by Bill Ricardi
I assured him that I wouldn’t look for any strange skulls until his mystery had been addressed.
Regarding the fog getting worse, the sailing master was right. By the time dusk had arrived, a thick shroud of sea-bound clouds surrounded the Bishop’s Mishap. We had intentionally slowed our progress, despite experiencing fair winds. The captain didn’t like barreling through the water at speed when he couldn’t see more than a few boat lengths ahead of him. I couldn’t blame him.
The crew was being more cautious with their own tasks. Not only was low visibility a factor, but the moisture clinging to every surface of the ship without any sun to burn it away was a danger in and of itself. They treated all duties as in if it were already nighttime; because effectively, it was.
I had been listening to the boatswain’s amusing but frankly smutty and blasphemous story about how the ship got her name. The man swore to me that this was a true tale, on the graves of his ancestors. I think it was just an excuse to get a fictional clergyman in more and more ridiculous and pornographic situations. He was up to the part where the blindfolded bishop was being led into a field of sheep, and his narrative was still gaining steam. But the boatswain was interrupted by a cry from above.
“Avast ye, to stern! Hands to deck!”
The lookout had spotted something, possibly with the aid of a spyglass. It took another half of a minute before my eyes were able to make anything out. By then it was far too close for my comfort.
Behind us, looming in the fog, was another ship. It was well disguised for the foggy environment, seeming to be made from white timber of some sort. The other ship was traveling perpendicular to us and drifting slightly away, but they started to turn once they spotted us.
The keen eyes of the lookout, or perhaps the spyglass once again, resulted in an alarming announcement. “Skeleton ship!”
It was the captain’s bellow that came through the fog next. “Prepare to be boarded lads, we’re not going to outrun that. Defense crews, midship then go where yer told!”
I made my way towards the center of the main deck. Luckily, two minotaurs standing next to one another were easier to see in the fog than my other companions. Rick and Will had come up from below to see what the fuss was about. They found Toby and Tara just as I had. A paw on my shoulder told me that Ames’ keen nose had sniffed us out as well.
The captain was ordering groups to their stations when his eyes fell on us. He paused for a moment, clearly not used to having a group of adventurers as part of his battle plans. “Can ye folk hold the spot between the ballistae?”
Ames answered, “You bet your ass we can.” Always the diplomat.
The feline’s answer brought the briefest of grins to the captain’s haggard face. “Go!”
We made our way to the rail between the two big bolt throwers. As the skeleton ship swung around to draw parallel to our ship, I immediately saw what the main issue was going to be:
Density.
Imagine for a moment that you could crew a ship with the undead. They don’t need to eat, so no storage was needed for food or water. They don’t need to sleep so no need for bedding. In fact you could scrap beds or cots of any kind. They don’t care about personal space or hygiene. They don’t get bored. A skeleton with a couple of weapons still weighs far less than a man. Assuming you kept lanes clear to reach sails and steering mechanisms, you could literally stand them up chest to back until you ran out of room.
There had to be over 1,000 skeletons on that ship.
A shiver ran up my spine. I realized that if they were allowed to flow across onto this ship, everyone onboard would die within minutes. “Keep them from boarding, we need to disable them and get distance!” I yelled.
A volley of arrows, sling stones, and javelins rained in from the other ship, causing us to duck below the railing and our minotaur companions to raise their shields. There were a couple of cries from elsewhere on the ship before the captain’s order came down: “Return fire!”
The discipline of the Royal Moffit soldiers and sailors was profound. They knew that arrows would do very little to skeletons, so the projectiles were dipped in pitch and set ablaze. The much larger targets of the three enemy sails were designated. Quite a few minor fires were started. The undead crew was a bit slow to put them all out. The more holes in sails, the better our chances of fleeing when the time came.
As distinct targets came into view, the ballistae fired. One of the bolts plowed through half a dozen undead before sticking into the bone deck of our foes’ ship. The other removed two or three skulls before sailing high. Each crew of three hurried to reload, though it would take them over half a minute to do so.
The ships were about fifteen paces away now, but I didn’t feel that the time was right to fire off my own magic. Many of the spells I had prepared were meant for living or individual targets, and I imagined that Will and Rick were having the same issue. Magic Missiles weren’t going to do much more than dispose of a single skeleton either. The three of us waited for a better opportunity.
“Hooks!”
I’m not certain who shouted the warning, but 60 or perhaps 70 grappling hooks arced over from the other ship. Around half of them fell short, but the rest dug into the rails. We were tethered together, and being pulled closer by dozens of tireless arms.
All along the railing, soldiers hacked at the ropes that were binding our ship to the enemy vessel. But some of the grappling hooks were attached to medium grades of chain, which were far harder to break. Toby didn’t have this issue, however. The Axe of McGrondle made short work of rope, chain, even the eye-hooks on the grapples themselves. Toby couldn’t be everywhere, however. The grapples that had been missed the first time would be reeled back in and recast, locking the two ships together from bow to stern.
