Komtur Ozul looked up as Caleb approached him and the nine other members of the Myrkur. Like the others, he’d been shackled by the ankles and wrists, then left to sit against the ketch’s larboard rail. The man’s right hand had been bandaged, and his pale face was marked with a blotchy red bruise in the shape of a boot heel.

“I’m not telling you anything,” he sneered. “So you may as well not even try. I’ve also been conditioned against torture, so do your worst!”

That made Caleb stop and consider. Memories of some truly dark moments flashed through his mind. Moments he’d either seen or, in a fit of anger, had participated in. The snap of a finger bent the wrong way, the non-stop shrieking caused by rubbing rock salt into an open wound.

His voice was dry and chill as he spoke.

“You’ve only been conditioned against the kinds of torture you find in Jaladri. The world I came from was one where drug cartels had to compete to come up with new forms of delivering pain.” Caleb knelt so that he could look the Komtur in the eye. “In my opinion, the worst involved a starving sewer rat, a metal bowl, and a flaming torch. I’m tempted to have you try that one. You can let me know if it really is the worst.”

Beads of sweat sprang out on Ozul’s forehead. But the man still glared back defiantly.

“Whatever you could learn from me, it doesn’t matter! Myr will plunge this world back into darkness! My cult’s leaders will sing my god’s dark songs when they capture you and put you to death!”

Great, I’ve got a genuine zealot on my hands. As for the torture...it’s damned tempting. But I know the darkness I gave into before. The moment I head down that path, there’s no going back.

From the corner of his eye, Caleb watched Captain Campion’s reaction to Ozul’s declaration. The Sea Viper looked away pointedly as Ozul ranted about Myr. It gave Caleb an idea.

He called over the crewman assigned to keep an eye on the prisoners.

“I need the ankle shackles taken off that one,” he pointed to Campion. “I doubt that one’s been conditioned against torture.”

“Aye, of course, Captain,” came the reply. In a flash, the man’s ankles were freed and he was stood roughly back on his feet.

“Keep an eye on the remaining prisoners,” Caleb growled. “I’ll have my hands full wringing what I can from this one before he passes out from the pain.”

A shove got the Myrkur captain moving towards the relatively undamaged forecastle. He pushed the man through the double doors directly beneath the foredeck. The inside was an empty, larger variation on the Spitfire’s mess area.

“I don’t know anything you could want to find out,” Campion said quickly. He attempted to hold up his shackled wrists to show the bloody bandage running the length of his forearm. “And I’m already in a lot of pain from this wound, so torture–”

“Isn’t happening,” Caleb finished.

Campion blinked. “It’s not?”

“Not unless you force my hand. Look, you fought until the end. Then you did the smart thing and surrendered the ship. You may be part of Myr’s cult, but you don’t strike me as a fanatic. Not like Ozul, anyway.”

“No,” Campion agreed. “I’m not. But I’m still not going to tell you anything about Myr’s teachings, or the inner workings of our organization.”

Yeah, like I’d really want to get the details about Sunday School for Myr’s acolytes. Or find out how many promotions I need to get to the inner circle of soul-suckers.

“Then we’re going to get along fine. Because I don’t want to know about those things,” He sat the man down at one of the tables. He took the seat opposite and then spread his hands. “Look, I don’t think Myr would object if you simply tell me what’s been happening aboard the Taipan the last three days, when you were in Gill-something-or-other.”

“Gilarska,” Campion grimaced as he adjusted his wounded arm. “Three days ago, Lady Ravencrow contacted Komtur Ozul through one of the Crystals of Arima. It was something about a stolen ship.”

Calen thought back to the argument between Campion and Ozul, right before the battle had broken out.

It sounds like they hadn’t been sure of whether the Spitfire was the right target.

“Just...something about a stolen ship? That doesn’t sound like all that much information.”

Campion nodded wearily. “The moons weren’t in the right alignment, so I think the message was garbled. I don’t know, I wasn’t in the crystal chamber to hear the conversation. All Ozul told me was that the Seeress and Lord High Captain wanted that stolen ship stopped or sunk at all costs.”

