Deephold Port burned like a lump of coal caught in a blast furnace.

The Sea Vipers’ entire squadron of pinnaces were no more than a burnt-out memory by now. A couple of the neighboring ships, a barque and a brigantine to Caleb’s eye, also sported flames amidst their decks and rigging. The remnants of each vessel’s crew beat them back as best they could.

Yet the same stiff breeze that propelled the Spitfire also pushed the flames away from the dock proper and into the town of Deephold Port itself. Fires burned merrily along the entire waterfront, quickly consuming smithies, tool shops, and taverns alike. Hastily formed bucket brigades manned by townspeople, sailors, and Guardsmen did what they could, but it wasn’t nearly enough.

Men and women ran coughing from houses that billowed gray-black smoke. Crackles like the popping of a knot in a fireplace came from dwellings that quickly turned to ash. Other buildings tumbled down with a strange clinking sound as their red-speckled roofs came loose in avalanches of tile.

Caleb spotted a few bodies that lay where they fell in the streets. In the fierce glow of the fire, he couldn’t tell if any had been burned. Most looked as if the smoke had overcome them. He noted with a shudder that several corpses lay along a low stone wall next to the harbor.

I recognize that place. Malum Kane shot me to death there.

The heat from the multitude of flames grew more intense. Even offshore and at a distance, Caleb felt the dull warmth as a physical pressure against his face. The smells of charring wood, burning oil, and melting tar danced in his nose.

Even so, he found it hard to turn away from the scale of the destruction.

He wasn’t alone in that. Nearly all the people he’d freed from the dungeon had gathered on the sloop’s larboard side. They watched in awe as their former prison slid by like hell’s own panorama.

The core of the inferno centered around the bell tower that had helped raised the alarm earlier. A group of Guardsmen under a Komtur’s direction did their best to haul up water and toss it, hissing, into the flames. But even as they worked, some wooden brace deep within finally gave way.

All of a sudden, the structure sagged to one side. Guardsmen scattered as the building began to crumble. The bell housed in the apex of the tower let out a final, pathetic bong! as it tumbled to the ground.

The Komtur turned away from the remains of the tower and faced out towards the sea. He spotted the Spitfire as it cruised by, close enough to easily make out in the light of the fires. The man began shouting, gathering a couple squads that were close by, and drew his cutlass.

Eight or nine Guardsmen drew both of their pistols. Holding one in each hand, they aimed out towards the sloop. The Komtur pointed his sword at the ship and bellowed a single command.

A distant ripple of bangs! made everyone on board duck. Two or three lead balls ricocheted off the ship’s hull. Most of the other shots fell short, falling with a ploink! into the ocean.

Their flintlock pistols empty, the Guardsmen impotently shook their fists at the receding vessel. Others began shouting insults. The words couldn’t be heard over the surf and wind, but their obscene gestures were easily visible.

As one, the men and women on board the Spitfire began returning the favor. They shouted and gestured right back with giddy abandon. For his part, Caleb couldn’t help but notice something that made him chuckle to himself.

Whether on Earth or Jaladri, he thought, It looks like the use of that one finger still means the exact same thing.

Finally, the lights from the flames began to dim as the wind pushed the sloop further out to sea. The scent of wood smoke wafted away, to be replaced by the clean tang of salt. Yet the burning town still gleamed from between the island’s dark hills like a hellish red beacon.

“Right, right, there’s nothing more to see!” Sienna said, as she stepped down from the afterdeck to stand next to Caleb. “I know we’re all tired, but there’s still more to do.”

She stepped back, leaving the floor to him. Surprised, he took a deep breath and leaned on the railing next to the ship’s wheel. Every eye looked to him now.

“Sienna’s correct,” he began. “You’ve all done well, but I need to ask more of you.”

The group assembled below remained silent. No one objected.

“We’re not out of danger yet, not by a long shot. The Lord High Captain’s got one of the fastest-looking frigates I’ve ever seen. Since we just laid waste to his base of operations, he’s going to be coming after us with everything he has.”