More projectiles rained in as the massive swarm of undead started to crawl across the taut chain links and the surviving ropes. After the ducking had ended, Will took out rod and fur and faced the bow of our ship. When the climbing undead had covered half the distance between the ships, the small human unleashed his Lightning Bolt. The energy tore apart some of the skeletons, while coursing through the metal links of the chains and arcing to even more of the fiends. Several ropes snapped and unravelled, saving our crew precious time that would have otherwise been spent cutting us free.
Elsewhere on the ship, some of the intruders were making it across. Tara hurried towards the stern to help stem the tide. I sent a Force Bolt towards one of the grappling hooks on the far side of the ballista crew. The chain snapped, plunging three of the undead who were in the process of climbing across into the churning sea below. Rick made an icy portal appear in the side of the ship, and heavy balls of snow and hail struck down two climbers astern of us, causing them to fall before they reached their destination.
It was then that I noticed that Ames was nowhere to be seen.
I ducked below the level of the railing and looked around anxiously. Not a hint of the feline anywhere. The were-cat hadn’t fallen overboard, I would have seen something. I grit my teeth, knowing that I just had to trust my mate to be where they were most needed and survive the ordeal.
I stood back up just as the ballistae fired again, crushing some of the sea of undead that were reeling the two ships together. But the second volley of grappling hooks, most of them attached to chain this time, arced over the shorter distance and bit into the wooden railing. Toby lifted his buckler, exposing the holy symbol worked into the steel, and shouted. There was a surge of light in the fog and a wave of the creatures seemed to simply fall apart. Even as the disjunction of bones rained into the bay, a second wave emanated from where Tara stood, astern of us. The battle on the deck was won for the moment.
But that wouldn’t matter soon. The chains connecting the two ships were now scantly five paces long. Relentlessly, the skeletons pulled us in. Soon the undead would be able to leap the distance, and soon after that simply walk from rail to rail.
“Toby!”
Toby seemed to get the idea. He wedged the Axe of McGrondle into the deck for the moment. Will kept the immediate area clear with a Fan of Flame that burned away two of the undead that were trying to cross closest to us. The minotaur lifted the heavy cask above his head and hurled it across the gap with a grunt of effort. It shattered and the scent of rum filled the air as it washed over the skeleton ship’s deck. Rick and I started casting spells, having figured out what the master plan must be. Tara’s cask was the next to break, and then that of the two human strongmen.
“Fire!”
My spell happened to finish just as the captain gave the order, not that it mattered. The Acid Bolt fired high at the enemy’s mainsail, impacting at top and dripping down, leaving massive holes that would be impossible to repair on short notice. The next volley of pitch soaked arrows started to arc through the air, in an attempt to ignite the alcohol soaked ship.
Rick had other, more explosive plans.
The tall human’s Fireball blossomed amidship. Instead of burning with no force, it ignited the three casks worth of rum and created a torrent of hellfire that washed over the length and breadth of the undead vessel. Skeletons exploded in the heat. The bottoms of sails ignited. Our eyebrows were nearly singed off from the proximity to the ferocious immolation.
A combination of the drain from my orcish curse and the very real fear that the fire might spread to my hair caused me to fall to my knees and take shelter behind the railing. Ames, Will, and Rick followed suit. There was a snapping sound as the bulk of a minotaur passed by. Toby had taken up the Axe of McGrondle once more and was quickly slicing through all of the chains connecting the two ships before the enemy could recover from their devastating and fiery setback. By the time he cut through the final chain, Tara and the sailors had mopped up the last of the undead waves that had made it aboard the Bishop’s Mishap.
Soon the wind took our intact sails and made them taut. The same wind did very little for our enemy’s burning, perforated, and acid scarred sails. A parting volley from our ballistae tore through the skeleton ship’s mizzen, for good measure. I watched the unearthly glow of several hundred cooking skeletons. Even through the fog, we would be able to see that blaze for a mile. We left the enemy to burn, sink, or drift.
The minotaurs did what they could for the wounded. There was a fledgling lizardman druid on board as well, who was also able to help two of the more severe cases to survive. She was also quite adept at bandaging and herbalism. Between her efforts, the minotaurs’ divine and mundane healing talents, and the battlefield medics that had survived, everyone was tended to. The soldiers and the crew had suffered 15 losses, and nearly two score wounded.
The four of us who couldn’t help with the injured crew instead helped with the wounded ship. We pried out the multitude of grappling hooks still attached to the Bishop’s Mishap, and coiled up any attached rope or chain that was dangling into the bay. The ship’s drag was reduced significantly by the time we had finished. We cast Light cantrips in key places so that the work area was well illuminated after the sun finished sinking behind the horizon. Then the four of us cleared the way for the crew to effect any repairs that they could make to the scarred and damaged wood.
I did a quick self assessment, as was my habit after any serious spellcasting. The intellect drain had hit me harder than it should have for the number and the power of spells that I had cast. I would be fine after an evening enhancement, but it raised an interesting and exciting possibility. Did preparedness and technique have an effect on how much the Curse of Glogur the Defiant drained one’s mind? Did that mean positive preparation and technique could actually minimize the drain? I made some notes in my spellbook , calling for further study in a safer environment. I’d have to coordinate with Max at some point.
