Chapter 329: Chapter 313 – Pirates and Prayers V

Chapter 313 - Pirates and Prayers V

Claire fluttered her way north while the sun rose off in the distance. The coast lay beneath her, slowly lighting up as she meandered through the early morning sky. She had been flying throughout the night, cruising along at a seagull’s pace. The thousand islands scattered across the sea made up Vel’khan’s northernmost territory. Once governed by an incompetent Priscilla-aligned marquis, its ownership had since been transferred to the Penhorn pirates. Lana and Tessa Penhorn, the queens that lorded over the fleet, had been deemed the region’s provisional governors, with equal power bestowed to each. As far as the official reports went, one was in charge of the land-based territories and the other ruled the seas, but the sisters themselves saw no such distinction. They put their minds together regardless of the problem at hand.

It was behaviour typical of their species’ members. Myraens, the tiny wolf-eared people, were always born in pairs. Though physically distinct, the twins were psychically linked. They couldn’t quite share words from out of earshot, but all their senses and emotions were relayed regardless of the distance between them. By some biologists’ accounts, the two were a single entity. Slaying each rewarded a log entry, but line of sight was all it took for one twin to revive the other and no experience was provided lest both lay dead at once. However, their consciousness was separate, they gained levels independently, and one could freely ascend without awaiting the other.

Their properties meant that it was exceptionally difficult to kill a myraen pair, but their numbers were low enough that Claire had only ever seen four sets in person. Their species only assumed their fertile, adult forms for one week every three years and were otherwise incapable of reproduction.

By Vel’khanese standards, it was only really the Penhorns’ captains that stood out as odd. The rest were like all the other sailors she spotted in the water beneath her. They were made of a hodgepodge of local species—clams, lobsters, kelpfin, elves, and orcapeds, just to name a few. Most were ascended, thanks to the frequent combat they were exposed to on the high seas, and it was common for those with traditionally landlocked blood to land to pick evolutions that improved their function underwater. Hardly ever was there a veteran pirate incapable of swimming back to shore following their ships’ destruction.

Of course, with the gang-like structure that the pirates adopted, disputes between the various groups were commonplace. They frequently attacked one another for territory and revenge, and in some cases, they would even resort to violence for the sole purpose of asserting their dominance. One such example was in full swing directly beneath her. Two massive fleets, each roughly thirty ships strong, were going at it. The battle was well underway; it had gone through the night, with both sides blowing horns, firing cannons, and boarding each others’ crafts in a desperate bid to emerge victorious.

Claire didn’t care much for their struggles, however. She flew right past them without even stopping to leech experience and scoured the seas for the only relevant banner. Though legally recognized, the Penhorn pirates continued to fly a distinct black flag. Two tiny, fuzzy paws were inscribed in white ink, with a pair of crossed daggers adorning the space between them. It was a nod to their leaders, in spite of the fact that neither specialized in the use of smaller arms.

It took another few kilometres for the qiligon to spot the emblem in question. Cancelling her telescopic sight, she dove towards the cluster and dropped onto the flagship’s deck. Though she was in her true form, she was only a speck when compared to the floating fortress. One could easily argue that such a massive object only made for an easily sinkable, irreparable target, but that was hardly the case. The primary Penhorn transport was a part of a twice-ascended turberus—the rooms, halls, and facilities were simply external organs.

The sailors greeted Claire with nods and waves when she touched down. They were already well acquainted—comrades in arms that had fought beneath the same banner during Arciel’s theft of the crown.

Only one person, a particularly muscular elf lady, reacted with any sense of urgency. Knowing that no one else was responsible enough, she ducked inside the ship’s interior and headed for the captains’ quarters.

Her concerns were proven immediately by Gaston, the first mate. He waddled right over to the guest with a fire lit in his eyes. His body held a curious shape. He was a halfbreed born from a swordfish and a hammerhead, with the shape of his skull conforming entirely to that of the latter. On land, he sprouted eight tiny legs. They were slightly longer than the average crocodile’s and allowed him to walk around however he pleased. The front half of his body had a bend in it, resulting in a shape like a centaur’s, albeit without any of the accompanying human-like parts. The six limbs that adorned his upper half were elongated toothless jaws—features that originated from his dagger-faced mother.

