Gold Wins Wars

by Verlax

Chapter VII - Victual Race

Deep into that darkness peering, long he stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no pony dreamed…

Winterspell was on a ship, of that he was certain. Wet, dark wood filled his vision. But... dark? No, that wasn’t right. His beloved Little Conqueror wasn’t dark. It was a good ship, made out of the finest light oak wood one could get. No, this ship was made out of something else. He didn’t feel familiar here, not in the slightest. But... no, there was something about all this that nagged at his thoughts, as if he was here once before, the memory buried deep in his subconscious mind. He barely registered that his head was still laying on the deck. Slowly, Winterspell raised sluggishly, droplets of water falling from his face onto the planks below.

As if his head breached the surface of the sea his ears were assaulted by a pandemonium of noises. His pegasus blood stirred at the oh so familiar sound.. The storm. They still hadn’t left it? Strange. He sailed through many a storm before, yet none had lasted as long as this one.. Something wasn’t right here. Lightning struck in the distant, making his mane stand on end. Winterspell attempt to rise from the wooden floor, but his limbs refused to cooperate, giving out under him.

“North Sea reached.”

Somepony said it. Who?

He heard the rhythmic sound of rows slowly dipping into the water and pushing, propelling the vessel forward. He was on a galley… or maybe a galleass.

Yet another lightning struck, the sudden sharp flash illuminating his surroundings. Winterspell noticed he was surrounded by several dark figures. They seemed to be ponies, but he couldn’t distinguish what race any of them were, nor could he tell for certain they really were ponies to begin with. They were too similar to one another, almost as if they were cast from bronze from a single mold, all of them looking identical in their non-descriptiveness.

A pair of strong hooves suddenly raised him to a standing position, surprising the pegasus. Winterspell cast his gaze wildly around himself, trying to make heads or tails of what the actual frick was going on. After a moment he managed to focus his eyes and finally took a better look at the deck.

His heart immediately sank upon seeing what was before him.

They all looked like ponies, but they weren’t ponies. Each of them was clad in armor, but their appearance was chilling to the very core. For some unspeakable reason the armor, the clothes and even weapons themselves were moving despite that there was nopony inside them. They were like ghosts from olden fairy tales, the kind used not to amuse foals but to terrify them into obedience by their tired parents; they filled him with a sense of dread he had seldom felt before, making his heart race and his blood run as cold as the nights in Novigrad . They were faceless monstrosities in the guise of ponies, desperately attempting to emulate the living yet coming out as weird and wrong; as outworldly and alien. Soulless automatons were patrolling the deck, maintaining the sails and steering the vessel, others were sharpening their weapons, sending sparks that winked out before they could produce even the slightest bit of light.

He tried to look back, to see who was holding him. By now he was shaking and trembling in terror, and the look of yet another pair of “ghosts” carrying him forward was too much even for his brave soul. He wanted to scream for help, but his voice died in his throat, coming out as a pathetic squeak.

They slowly carried him towards the… railing!?

He tried to move, to free himself from the iron grip of those soulless abominations, but he was kept still and he couldn’t do anything to stop them. A few seconds later he was gazing into the depths of the North Sea.

Winterspell was expecting to see raging waves dashing and crumbling near the vessel’s board, producing a myriad of droplets that should cover every inch of his trembling body by now. Instead, he was greeted by the site of a liquid far darker than water should have been, even considering it was nighttime and a storm was raging on. The tract of “water” seemed to be strangely calm, despite the wind, thunders and lightning all around them, and it was in that moment he realized he wasn’t staring into the sea, but into an abyss.

Two other “ponies” joined them, positioning themselves just behind him. Winterspell tried to turn back to see them, but failed. The grip of those accursed automatons was stronger than iron, and as such he was forced to stare into the endless darkness of the sea.

“I hope you were prepared for this.” he heard from behind.

“I’m not…” Was all Winterspell managed, his haggard whisper the most he was able to get out.

The pony that spoke to him stopped for a moment. It seemed to be thinking, of what Winterspell knew not. Or maybe it was attempting to make his next words sound more profound. Winterspell didn’t know, and didn’t care. The wind was blowing hard, his fur was already soaking from the rain. He just wanted to escape from this hell.

