“Shaw!” Caleb shouted right in the griffin’s ear. “Shaw, wake up!”

He got no response.

At least the griffin’s chest still rose and fell steadily as he breathed.

Across the way, he could still hear Delacroix urging his men forward through the dissipating gas. The smell of burning wood wafted past his nose, even stronger this time. It could have been his imagination, but he swore that he felt a dull heat from the dock fire through his sodden clothes.

“Tavia,” he gasped, “Help me…”

She clamped her teeth down on the nape of Shaw’s neck once more. Together, they pulled with all their might. Like a sleeping cat, the griffin was a big, inert lump of muscle. They managed to slide his unconscious body a foot or two in the right direction.

But that was all.

Caleb looked back as a stiff breeze kicked up. Across the gap in the dock, the last of the green gas from Tavia’s magical beads finally blew away. Four Guardsmen came up, pistols drawn, and drew down on them.

That’s it, he realized. We’re right out in the open. Even with flintlock pistols, they’ll be able to hit us at this range.

A volley of bangs! made Caleb’s skin crawl.

One of the Guardsmen fell, clutching his arm. Another fired wildly as a ball grazed his shoulder. The two others shifted their aim to the side, seeking new targets.

Caleb looked up. Sienna and her three companions had returned to the Spitfire’s afterdeck with freshly loaded pistols in hand. There was a clatter as they discarded their spent single-shot weapons and picked up a set of new ones.

“Pour it on them!” she shouted.

The second volley splintered the wooden planks surrounding the Guardsmen. Two shot blindly into the dark, then retreated along with their companions. Delacroix’s cursing rose in volume and grew positively poetic.

Tavia released Shaw’s neck, then let out a surprised-sounding snort.

“What in Kirren’s name?” she breathed. “How did she–”

“Sienna must’ve gotten into the armory somehow,” Caleb said. “That solves one problem, at least for a little while. As for getting Shaw moving again–”

Suddenly, he heard the sound of bare feet pounding down the Spitfire’s gangway. A group of eight men, including Donal, ran over to them.

“Let us get him on board for you, Captain.” Donal said, before looking over to the fallen griffin. “Oh, the poor beastie.”

He and Tavia stepped back as they gathered around Shaw. The men knelt, then with a count of three, they lifted Shaw with a combined effort. As they reached the sloop, Caleb cast a glance back up the dock.

Delacroix glared at them hatefully. He paced back and forth, swinging his sword menacingly. The green glow cast by the weapon lit his face, making his expression even more hideous to look at.

“You think you’ve won?” he shouted from across the gap. “All you did is buy yourself a little time! In the Stone Angel, I can run you down, I can shoot you to pieces. But no, that would make it too easy for you. I’ll board you and take my prizes back. Enjoy your respite. It will be your last, before I catch you and have the souls ripped from your bodies!”

With that, he turned and stomped off towards his frigate, shouting orders along the way.

“Kirren take him,” Tavia swore. “The Lord High Captain does enjoy the sound of his own voice.”

“Unfortunately, he may be right,” Caleb pointed out, as they followed the group carrying Shaw up the gangway. “A frigate can outrun a sloop in the right circumstances.”

She frowned at that. “Yet isn’t his vessel much larger, and heavier?”

“Yes, but he’s got three masts’ worth of sail to our one. So, it all depends on the wind, and how well each ship is handled.”

The men carrying Shaw finally made it to the main deck. They set him down with a thump, then all but collapsed next to the unconscious griffin. Caleb looked at their spent, sweaty faces, and marveled at their efforts. These were able men, but all were pale from their stay in the dungeon, and had faces pinched from hunger.

“What a fellow! What a fellow!” Donal said, as he wearily got up. “Came near enough to splittin’ myself just by lifting him up.”

“It’s much appreciated, believe me,” Caleb said, before doing a double-take. Donal’s left eye looked puffy, and the area around it was rapidly darkening. “What happened to your face? You’ve got a nice shiner.”

Donal looked puzzled for a moment.

“Oh, you mean my blue-bonnie?” he asked, pointing to his eye. “That’s new. Sienna gave it to me. She said she needed the ship’s hatchet for something, but I said I needed it too. We had a spirited discussion about it.”

Caleb tried to laugh. He ended up wincing.

“Hope it doesn’t hurt you as much the cut Delacroix gave me,” he said, as he cradled his arm. Pain still lanced along its length, and it felt stiff and cold.

Tavia’s ears flicked at that. “Allow me take a look at that.”

“In just a second. We need to cast off, preferably yesterday.”

“On it.” Donal signaled to one of the boys waiting nearby.

The youngster, who now carried the fought-over hatchet, ran down to the dock, and hacked through the remaining line tethering the ship. Then he double-timed it up the gangway. As soon as he set foot on board, a group of women pulled the gangway in.

“Now we’re talking,” Caleb said approvingly. He looked up towards the quarterdeck. A traditional ship's wheel with eight cylindrical wooden spokes sat atop a raised platform. “Donal, you know your way about one of those?”

“I am passing familiar with it,” came the reply.

“Good. You’re our helmsman tonight. Take us out of the harbor.”

“Gladly, Captain.” He dashed up to the wheel just as a stiff breeze caught the sloop’s sails, filling them and pushing the ship forward.