That tells me a lot, Caleb thought, even as he did his best to hide his reaction. The Myrkur can remotely transmit messages. But it’s not like calling on a cell phone. The crystals are large enough to require a room. And reception depends on lunar alignment.

“Stopped at all costs?” he said aloud. “They weren’t kidding! They had you bring a firedrake into this.”

“Myr take us all, Ozul doesn’t take half measures. We loaded up the troops from the garrison, cast a sleep spell on a dragon, and stuffed him into the hold. If we weren’t able to take your ship, then the creature was to be released.” Campion’s voice grew bitter as he added, “Even if it burned my own ketch down to her scutlings.”

Caleb decided to lean on that dissatisfaction, see if that helped bring up anything more.

“That’s outrageous! Here you are, a loyal servant with years of service under your belt, and they want you to sacrifice your vessel at the drop of a hat? How can you ask a captain to do that to their beloved ship? Why not just take on more Guardsmen?”

“More? We took ‘em all!”

“Well...that’s not much of a garrison, then.”

Campion shrugged, which made him wince. “Gilarska’s the strongest and richest of the petty island kingdoms out this way. They’ve got a few ‘tamed’ dragons, it’s where we got the one you drowned. So we Myrkur have only a token influence on their realm. For now.”

“For now? You really think Myr’s going to win the war for this world?”

“It’s only a matter of time. I know you’ll disregard that as enemy propaganda, but it’s true. Myr’s holy power has attracted souls from other worlds, ones with new and unheard-of powers. I’ve even heard that Lady Ravencrow’s been able to bring over hideous monsters from those worlds to fight alongside us!”

Dammit, there’s more than a grain of truth here. Myr did bring over Malum Kane, Delacroix, Draymon, and Ravencrow. That must be how Tavia and Shaw ended up here, too. As soon as they arrived here, the Myrkur were waiting for them, ready to capture them while they were weak and disoriented.

“Those hideous monsters sounds pretty bad,” Caleb agreed. “What else can you tell me about the things they’ve brought over?”

Campion’s face went red as he realized that he’d probably said too much already.

“I don’t know anything else about that,” he said abruptly.

“All right, fine. What about the waters here? What’s ahead of us?”

“There’s a few scattered islands. Good places to run aground at night, if you’re not careful. Gilarska’s a two-day’s sail if you have the wind in your pocket.”

“What about the Sea Vipers? What kind of vessels do they have in these waters?”

“Anything. Everything.”

“Campion–” Caleb warned.

“I’m telling the truth. Most of the kingdoms out here bend to the will of Myr, and those with garrisons don’t have token ones, like in Gilarska. They’re under oath to service any Myrkur ship, so the Lord High Captain can take his frigate for a cruise, send in an entire squadron, whatever he wishes. This part of the ocean belongs to us.”

Caleb gave the man a hard look. Finally, he nodded, his queries satisfied. He stood and bade the Sea Viper captain do the same.

“I believe you, Campion. You’re serving the side of evil, but for what it’s worth, I think you’re basically an honest man. So I’m genuinely sorry to do this.”

“Sorry to do wha–”

Caleb reached over and ripped off the bandage that covered the man’s wound. Campion let out a shriek that could cut glass. Blood immediately began to ooze from the long cut that ran down the man’s forearm.

Next, Caleb punched the man in the stomach. His fist sank into the man’s midsection, doubling him over. Campion wheezed as his breath whistled out of his lungs. Sweat drenched his face as he lay dry-retching on the floor.

“Like I said, I’m sorry,” Caleb said calmly. “But an honest man by his nature is a poor liar. Imagine if you looked untouched when I send you back with your crew. You’d be executed as soon as your fellow cultists picked you up.”

Caleb hauled the man back out on deck, dragging him by his wrist shackles. The man cried out in pain as he was tugged unceremoniously back over to the other prisoners. A chorus of rough laughs and jeers came from across the way.

As he’d ordered, his entire crew sat on the sloop’s deck, watching the proceedings. Tavia sat at one end of the group, while Shaw’s massive form hulked at the other. Sitting nearby on the Spitfire’s main deck was one of the fully assembled longboats.