“Nopony is. Nopony.” the voice continued, enigmatically.

Another pause. lightning struck, yet none of those “ponies” seemed to react. Winterspell only just realised the ship stopped, the rowers ceasing their laborious work.

“Swim back home or die trying.”

Winterspell couldn’t protest as he was pushed with great force, tumbling over the railing and falling into the darkness below. The pegasus let out a blood-curdling scream...

---

...as his eyes shot open. As quickly as he could he tried to back away, only for his legs to get tangled in something. With his eyesight blurred it took him a little while before he recognized the item as his own blanket.

“Just a dream. Sweet Lün, just a dream…” Winterspell panted. After a few seconds he finally managed to get his breathing under control. “Fuckin’ damnit.” he cursed.

Letting out a tired breath Winterspell looked around the room he was in. Obviously it was his own cabin. Besides, it wasn’t all that hard to figure out: the Little Conqueror had a grand total of one cabin, so there really wasn’t any possibility for him to be anywhere else. The rest of the crew on the other hoof usually bunked under the deck in one huge room filled with hammocks and blankets. As a captain, Winterspell had the luxury of having the only private room on the ship to himself.

Aside from taking use of the perks of being a captain Winterspell voted against sleeping with the rest of the crew for a number of reasons. First of all, he didn’t really care about most of them: to him they were just ponies that were paid to do a job, and as long as they were doing their thing he couldn’t care less about such trivial details like morale or their devotion to him. Secondly, they smelled, and if there was one thing Winterspell hated, it was the smell of filthy ponies.

And finally… in this room they couldn’t hear him screaming at night.

Winterspell made a sluggish attempt to get up. He received some sudden and unexpected help from the North Sea when the entire vessel lurched to the side by a particularly high wave. The pegasus was tossed forward by the momentum and landed on the floor face first.

“Hammocks one, beds zero.” Winterspell murmured, cursing under his muzzle.

This time Winterspell had no problem with rising himself from the floor. Due to safety reasons the cabin didn’t have any windows, casting the entire room in darkness. The only way to tell what time it was was to look through a small hole the captain punched out some time ago, usually corked with a small wooden dowel, and that was precisely what Winterspell did. Reaching out blindly he managed to find the wooden implement and pulled it out, bringing his eye to the uncovered hole. A few rays of the rising sun found their way to his irises, forcing him to blink.

“Finally.” he muttered, sealing the hole back.

Winterspell, despite being a captain couldn’t of course work around the clock all the time. Wanting to catch at least a wink of sleep he made agreement with his boatswain, asking him to take the night shift and wake him only in the case of something serious. Now that the sun was up he was supposed to take over.

Blindly Winterspell found his way to the small table beside his bed with a well burnt candle sealed to its surface with melted wax. With slow and sluggish movement he reached for a tinder box. Thankfully it didn’t catch any sort of moisture, so he was able to lit it alight. His eyes raised to see his own face in the mirror nailed to the wall over the table.

“Fuck. Am I that ugly?” he muttered to himself, terrified by his own appearance.

If Winterspell gave any more damn about how he looked he would’ve recoiled at the site that greeted him in the mirror. His eyes were completely bloodshot; he could barely make out the blue in his eyes, his sclera covered in a web of blood vessels so dense it almost seemed his whites were actually red, giving him the appearance of somepony that didn’t sleep in months, if not years. Furthermore , the large bags under his eyes didn’t help him look any less tired, making him question why was he even up in the first place..

“The bucket… where’s the goddamned bucket…” he grumbled, looking around. “Ah, here it is!”

Winterspell grabbed the aforementioned vessel and poured its entire content on top of his head. Cold, fresh water helped him wake faster. Deep down he knew it was an incredible waste of resources, they could after all drink it, but truth be told he didn’t much care. Every sailor on this ship would curse his very name to oblivion if they found out what he was using their supplies for, but that was something none would ever know. What happens in the captains cabin stays in the cabin.