Caleb’s heart leapt in his chest as he felt a gentle lurch beneath his feet.

Now untethered, the great mass of wood, rope, and canvas that made up the Spitfire finally went into motion. The insignificant gap between her hull and the dock grew quickly from jumping distance into a few yards. Then several yards. Finally, it turned into a ever-widening ribbon of water.

A cheer went up from those on deck.

“Goodbye and most certainly good riddance,” Tavia said, stamping a forehoof in emphasis. “Now, let me see that wound of yours, Caleb.”

He did as she asked, carefully peeling back the sleeve. To his surprise, the cut had almost clotted over already. It certainly didn’t look as deep as it felt.

“That’s barely a scratch!” he exclaimed. “How in the world does it hurt so much?”

She gave the wound a careful sniff.

“Eldritch magic,” she said. “I thought I sensed it. Prop that up, if you would.”

He lifted his arm up as best he could. Tavia moved to touch the wound with her horn. He heard a bell-like chime. The unicorn’s horn emitted a faint golden glow for a moment.

The shooting pains in his arm disappeared. All that remained was a slight sting.

“Amazing,” he remarked, as he flexed his fingers without difficulty. “How did you–”

She let out a pleased nicker. “If you know which skills I possess, then I’m sure you know that unicorns possess Purification Magic. Nullifying eldritch sorcery, like the Witch Bolt that Delacroix threw at me is one use of it. This was another.”

“You keep on surprising me,” Caleb said, smiling up at her. Next to him, the griffin shuddered and let out a groan. “When Shaw wakes up, he’s going to have a major league headache. Hopefully your magic can help us out again.”

“Captain!” Donal called down from the quarterdeck. “The outer harbor marker is coming up! We’ll clear it any minute now!”

“Come on,” Caleb said to Tavia. “We need to be on the quarterdeck so we can get a better look around.”

The unicorn nodded. Her hooves made dull thuds on the wooden steps leading up to the first of the two raised decks towards the stern. Caleb spotted Sienna and her three companions sitting on the next level up, the afterdeck overlooking the stern.

They were busying themselves with reloading their pistols. Sienna passed around a hollowed-out horn, from which they poured black powder down into each weapon’s barrel. The color of the powder matched the spreading bruise around her left eye.

“Aye, I have a brand-new blue-bonnie, Captain.” she said, as she noticed his glance. “Donal and I had a discussion over who needed the hatchet most. I won.”

“I’m glad you did,” he said gratefully. “I think I’d be sporting a few holes right now if it wasn’t for you.”

She smiled back at him. “And my family and I would still be rotting in a dungeon cell, if it weren’t for you.”

“Let’s hope things stay that way,” Caleb said. “I don’t think anyone’s going back, though.”

“Na’ae, I say not! If we die, it’ll be as free men and women, not chattel!” Her companions nodded at that, with a couple added Yezzirs!

“Up ahead,” Tavia said. “That must be the marker.”

Sure enough, a yellow-stained buoy floated on the water. The device’s wooden sides had been battered by the wind and waves even in the sheltered section just within the cove’s boundaries. A small bell jangled at its peaked tip.

“Steer us three points to port,” Caleb ordered. “We need to catch that prevailing wind, and hope it holds.”

Donal looked to him questioningly. He cleared his throat before speaking.

“Beggin’ your pardon, Captain, but I don’t know the term.”

Now it was Caleb’s turn to look puzzled. “I thought you knew the points of a ship’s wheel.”

“Surely I do, sir. Three points is simple enough. But by ‘port’, do you mean larboard, or steerboard?” Donal first motioned to the left-hand side, then to the right.

Now that’s interesting, Caleb thought. Larboard and steerboard are so archaic, no one uses those terms anymore. At least, no one on Earth uses them. Avalon's a different world.

“Three points larboard, if you would,” he said.

“Aye, Captain. Three points it is.”

The sloop came about smartly as Donal gave the wheel a quarter-spin. The breeze blew more strongly now, making the remaining beads in Tavia’s now-tattered mane rattle. The scent of salt and spray picked up, an intoxicating mix after the stale air of the dungeon or the smells of the taverns in port.

Caleb’s Quest Screen popped up once more. He glanced at it with no small feeling of satisfaction.

Adventurer’s-Level Quest: Attempt to steal a ship from Deephold Port. COMPLETE. Veteran Adventurer’s-Level Quest:

Attempt to escape Irongrasp Island aboard a sailing ship: IN PROGRESS.

WARNING! Completion of quest shall trigger an additional Veteran Adventurer’s-Level Quest: Attempt to escape a squadron of the Myrkur’s Naval Arm, the Sea Vipers.

The Spitfire swung through its turn, now heading south-southwest. As it did so, Caleb heard the intake of breath from both Donal and Sienna. Tavia’s hooves clacked against the hard wood of the deck as she shifted position uncomfortably.

“May Lir and Danu preserve us,” Sienna breathed. “Just look at that!”

“Only Kirren, our war god, could gaze upon this without flinching,” Tavia said solemnly.

Caleb flicked the screens away.

He went over to the larboard side rail and gazed upon a scene right out of Dante’s Inferno.