Like most men of the sea, the sword-shark wore little. He had one cloth wrapped around his waist and another hanging off his neck. Both of the weathered rags displayed the Penhorn crest, but covered very little. A slight movement could easily lead to indecent exposure, but no one seemed to mind. Everyone was showing plenty of skin.

“Hey, been a while since you last stopped by.” He waved at Claire before looking over her body with a curious gaze. “Is it just me, or did you shrink?”

“A little,” she said.

The man’s lips twisted into a grin. “I hope that doesn’t mean you’ve lost your edge.” He started walking around her, clearing the area of debris as he continued to speak. “It’ll be a while before the captains wake. You up for a few rounds?” The rest of the Penhorns gathered around them, their fists and voices already raised in cheer.

Claire nodded. “Same rules as always?”

“You betcher ass.” The man started stretching his neck before turning around and shouting at one part of the mob. “Someone get Olivier and his boys. It’s time for them to earn their keep.”

And then, brandishing all six sharpened arms, he kicked off the deck and charged. A headlong rush that lasted all of half a second before a tail sent him flying through the side of the ship and into the ocean below. The man was only one of many challengers; the Penhorns charged at her one by one—perfect practice for her true form’s martial techniques. Those that could still move following their defeats lumbered to the back of the line so they could ask for another bout, whereas those that couldn’t were stacked in a pile just beyond the arena’s bounds.

The mound of defeated challengers had grown to the impressive height of fifteen meters by the time Claire first heard the captains. They slowly walked out from the ship’s bowels. The pair wore matching clothes—fancy pirate dresses and emblemed, tricorn hats—but they were easily distinguished both in terms of demeanour and appearance. Tessa, the more irate twin, had purple streaks through her shoulder-length bob-cut, while her earnest, bespeckled sister, who had her much longer hair arranged in a pair of braids, sported identical markings in red.

“Good morning,” said Claire. She was seated next to the pile while Olivier, the ship’s chief medical officer, hurriedly directed his men to and fro. She had created a lot of work for them, given the sixty-odd pirates she had downed over the course of her wait, but they didn’t seem to mind. They were treating it as an exercise and emulating the behaviours they would have taken in a real emergency.

“Claire,” said Tessa, as she scanned the groaning, half-conscious pile. “What do you want?”

“There’s about to be a war.” Claire magically opened the pouch hanging from her neck and retrieved a letter from within. The government seal on the front glimmered in the morning sun as the document fluttered its way towards the pirate.

“Another war?” Lana looked over her sister’s shoulder as she unravelled the scroll and exposed its contents. Together, they quickly scanned the page, with one sister thoroughly annoyed and the other somewhat curious.

“I doubt I need to explain,” said Claire, “but Ciel wants the two of you to serve as champions.”

“More work? Really?” complained Tessa. “Screw off. You can’t just come crawling back to us the moment something goes wrong.”

“I didn’t crawl,” said Claire. “I flew. Now hurry up and decide. I have more people to visit.”

“This isn’t something we can just decide,” said Lana. “We’ll have to decline if you keep trying to pressure us.”

The snake-moose shrugged. “I don’t really care. Neither of you are built for duels, and I’ve never liked either of you much to begin with. I’d be happy to do without you.”

“You’re going to have to go through me if you want to take the captains,” said Gaston. He wobbled over on a set of half-broken legs with a pair of crutches under his shoulder and a bandage slung across his face.

“Did you not hear what I just said?” Claire turned an incredulous, exasperated look on the man in question. “And I’ve already gone through you. Twice.”

“Bet you can’t do it again,” he said, as he threw up his crutches.

The caldriess breathed a sigh before swiping her tail across the deck and sending the man overboard for the third time in half an hour. She was almost tempted to think that the pirates were Cadrian, given their love for battle, but it wasn’t quite the same. Her father’s people certainly believed in solving problems with violence, but combat itself was not necessarily the goal. It was simply the most effective method of conflict resolution, the results of which one could neither forge nor deny. There was certainly some glorification of the process, but it was really the destination and not the journey that mattered.