Caleb glanced over the far side of the Taipan. The second of the two longboats bobbed below, still moored to ketch. He called over to the crewman still guarding the prisoners.

“Remove all of their ankle shackles,” he ordered.

As this was being done, Harper O’Breen got up and went over to where Campion tried his best to sit up. She threw a glance at Caleb, who nodded. She pulled out a new bandage and proceeded to wrap the Sea Viper’s wound once more.

Caleb turned to address his crew. He raised his voice to be heard across the width of the ketch’s half-wrecked deck and the squeak of the two ship’s hulls.

“The day belongs to us, praise Lir and Danu,” he began. “Thanks to Sienna, Tavia, and Shaw. Thanks to everyone on the two boarding parties. Thanks to those who stayed back and saved our mainsail.”

A smattering of good-natured whispers ran through his audience.

“We’ve suffered damage to that sail, and lost three of our crew. But we’ve gained many of the things we needed so desperately. And above all, we struck back at the death cult that kidnapped and enslaved you!”

He got a couple of cheers at the very end with that. Caleb took a deep breath and plunged ahead. They weren’t going to like what he said next.

“Most the Myrkur perished in the battle, and rightfully so. But we have ten more that stand before us. And I have decided that we shall not treat them as they would have treated us.”

A ripple of unhappy murmurs ran through the crowd.

“They’d have killed or enslaved us!” one man exclaimed. “You can’t be letting them go!”

“As Lir is my witness,” a woman added, “They’ll just go back to sailin’ for the Sea Vipers, marauding and killing others.”

“What say you, bilge rats!” another man shouted. “You’d just go back to sea again, wouldn’t you?”

Campion stood once more, his arm freshly bandaged. Harper returned to the Spitfire as he spoke. His voice was weak, but it carried far enough.

“We have no say in what our masters demand,” he admitted. “Aye, those of us well enough to put to sea will be reassigned to a new ship.”

“That you will,” Caleb agreed. “And when you do, you best tell your fellow Myrkur that we spared your lives when others would have done away with you.”

“Are we sure this is the right thing to do?” Sienna demanded. “We fought, we won! Isn’t that enough excuse to end them?”

A clop of hooves as Tavia stood and answered the question.

“Nay, Kirren help me, that is not,” she stated calmly. “The Code of the Paladins is clear: once the battle is won, those who surrender are no longer combatants. They are prisoners who require us to show mercy to them.”

“‘Tis expressly against rules of griffinkind as well,” Shaw added, in his deep voice. “There is no glory gained in vanquishing a foe if they are chained and kneeling before thee.”

The disgruntled murmurs faded away.

“My decision as Captain stands,” Caleb said, as he faced the prisoners. “You Myrkur crewmen are to leave in the longboat. Your captain is to leave with you. It’s a three day’s sail to Irongrasp from here.”

“We’re still shackled,” one of the prisoners pointed out.

“You can move enough to set up the sail, or to man an oar. That’s as much as I can do for you. All of you, that is, save for one.”

All eyes went to Komtur Ozul.

“Release his wrist shackles,” Caleb ordered. “And throw off the forward set of grapples between the Spitfire and the Taipan.”

Caleb unsheathed his cutlass as Ozul was released. His original sword had been eaten away by the dragon’s blood, but Campion’s surrendered weapon was now his. The jewels on the handle gleamed in the sun.

Using the blade, he directed the man to move away from the other prisoners and stand next to the steerboard side of the ship. Next to the Komtur, a six-foot wide gap had opened up between the two ships as the grapples were released.

“Your words sound so high and mighty!” Ozul said. “Yet you’re going to slaughter me in cold blood with your sword anyway!”

Caleb felt the eyes of every crewman on him as he spoke.

“Only if you don’t jump. I’m curious to see how well you swim.”

Ozul spat at him and then leaped over the side. Caleb heard a splash, and saw where the Komtur was treading water in the space between the two ships. Once more, the Komtur shouted his defiance.

“You thought I couldn’t swim? I can do this for quite a while yet!”