Caleb pointed to the sky, where the three moons were already past their zenith. Together, they cast an unabated glow over the water.

“Right now, thanks to a triple full moon, we’re easier to spot than I’d like,” he continued. “And if we can’t open enough distance between us and Irongrasp before dawn comes, the chance of the Stone Angel catching us only gets greater.”

A bunch of fearful murmurs ran through the group at that. Caleb waited a moment for it to subside before going on.

“First off, we need every single sail out at full right now. If you have a spare pocket handkerchief, hang it out!” That got a couple small laughs, which greatly heartened him. It told him that no one had given up or given in to despair yet. “We need a group of people at each sail, ready to adjust it when needed. Whoever’s used to shinnying up a mast, we need a lookout. Preferably two or three. Any advanced warning of a ship approaching is going to be useful.”

The boy that had used the ship’s hatchet to such good effect immediately held up his hand. Another youngster looked for permission from his mother. She nodded wearily, and he raised his hand as well.

“Good. Sing out if you see ships, sails, distant breakers, anything.” Caleb looked over the crowd once more. “Finally, we need two more groups. One to check the lower deck and bilge. If you see any water down there, pump or bucket it out, it’ll slow us down. As for the other group…if there’s a mess area, see if there’s any food on board. If so, see what can be made in a hurry and served on deck. We’ve all been on short rations for a while now. A few extra calories in our bellies might make all the difference.”

He got a few Yezzirs at that. People started chatting in hushed tones as they began to separate into groups. Caleb wasn’t surprised that no one argued or tried to shirk a duty; everyone knew that their necks were still on the line.

“Donal,” he said, “keep us on our current heading unless the wind shifts. Like I said, we need to put on as much distance from Irongrasp as we can.”

“Aye, that much I do know,” came the reply.

Caleb turned to Sienna next. “How many firearms were you able to load?”

“A baker’s dozen,” she replied, as she handed him a pistol. He tucked it into his waistband as she went on. “One for you, three for me and for each of my pistol squad up here.”

“Any more down in the armory?”

“Another dozen pistols, maybe half that number in rifles. Plenty of shot and powder, though I wouldn’t swear on Lir’s beard how dry some of it is.”

“What about swords?”

“A handful, if that.”

“Get every firearm loaded,” he instructed. “Give them to whoever’s left on deck who knows how to handle a pistol or rifle. Then distribute the swords to anyone you deem worthy of swinging one. Delacroix means to board us. If it comes to that, I want us to be able to put up one hell of a fight.”

“Yezzir,” she said, nodding. “I’ll see that it’s done.”

Once she’d left, Caleb turned to speak to Tavia. At first, he didn’t see her. Then he spotted her sitting in the in the corner of the quarterdeck furthest from where Donal still kept the helm steady.

She faced away from everyone, looking out to steerboard over the open ocean.

Her head was bowed, her eyes closed as if deep in contemplation. He came to stand next to her. The breeze tossed the chewed ends of her mane where she’d pulled off multiple beads to help them escape.

When she didn’t say anything, he cleared his throat before speaking.

“Is something the matter, Tavia?”

She opened her eyes, but did not look at him. The unicorn looked troubled, and more than a little sad.

“May Kirren help me,” she said quietly. “I may have dishonored myself.”

He gave her a puzzled look. “What do you mean?”

“I set the fires at the dock. I only meant to burn those small, fast ships. Yet I also started that blaze which consumed a good portion of the town.”

He nodded. “That’s true. But I don’t see where you’re going with–”

“The point is, my actions likely led to the death of many people. Not just Guardsmen and Sea Vipers. Those, Kirren would approve of.” Her golden tail swished back and forth, emphasizing her words. “But surely the conflagration also consumed people who simply lived and worked in Deephold Port. They were not combatants. I fear that I have violated my oath to protect the innocent. That is unacceptable to a paladin.”

Caleb listened, absorbing Tavia’s words with sympathy. And some alarm. His mind flashed back to what he’d seen on her Character Sheet.