He gazed into the mirror once more. The fresh water treatment helped, even if only by a little bit. At the very least he didn’t look like he was about to commit suicide. Now the pegasus had only one problem: how in the world was he supposed to tame the chaos that was once his mane?

Winterspell gritted with his teeth. For a few moments he was trying to fix the mess with a comb made out of bone. After failing to make even a little headway into reclaiming his hair Winterspell let out a vicious curse and instead opted to hide his bad hair under his captain’s cap. “Close enough.”

Having taken care of his morning rituals, Winterspell left his cabin, coming onto the deck of the Little Conqueror which was already bustling with sailors. The night shift had taken care of the damages yesterday’s storm had caused. The mercenaries from Danzig of course were slacking off and relaxing near the railing, leaving all the hard work to the crew, which truth be told was to be expected

“Ah, finally Capt’n!” Quick Signal greeted him from his post. “I’m finishing the night shift.”

“I can see that.” Winterspell responded. “I’ll take over from here. What’s the status?”

“We’ve lucked out Capt’n, the last storm didn’t damage the ship and all we had to do was check the sails and the cordage for anything funny. We have good wind and according to my predictions we should reach Ridge in two days.”

Quick Signal was a terrible navigator, so Winterspell took those “predictions” with a grain of salt. At the very least, everything seemed to be in perfect order from their last struggle. “Okay then. Go catch some z’s.”

“Aye aye.” the boatswain mock-saluted and with a few of his crewmates headed under the deck.

Now, the ship was all his. Winterspell slowly climbed on the upper deck to his steering wheel. The sailor that was responsible for maintaining the cruise relinquished his post without saying a word, leaving the wooden wheel to his captain.

He looked towards the horizon. They were on the open sea and aside from their ship the only thing as far as the eye could reach was the vast expanse of water. It was early morning, the sun was slowly peeking from the east, painting the horizon in soft reds and yellows. Winterspell gripped his steering wheel firmly, making small adjustments to the course he deemed necessary.

It was a good feeling. The wind in his mane, the fresh sea air, its unique brisk smell filling his nose. It was where he truly felt free, where he felt like he was the only pony in the world, restricted by nothing.. No rules, no laws, only he, his ship, and the waves beneath him.

As much as he wanted to just stay there and soak in the feeling of being on the open sea Winterspell knew he had his duties. Sighing and giving a small shake of his head he went to work.. Knowing that Quick Signal was absolutely rubbish at navigating his first order of business was making sure they really weren’t lost. First off: speed.

Normally he would use a chip log to do that. Several years ago he was still using this equipment to measure the speed of his vessel. In its very core it was a really primitive method, utilizing even more primitive equipment, but it did its job either way. Having a simple plank attached to a length of rope with knots in regular intervals tossed into the water, sailors could easily calculate the speed by checking how many knots passed through their hooves in a period of time. It was a good method, but only if the navigator had little experience. Winterspell, being in the business for years now simply spit into the water. His saliva easily stayed on the surface of the water, allowing the captain to follow it as it lagged behind his ship. Watching it float in place, the old pegasus was able to easily estimate their speed.

“Ten knots. Nice.”

Now on to navigation itself.

Not letting go of the steering wheel Winterspell pulled out his precious astrolabe from his pocket. It wasn’t true, he thought to himself, that he wasn’t spending the money like Grainwood said. This astrolabe cost him a small fortune. Covered in a thin sheet of gold and richly decorated, this instrument was as much a tool as it was a work of art. Its high cost however didn’t come only from the liberal use of precious metals in its creation. Its astronomical cost came from the fact this astrolabe was incredibly precise. Winterspell was able to easily determine the position of the Sun, Moon, Polaris and even planets themselves with this thing.

The trader that sold him this instrument didn’t say how exactly had he obtained such an item. Astrolabes were incredibly rare, to the point you could buy a new ship for the price of just one. Winterspell could only guess how a poor merchant in a low-district market was able to get one. The most probable way was also the most grim. The pegasus heard stories about ponies that were making a living off of plundering shipwrecks and stealing jewellery from dead sailors and captains. He wouldn’t be surprised if the original owner of this astrolabe was long dead.