Caleb ignored the jibe as he brought up one of his screens. A quick thumbing through the list of activated spells brought up the one he was looking for.

Change Metal Object’s Buoyancy

He focused on the metal pendant that Ozul had used to unleash the dragon on his crew. Caleb invoked it without another thought. He watched with satisfaction as the talisman’s sudden negative buoyancy tugged down like a stone, dunking Ozul’s face in the water.

“What in Myr’s dark name?” Ozul sputtered, as he struggled back up for a moment. The pendant’s chain dug into his neck as he fought to keep his head above water. “What is going on?”

Caleb thought of the crewman that Ozul had gunned down without remorse. The dull warmth of his rage enveloped him. He goosed the spell by burning a few experience points.

Ozul let out a gasping scream.

He plunged head-first down into the dark water. His feet kicked at the surface, once. Then the soles of his boots vanished as the chain around his neck yanked him down into the depths.

Caleb’s crew was silent as they watched. Half were in shock, while the other half was stuck somewhere between awed and delighted. The remaining Sea Vipers didn’t stay to observe any longer. In less than a minute, they’d climbed down to the longboat, unmoored her from the wreck of the Taipan, and set off rowing to the north.

“I want all crew members aboard the sloop!” Caleb ordered, as he stepped off the ketch and back onto the Spitfire. “Sing out when that is done!”

Tavia came to join him as the crew dispersed.

“That was a well-done thing,” she said. “Well done indeed.”

He nodded. “I’m glad you approve. Is that how the Knights of Kirren would have handled things?”

“In truth, no. They’d have shown mercy to all ten men, then brought them to our local Magistrate for trial to be punished according to our laws.”

“Well, we’re short of both out here.”

“True, true. Instead, you threaded the needle of showing mercy while appeasing the crew’s need for closure. And the way you handled Ozul’s last moments will ensure that no one questions your decision, either.”

“Works for me.”

“I did have one question: should we burn the ketch when we leave?” The breeze caught and lifted her golden mane as she spoke. “I’m surprised she hasn’t sunk yet, to be honest.”

Caleb grinned at that.

“Wood floats,” he explained. “That’s why people are always surprised at how hard it is to sink a wooden ship. They have to take on a bunch of water, and all at once, to go under. As far as setting her ablaze, that’s a bad idea. She’s not salvageable, so the Myrkur aren’t putting her back into service. And any fire or plume of smoke is a great way to tell an enemy who’s searching for you one thing: Here I am.”

The last crewman stepped over onto the sloop’s deck, carrying a bag of tools. He looked over to Caleb and waved.

“Last man’s off, Captain!”

“Good!” Caleb called back. “Cast off the last grapples!”

The orders were carried out. The Spitfire’s remaining half-sail caught the late afternoon wind and billowed out. The ketch’s mangled hulk quickly slipped sternward.

The Quest Screen’s windows popped up in Caleb’s vision. They were followed by the hot, spicy aroma and the breathtaking zing of euphoria, the electric jolt of mainlining oxygen filling his body.

All right, that’s enough! Caleb said to himself. I can’t be incapacitated every damn time I go up a level in his world! What if it happens in the middle of a battle?

In his mind, he envisioned a big red radio knob with a stark white label.

LEVEL UP EUPHORIA

Then he reached out and grabbed the knob, turning it down from 10 to 3.

The jolts faded away to a mere tingle. The warm smells still hung in his nose, but not to the extent that they blotted out his consciousness. Caleb breathed a welcome sigh of relief, then read the screens.

Bonus Level Mini-Quest: You are about to face a choice that will test your morality. How you handle this could potentially affect your Alignment. (CURRENT ALIGNMENT: NEUTRAL.) XP Value of the next quest completed shall be increased by 25%. STATUS: COMPLETE Adventurer's-Level Quest: Pillage and distribute the spoils of an enemy ship with your crew. STATUS: COMPLETE

A swirl of numbers flashed by as if he’d won the big prize at a slot machine. One line remained in his vision a moment longer.

Congratulations, Soul Traveler. You have reached Level Eleven!