After an informal dinner of salted and steamed halibut, the captain thanked us for our service and told us to get some rest. The six of us weren’t complaining about the tight quarters when we went back below decks. In fact there were no complaints about any subject. It was a relief to have everyone in our party uninjured after a battle, just this once. Besides, there were some benefits to all being in the same small room. The shared body heat helped to fight off the bone-chilling effect that constant sea spray has upon the humanoid body. Sailing through the ceaseless fog had drenched us as well. We hung our clothes from the wooden pegs along the walls, hoping that they would be somewhat drier in the morning. Wrapped in blankets, with a total of three fuzzy creatures to pillow up against, rest came relatively easy.
We woke the next morning drier and much hotter. Two minotaurs and a were-cat had turned our little room into an oven. Someone had cracked the cabin door open before I awoke, thank the gods. Overnight, our hung clothing had gone from damp, to steamy, to dry and crisp.
Eager to escape, the two minotaurs and Ames went to find food, leaving the mages to study. We tailored our spells towards the undead this time, as that was likely all we would encounter once we reached our destination. My feline returned eventually, bearing fish-rolls. Rick, Will, and myself munched on our breaded breakfast, careful not to get crumbs in our spellbooks.
Our arsenal of magic wasn’t needed at all that day. The wind had shifted, eliminating the fog but also slowing our progress. We skillfully tacked into the strong breeze, but the captain estimated that our arrival would be delayed until the evening hours. We helped out when we could, allowing more of the crew to prepare for their upcoming beachhead operation. After we were to be dropped off, the crew planned to sail east for a short while to allow the soldiers to establish a forward position halfway between Limt and Castle Gray. The next ship would bring support staff, priests, and mages that would allow the soldiers to relay intelligence back to the generals of the southern armies.
I spent some time with the Captain himself, who outlined the vast scale of the task at hand. He said, “Reckon that the hardest part is water. Can’t rightly get so many priests that they can witch-up what we need inna day. Fer all we know, they’ll need all that prayin’ to help with wounded. Nope. Gotta build boilers.”
I asked, “What kind of boilers?”
The Captain said, “Big rock domes. Ya boil seawater, let the steam hit the top where it’s cool. Steam turns to drops. Fresh water trickles down th’ sides and into gutters. Pour the sludgy brine back in the ocean, start all over ‘gain. ‘Tween that and th’ clerics, we’ll do fine.”
Later that day, I was privy to a perspective from all the way at the bottom of the chain of command. I had been helping to pull up the net that would hopefully contain the evening catch. The private that was hauling in the other side didn’t seem very optimistic.
The young human explained, “We have a big basket. Call it a creel. When we pull in for the night, it’s supposed to be around four creel to a net. Not seen more than two and a half since I started. Old timers say it’s a sign of the end-times.”
I recalled a conversation I had once overheard, on my way to a bounty. “A farmer I once met said that the end of all days would be about the old gods fighting with the new gods, and forgetting about us in the process.”
That little piece of insight did not seem to cheer the lad up. And he was right about the fishing: Two and a half creel were filled.
Two hours after dusk, we were told to get ready to disembark. Ames meticulously went over our inventory, making sure that we had left nothing behind. Then we boarded the two rowboats, which had already been packed with food and water for our journey. When we were settled the captain gave the order. Our two boats were winched down into the relatively calm waters, and then the ropes were recovered as we were set free. After Tara had taken up the oa
rs, I watched that sleek grand caravel pull away, cutting smoothly through the waters of the bay.
I must have been staring at that indescribably sexy ship for a long time, because Ames felt the need to flick my ear.
My mate asked, “What are you thinking about?”
I murmured, “Stuff and things.” Secretly, I was calculating if I would have enough gold for my boat. If we survived.
It was a ten minute row to the rocky shore, made by moonlight. In any other situation, it might have been romantic. But soon it was time to get our feet wet. We not only pulled the boats onto the beach, we pulled them right into the small cave that the scouts had promised would be there. We used the canvas tarpaulins that would normally cover the boats to instead obscure the mouth of the cave. Once that was done, Ames went back outside to cover our tracks. No prying undead eyes or eyeholes could detect us after that.
After lighting a small fire, we tried our best to engage in normal adventuring banter. However it was absolutely clear that neither Rick nor Will had the right kind of temperament for tales of derring-do. Toby shared a concerned look with me. I simply shook my head a little, letting him know that this wasn’t the time to confront them about their mood. I knew that the humans were reluctant participants at best right now, probably more motivated by their greater obligation to the world than any kind of adventurous spirit.
As we huddled close under the same blanket, Ames quietly asked if I knew what was wrong with the humans. Knowing that the feline was in charge of the expedition and that they would need to deal with any emotional fallout or lapse in morale, I explained the impact that Pandemonium made on the minds of our friends. The feline looked both sad and worried as I related the gist of Will’s emotional confession. The were-cat promised to carefully broach the subject tomorrow. At my worried look, the feline insisted that they would use some tact.
Even though this would likely be the last relatively comfortable and safe snuggling session for Ames and myself for some time, we fell asleep fairly early. The plan was to start scouting out our surroundings and the nearby cliffside township at the break of dawn.