Anyway, he removed the layer protecting the astrolabe from getting wet and started with his calculations. He was slowly getting to the point when he could with a dose of certainty determine what their position was when he was approached by somepony.

“Hey, Captain!”

Oh sweet Lün, not him.

Casimir without any sort of preamble approached him at his post, wearing this cheeky smile on his lips. Damn Danzingians.

“What do you want, Casimir?” Winterspell half-groaned, hiding his astrolabe back in his pocket. Better the mercenaries not see any gold on him. “I’m kind of busy, you know.”

“Ah, Winterspell, there is a huge problem. Our band of nobles suffers from the most terrible of plagues - the boredom.” Casimir proclaimed in a much too theatrical way for Winterspell’s taste.

“Boredom?” Winterspell asked, clearly exasperated. “And?”

“Well, I wanted to ask if we can… ehm, ehm… check the contents of a bottle or two.”

The way Casimir said it made it clear the noble knew exactly what was in the bottles.

“Alcohol? Hay no.” Winterspell refused immediately. “There will be no drinking of any alcohol on my ship. If you want some fun, you can play poker or whatever else the rest of the crew plays to get rid of their money.”

“Gambling is dishonorable!” Casimir said indignantly. “No noble worth his coat would dare to do that!”

“And alcohol is honorable?” Winterspell asked with a sly smirk.

“Alcohol is neutral in terms of honor, and on rare occasions it is actually honorable.” Casimir responded without missing a beat, clearly not sensing irony in the question.

“What do you mean by rare occasions?”

“Well, in our culture if you are a guest to somepony and you are refusing to drink with him, it is dishonorable behaviour, worth of infamy and condemnation.” the noble explained. “So accepting the drink is the honorable thing to do.”

Winterspell sighed. For what sins was he doomed with such mercenaries?

“There will be no drinking of alcohol on my ship. End of discussion.”

“But…”

“End of discussion.” he repeated sharply. “My ship, my rules. You should expect that guarding ships sometimes can get boring. Accept this fact with dignity and for the love of Lün, let me to finally do my job!”

Casimir face fell and with a look of utter defeat went back towards the rest of his comrades, trying to figure out how to pass them the bad news. Winterspell sighed with relief and pulled out his astrolabe again. However he quickly discerned that it wouldn’t be enough and was forced to pull out his quadrant, another piece of navigational equipment, and really concentrate on this one.

After a few minutes of thinking, checking the astrolabe and quadrant, figuring the distance between the Sun and the horizon and some wild predictions on his part Winterspell finally managed to estimate with a dose of certainty where are they. Surprisingly Quick Signal was for the most part right. They were about two and three-quarters away from Ridge, of course assuming their speed would stay at ten knots, and if they would be able to keep from six to eight knots near the coast. And of course assuming nothing unpredictable would happen during those three days.

“Sail ho! Direction, north-west!” the sailor on the foretop shouted. “No flags!”

“Speaking of unpredictable… wait, no flags!?” sudden realization hit him.

Winterspell immediately grabbed the spyglass from his jacket. Unfortunately the sailor was right. A galley without any signs, flags, banners or anything really to estimate who’s its owner was was sailing in the pointed-out direction. The fact that it looked like a primitive version of a galley and that it was coming from the north-west while being on the North Sea could only mean one thing - Victa.

“Silence on deck! Hide our flag!” he ordered hastily, torn between shouting and staying silent himself. The sailors had also realised that the ship in front of them definitely wasn’t a friendly one and that they should try and avoid it at all cost. The white-red flag of Lubuck was soon after taken from the mast so the pirates couldn’t see their ship that easily. They were still only just over the horizon and maybe, just maybe, they didn’t have a spyglass like Winterspell had.

The captain checked the distant vessel one more time with his lunette. However this time he noticed something odd. The galley was staying in place. Of course, it was an illusion made by the false sense of speed. If they were moving north, that also meant that the pirate ship was moving in the same direction. They actually saw the galley’s stern, not its bow. It also increased the chance they wouldn’t be spotted.