“Now hurry up and decide,” she said, as Gaston made a seven-hundred-pound splash. “Are you joining or not?”

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“You can’t seriously think you can just dump this on us and expect us to agree,” said Tessa.

“It sounds like it could be fun to put the Cadrians in their places,” said Lana, “but we’re busy.”

Claire cocked her head. “Why would you be busy? All you do is steal things all day.”

“We’re fighting some fresh blood for territory,” said Tessa. She drew a pipe from her jacket and popped its golden rim between her teeth. There were no herbs inside the chamber, nor was there any source of flame, but smoke began drifting from its mouth regardless.

“Fresh blood?”

“The Kreente Pirates. They’re from further east.”

Mimicking her absent pet, Claire blinked exactly three times. “Shouldn’t the two of you be able to wipe out a fleet by yourselves?” From what she recalled, the twins were nearing five hundred.

Tessa clicked her tongue. “The fighting’s hardly the problem. We’d beat them easily if it came down to it, but their ships are too fast. We can never board them, and they steal our prey before we can even get to it.”

“It’s a real nightmare, and I hate to say it, but their tech has got us beat,” said Gaston, as he was hauled back up onboard. “You’d need to be able to fly to chase the fuckers dow—”

He suddenly stopped in the middle of talking and turned his eyes on the caldriess standing in the middle of the deck. And he wasn’t the only one. Following the first mate, nearly every gaze on board suddenly found a certain Claire-shaped mode of transport.

“I’ve got a great idea,” said Tessa. “You deal with them, and I’ll let you borrow Lana.”

Claire sighed. “My stupid errand just spawned another errand.”

“This is why that queen of yours sent you, isn’t it? So you could deal with shit like this?” said Tessa, with a hearty chuckle.

“Probably,” muttered the lyrkress.

“I’ll go with her,” said Gaston. “You know, so I can show her the way and who to kill and whatnot.”

He moved to climb onto her back, but she smacked him with her tail and jerked away. “At least put on a pair of pants.”

“How the hell am I supposed to find a pair of pants that fits this?” asked the man, as he pointed to his ridiculous, eight-legged frame. “I’m pretty sure I’m the first of my kind. I even had to name the race.”

Claire shrugged. “Don’t know. Don’t care. I’m not letting a man in nothing but a loincloth and a bandana anywhere near my back.”

“Let me go then,” said Lana, stepping between them. “I might as well prove that I’m better in a fight than she thinks.” The slightly shorter twin had a glint in her eye and a sharp ring in her voice.

“Someone’s bitter,” said Claire.

“And you aren’t?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Rather than lowering her body, so she could put the tiny wolfgirl up on her back, Claire used her tail to pick her up and throw her aboard. She was placed just behind the base of her neck, far enough that the qiligon’s ears were out of reach. “Where to?”

“You’ll want to head straight east for now,” said the brat.

Claire flapped her wings and began rising into the air, but she didn’t launch herself through the sky. “Did you forget your weapon?

“Do I need it?” she asked. “I thought you could make whatever I needed.”

“That’s Sylvia. Not me,” said Claire. “Unless you don’t mind something made of ice.”

“You mean the fox? Where is she? I thought the two of you were practically joined by the hip.”

Claire turned her eyes to the southern horizon. “Sylvia’s busy today,” she said. “Top secret fox business, apparently.”

“Alright.” The pirate queen frowned and continued with a shout. “What the hell are you louts standing around for!? Go get my blade! And make it quick!”

A group of three soon dragged the weapon out onto the deck. The giant axe was two meters tall, with a massive blade as wide as the girl that wielded it. The sharpened edge, which was adorned by a series of vicious-looking spikes, accounted for nearly half the weapon’s length.

It was absurdly heavy, but Claire didn’t mind. She lifted it effortlessly with a vector, turned towards the east, and slithered through the sky.

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