Potential Buff / Debuffs: Oath-Related Violations will Cause Weakening of Magical Abilities.

He felt for Tavia as a friend. A new one perhaps, but already he’d come to like and respect her. Part of him hated to admit that his alarm didn’t come only from concern for her wellbeing.

The unicorn mare’s spellcraft had proven invaluable during the escape. To lose any of her abilities when they were still being hotly pursued was a hazardous thing. As far as he was concerned, her magic could be the margin between a quick escape or a slow death.

“Tavia,” he said, “I don’t know much about paladins in general, let alone unicorn ones. I won’t even claim to understand honor, at least the way Kirren might interpret it. But…I don’t think that your war-god would be displeased with your actions tonight.”

“You don’t?” She raised her head to look at him, her expression hopeful. “Explain, please.”

“For starters, I’m not saying that everyone on Irongrasp was evil. Or deserved to die.”

Caleb paused to chew over his words before continuing. What he said next to Tavia might bring him into conflict with the unicorn at a time he needed her the most.

“But everyone in Deephold Port had a purpose,” he went on. “They existed to support the Guardsmen and the Sea Vipers. This was the Myrkur’s home base. The merchants there provided the goods to repair ships, patch sails, and resupply foodstuffs. The tavern keepers provided refreshment and liquid courage to the Myrkur’s soldiers. The smiths made the enemy’s swords as well as the bars for the cages that held Donal, Sienna, and the other families.”

“I suppose…”

“You can suppose all you want, but I’m telling you the way I see it. Striking at an enemy’s source of supply might be less heroic in Kirren’s eyes than meeting a foe in battle. But if your actions keep the Myrkur from roaming the seas and enslaving others, even for just a few weeks, then I think that he’d be all right with it.”

Tavia stood and looked astern for a moment. Irongrasp was a dull black bump on the horizon now, with a single bright spark marking Deephold Port. She blew out a breath, flicked her tail once more, and then nodded as if making a final decision.

“What you say makes sense, from a certain point of view,” she stated. “I shall think it over.”

“That’s all I ask,” Caleb said, relieved.

“What next, then? We should continue to put Irongrasp behind us, as quickly as possible.”

“There’s a lot more we need to do. But first, we need to attend to Grimshaw.”

She nodded at the mention of the name. “I agree wholeheartedly. He has proven to be an honorable creature. One that deserves whatever aid we can provide.”

Together, they made their way down the steps back to the main deck. Shaw sprawled out on his side, looking noble and dangerous even in repose. His crumpled wing stuck up at an awkward angle.

Shaw let out a deep rumble of a groan, and then righted himself. He slowly moved to a sitting position. His left eye looked as if it still had trouble focusing, but his right had returned to normal.

Caleb perked up as an idea occurred to him. His own character sheet, as well as those for Tavia and Shaw, detailed their physical condition. Specifically, they stated what conditions affected their current state.

Can I use that as the equivalent of a medical examination? I guess it’s worth a shot.

“Shaw, over here,” he said, as they walked up.

As soon as he caught the griffin’s gaze, Caleb concentrated for a moment to activate his Outer Sight. To his relief, while Outer Sight was automatic at first, it didn’t re-activate every time he looked at either of his companions.

Shaw’s stat sheet blinked into place.

Name: Grimshaw of the Reyka Pride, Reykajar Aerie Class: Barbarian Alignment: Chaotic Good Griffin-Specific Specialties: Flight, Swimming/Diving, Wilderness Survival… Barbarian Sub-Specialties: Persistent Rage, Intimidating Presence, Unarmored Attack Existing Buff / Debuffs: Individual De-Buffs (Existing): Physical Abilities Reduced by 25% from Age-Related Limitations. Physical Abilities Further Reduced temporarily by 18% from multiple torture sessions, soul drainings, and concussion. Skills related to Griffin-Specific Specialties reduced by 50% due to musket ball lodged in wing joint. Potential Buff / Debuffs: Ennui.

Caleb’s mind raced as it fought back the worries that surged to the fore.

I just hope we have enough medicine or magic to help him.