“Awake Quick Signal and the night shift.” Winterspell ordered hoarsely the closest sailor. Knowing his own luck, the pegasus had a feeling this would end up poorly.

“Winterspell! I think I got it!” Casimir, completely unperturbed by the order from a few minutes ago runned back to the pegasus, followed by the rest of the mercenaries and completely ignoring the fact they were supposed to be silent.

“Yes?” Winterspell asked through gritted teeth.

“Those are pirates out there, right?” Casimir asked first, and after getting a resigned nod continued. “Since those are pirates and most probably want to pillage something, they need either to patrol the sea or find a village on the coast which they can attack.” The Danzingian noble deduced. “And they are actually heading east, towards land…”

“East?” Winterspell interrupted. He checked the Victa ship with his spyglass one more time. Casimir was right. The galley was slowly turning right.

“Well, and that means they want to attack some coastal settlements! We should stop them!” Casimir declared with a wide smile. “That way we can save them from a cruel fate.”

The pegasus was silent for a moment, thinking if there were actually any coastal settlements near their current position that actually could be attacked by Victa. Unfortunately there was - Fishenheim Harbor. A small fishing village.

“And how do you expect me to do that?” Winterspell shook his head. “They are Vitalians dammit, each of them armed to the teeth. This cog will have no problem catching up to them, true, but if they turn back to fight us they will simply ram our ship and send it to the depths, or slaughter us all. We’re actually lucky that they didn’t see and aren’t looking for us. We can wait a few minutes with our sails furled, and then pass them from behind.”

“Really!?” the noble stepped back, being clearly offended. “Oh come on, Winter. Okay, fair enough. We don’t need to fight them. But maybe we could warn the ponies of wherever they're going that they’re coming , so those civilians can run?”

Winterspell didn’t like listening to those wild ideas so freely thrown around by the hot-headed noble. However, as much as he hated to admit it, Winterspell knew it was possible, and the right thing to do. The most optimistic outcome would be saving civilian lives, not fighting Victa at all, and finishing their cruise to Ridge without a scratch. The only problem was with its execution.

“Well, we can’t use the same cruise to reach Fishenheim -we’ll bump into the Victa ship if we do so..” Winterspell said slowly. “We could in theory outmaneuver them and try to bypass them near the coast. However, that way we’ll take far longer and the Victuals can reach their destination faster than us”

“I think it’s still worth a try.” Casimir nodded.

Winterspell for a few moments considered other approaches to the situation.

“You don’t want to do this because you’re bored, don’t you?” Winterspell asked, just to be sure.

“Absolutely.” the noble nodded. “Racja bracia szlachta?” he asked the rest of company for reaffirmation in his native tongue.

“Racja!” they responded in unison, screaming loudly. Winterspell could swear that one noble in the background cried something which sounded suspiciously like “Veto! Veto!”, but was quickly hushed by the mercenary nearby with a short “Zamknij się!”

“Okay, I guess it’s settled.” Winterspell nodded, wondering what the hay was going on in the background. Or maybe he didn’t want to know. Yeah, he probably didn’t -at least he would save himself a headache.

The galley full of Victa pirates was still sailing east. Winterspell again calculated distances and made another short glimpse through the spyglass. It was time to make decisions and give orders.

“OK, we’re doing this. Prepare for a turn on the starboard!” the captain shouted. “Full speed ahead. I want to be near coast in two hours!”

“Thank you Captain.” Casimir said. “Allow me and my comrades to muster for… ehm… accidental battle.”

“Permission granted.” he nodded.

Winterspell was finally left alone. He checked their speed one more time. Eleven knots according to his calculations. More than he expected. If they should maintain this speed till the coast, they still had a chance to warn the civilians and get out unmolested. If they fail however … then the whole situation would look far more grim.

Comments

[Zennyth]

Glad to see more of this story!

[djthomp]

Hahaha, sometimes when you hire mercenaries, they get bored if you don't supply enough fighting.

[Brown Books]

5529421
Me too! Casmir seems like a noble fella for a mercenary. Usually it's the other way around to plunder the village for loot instead.