships. Only four were still in fighting shape.

Drebbin pointed at Ornea. “Your turn. Go, now.”

She rose to her feet and unleashed her wrath upon the escorting ship that had assaulted their fleet. A beam of scorching heat ejected from the tip of her staff, carving across the hull of the escort, ravaging the wood and setting it ablaze. She then turned it towards the deck and drove it into the fleeing sailors. Those that did not abandon ship burned.

They were close to the war galleon now, and arrows were flying in both directions. Yerdan grabbed his axe from the rack and took shelter from the incoming missiles behind the fortified railing. On his left, a sailor hurled a grappling hook at their target. Yerdan’s heart pounded in his throat. It was almost time to board the galleon.

“Go. Go now!”

Yerdan jumped. The seawater below him sloshed against the hulls of the two ships. His cheek smashed against the coarse wood as he dropped his axe upon the deck. He flung his arms around the railing and climbed up. On his left was Ornea, on his right was Ulf, one of Captain Drebbin’s best fighters.

A Mahearean man charged at him with a spear.

Yerdan scrambled to pick up his axe but could not make it. The spear impacted his shoulder. A sting of metal and wood. Warm blood welled and soaked his tunic.

Then, a swathe of fire engulfed the man, his screams were drowned out by the chaos of battle.

“No fire,” Ulf yelled at Ornea.

Ornea picked up Yerdan’s axe and pressed it into his uninjured hand. “Come on.”

Seven Mahearean sailors came at them. Three of them were headed for Yerdan: two armed with clubs and one with a spear, but Yerdan knew how to handle this, even with an injured arm. He had done it a thousand times before.

The taller spearman ran in long strides and came first. He thrust his weapon, but Yerdan sidestepped the attack and then hooked his axe behind the incoming spear and pulled at it, destabilising the wielder’s stance.

By then, the other two had arrived. Dodging the blow of an incoming club, he diverted his manoeuvre towards the third sailor and bent into a crouch. Then, he bashed his shoulder up into the sailor’s stomach and launched him over the railing into the water.

In one smooth motion, Yerdan swung his axe into the back of the club swinger’s head and took the club from her hands to smash the spearman in the torso. The spearman collapsed to the ground and was quickly ended by driving the axe into his breastbone.

Yerdan allowed himself a brief smile while Ulf and Ornea handled their attackers, his skill proven once more despite the pain in his arm.

A bright light hurtled overhead towards one of the fleet’s few remaining ships.

“There,” yelled Ornea, who pointed her deformed hand towards the helm of the war galleon. “We must kill that mage.”

Leaving the rest of their crew to fight the Mahearean sailors, the Yerdan, Ulf, and Ornea pressed forward. Together, they carved a path to the stairs that led to the helm. At the top were three men, bearing shields and spears, blocking the way.

Ornea unleashed another swathe of fire, which ignited the shield wall. In the spearman’s panic, the flaming shields fell, opening the way for Yerdan’s axe and Ulf’s spear to strike. The slashing and stabbing steel quickly shattered any remaining resistance.

Another light coalesced around the mage’s staff – a thin metal rod tipped with a light-green gem – and, with a swinging motion, was launched over the water.

Ulf charged and Ornea and Yerdan followed.

The mage jabbed his staff towards Ornea and Ulf. A thunderous boom echoed between the ships as a shockwave converged upon the pair, knocking them over.

Yerdan advanced on the mage’s left flank, but the mage was swift and used the momentum of his shockwave to rotate the back of his staff, swinging it against Yerdan’s wounded shoulder.

Yerdan plummeted to the floor, screaming. Pain seared through his body.

The mage turned towards Ulf and Ornea again. Another shockwave converged on them. Ornea jumped out of the way, casting herself down the staircase. Yet, Ulf could not dodge the blast and was flung overboard.

“Ulf, no,” muttered Yerdan. His fingers clasped a knife that he always kept in his pocket. The pressure forced the grip into his skin, but he did not care. He tried to get up on his feet but stumbled back down when he tried to lean on his injured arm.

The mage conjured another light and launched it onto the ship from which Yerdan had boarded the war galleon: Captain Drebbin’s ship.

With the last strength that he had, Yerdan heaved himself up to face the mage. His axe lay on the floor, and all he had was his small knife. If he was to die, he would die standing. The mage raised his staff and pointed it at him.

He closed his eyes.

This was it.

A woman screamed, followed by the screams of a man.

He opened his eyes. Ornea, her eyes wide with fury, stood over the mage in a colossal blaze of fire that quickly spread across the helm.

Then, her face shifted, and they shared a look. Both knew what this meant. The ship was lost and so was the gold it held.

Together, they jumped overboard.

Ornea scoffed. “You weren’t there. I’d never seen the captain so zealously picking a man apart. There’s no doubt that he was telling the truth.”

“Then why haven’t we found them, yet? We were supposed to be on our way back by now.”

“Stop being so… you know. It’s making me anxious. Think about all that gold that they’re taking to Orgestil. Enough to fill all our pockets twice over, and there’d still be plenty to spare.”

That was true. It would be their biggest haul yet. But that was exactly why he worried. What if they changed their routes? What if the diplomatic mission was cancelled altogether? What if–

“There,” Ornea screamed. Her wild curls danced on the salty winds, and her edged, pale face lit up. The hourglass tattoo on her cheek compressed into a square by her smile. “There it is!”

Yerdan raised his spyglass and aimed it towards where Ornea was pointing her crooked hand. She was right. A big galleon, three times the size of their own ships, sailed towards their fleet. It was finally here.

But then, two more sets of masts appeared on the horizon.

“Wait. Do you see that, Ornea?” Two smaller ships were escorting the war galleon.

“Yea,” she yelled as she tugged on his sleeve, motioning for him to follow her down from the crow’s nest. “They’re here. Signal the others, they’re here.”

Two hairy hands clenched Yerdan’s sides, plucking him from the nets and setting him down on the wooden deck. It was the captain. With his towering frame, he made it seem as if it required no strength at all. The captain brought his visage close to his. Lush and wild hair obscured most of the man’s scars. A grin ran across it almost connecting his glistening eyes. “This is it, Yerdan. This is what we’ve waited for. Are you ready? Fortune and gold and a name that will echo throughout the ages. Are you ready?”

“Yes, Captain Drebbin. I’ve been ready ever since you let me into your crew.”

“That’s my boy. Now, get your arse behind a ballista. We’re softening up the war galleon while the others take out its escorts.”

Captain Drebbin let go of Yerdan to speak to Ornea, surely instructing her not to accidentally set the galleon ablaze with her magic.

Yerdan ran towards the bow of the ship where two ballistae were anchored against the railing. He grabbed the crank and pulled while another sailor mounted the other ballista.

The rough wooden handles turned, driving the winch that drew the enormous arms backwards. A loud click signalled that the mechanism had locked in place. Yerdan snagged a bolt as long as a spear from the supply and seated it behind the ballista’s string, ready to be launched at the galleon. He climbed behind the machine and tested the aiming mechanism by rotating and tilting the contraption.

Meanwhile, the sails had been raised and the anchor weighed. They were moving.

By now, their target was aware of the impending raid. The escorts slowly veered away from the galleon, which itself also turned, possibly attempting to get away.

Yerdan was not worried anymore. Their fleet was light and fast. If it came to a pursuit, they would catch up quickly.

Ornea joined him. She had retrieved her staff from her hanging cot and now held on to it tight with her one good hand. The rod was simple. Little more than a stick made of scorched wood. But Yerdan knew better. He had seen her turn men to ashes.

“Are you ready, Ornea? Gold and glory?”

She conjured a small flame in her empty hand. “Oh yes.”

The galleon was almost in range of his ballista, and it was now facing them sideways. An easy target to hit. That was when he realised that the escorting ships that had first veered away from the war galleon had steered back. They were now coming to meet the fleet head-on.

Yerdan aimed the ballista. Only a few moments before he–

Something flew towards them from across the water. A large wooden bolt hit the ballista on his left, piercing the sailor behind it and launching him across the deck.

A loud crash. Splintered wood. Screams.