(1156)
Day 7 of the Harpstring Moon. Rain.
Well, I've finally run out of all my own stories. Sister Sitri will have to be satisfied with tales of my Da' and Grandpa.
And Grandma for that matter.
Or if there's any reason for us Knights to head to Enbarr perhaps I can look out an account of old Admiral Eisner.
Not likely though.
1183
Wyvern Moon
"Milady, will you infiltrate a pirate stronghold with me?"
Exhausted as she had been, it had taken Byleth a moment longer than usual to catch Claude's meaning. She had scanned his face, trying to divine his scheme from his expression alone -what pirate stronghold? There was no -and then it had hit her; this retaliation came too swiftly following their strike against the raiders. They had repaired the ship Hilda had cleaved a hunk out of. They had a base, they had supplies.
They had a foothold.
If it was allowed to remain, Brigid's pirate problem would be a much more significant issue than deflecting an attack every year or so.
Now she looped her arms loosely around Claude's waist as she sat behind him on wyvern-back, trying to adjust her seat as she would with a horse but finding that a wyvern was very different from anything her father had ever taught her to ride. It didn't even resemble the motions of the pegasus she had ridden when her turn to supervise the sky-patrol had come round at the monastery.
Half of the Immortal Corps flew with them ("a scouting party," Claude had insisted, "maybe a little sabotage." he had added, winking). Petra was included as Byleth was, riding behind someone with far greater experience, although the princess seemed to be managing the motion a lot better. Byleth resigned herself to being uncomfortable and tried to focus instead on the last battle.
When they had at last begun to gain ground against the second ship, the majority of the pirate forces had begun to retreat. But it was no scrabbling rout, the withdrawal had been… precise, a practised manoeuvre, the sort of thing she drilled the Coalition forces on. The axe wielder who had tried to catch her out had been sloppy, but then-
Claude tensed before her and Byleth forced her attention back to the present. He twisted a little to the side so she could see across his shoulder as he pointed out an island below them.
"There!" He called "Do you see the smoke?"
Byleth had to press closer against him to look along the line of his outstretched arm before she could make out the faint wisps he had spotted. The island was almost due north from the central mass of Brigid's islands, and sat worryingly near one of the well-mapped currents that came swiftly towards the Nuvelle and Ochs territories on the north-western edge of Adrestia, and the southern edge of Albinia.
Claude led their group to circle towards the east so they could approach the island with the sun at their backs. Theoretically, Byleth understood the manoeuvre; begin the approach from where a lookout couldn't spot them and drop so quickly that they couldn't be sighted before they made it to the relative safety of landfall.
Theoretically, Byleth was prepared for it.
In practice, no gentle glide of a pegasus back to earth could have prepared her for the way her stomach swooped, the way the wind stole her breath, the disconcerting feeling of weightlessness as with only the barest warning they began to plummet like a stone. Claude leaned forwards over the wyvern's neck and she moved with him. Her grip was no longer "loose" it might more accurately be described as "rib-cracking" as she instinctively used every bit of leverage she had to keep herself firmly attached to the wyvern. Then what breath she had managed to snatch against the wind was forced from her as they suddenly decelerated and she was pressed helplessly against her seat and Claude's back. Claude sat up again and Byleth moved with him only by virtue of the death grip she had on him. It wasn't until she felt him laughing that she realised they had landed and her eyes were screwed shut.
She released her grip and Claude turned to grin at her over his shoulder before dismounting and reaching up a hand to assist her down.
"Easy now," he warned "stunts like that can make returning to solid ground a bit-" Byleth slid down the flank of the wyvern and straight onto her backside when her legs refused to support her "-precarious. If you're not used to it." Claude concluded, really trying not to grin but not managing it. At all.
He had kept his hold on her hand though, and with a swift "Up you come, My Friend." she was on her feet again, face clearing of the consternation she'd felt at her body's blatant betrayal. She even managed a quick smile of gratitude before their party assembled, ready to begin the mission.
~o~*~o~
It had taken them a little over an hour to find the base; surprising considering the size of the ships involved. A long overhang on the island's western edge obscured from above the entrance to a cave -and made finding a way down to it precarious unless you came in by sea. Sure-footed Petra found a path they could scramble down, but it led only to a small lip at the entrance to the cave; they could see in, but could not approach any closer. They had to spy across a significant stretch of water to where the ships were anchored at make-shift piers, and beyond to where a few buildings had been constructed at the back of the cave.
The cave curved in a long arc, there was space at the entrance for two ships to comfortably pass each other, but not any more, though many were berthed within. Judging by the way the ships were arranged it must be deeper at the edge furthest from their vantage as in that direction the boats grew larger; on par more with the ships that had brought them from Adrestia than the swift raiding vessels that had been harassing Brigid. Byleth looked past the ships, to the cave floor beyond. Small cooking fires were dotted around, benches, tables, crates of supplies being moved from one ship to another… and the pirates milling about their duties or on rest.
"I had knowing they were many, but I had no knowing they were this many!" Petra whispered, looking along the line of ships.
"I don't suppose they've ever offered parley?" Claude asked, idly. "Then again, even I don't particularly relish the idea of talking things out with pirates."
Byleth was silent, still peering through the dim lighting at the back of the cave -there were several holes in the ceiling allowing shafts of light to fall across the water (and the campfire smoke to escape), but visibility was far from ideal. Still, she was becoming more and more certain that…
"Petra," She asked slowly, still putting the thoughts together in her own mind "what happened to the Dagdan navy after the war?"
"We have not been having much communication since then, but I am thinking they would be given much disgrace. There is chancing… there is a chance they would not all have had a welcome."
"So to survive they fall in with pirates… but… Some of those sailors are still wearing uniform." Byleth mused, "Even now."
Claude straightened beside her as he looked across the water to confirm that with his own eyes "Then, there are factions…" he thought aloud "… one of those crews the other night was quick to retreat. They don't want to fight?"
"It's a dangerous strategy -letting the other side lead the attacks and pulling your own men back. They'll be caught eventually. They must mean a mutiny, or to break away entirely…" Byleth continued the thought as she scanned the cove once more, her eyes drawn back to the ships at the far end. There was a significant gap between the last ship and the rest of the fleet, and that ship itself was larger than any she had yet set eyes on. It also looked to her as though it were guarded by the sailors in uniform.
"I don't think they could reasonably fit any more ships in here." Claude added "They might all be here. Even if there is a faction divide we could exploit, now may be the best time for us to sabotage them. Why don't we invite them all to a little bonfire?" he asked, smirking and more than half-joking.
"Alright," Byleth agreed, and Claude blinked in genuine surprise "but not that one." She clarified, pointing to the ship at the far end.
"Milady, that's the biggest ship here!" He protested.
"Yes." She agreed "Look at it, Claude. That's a ship for long sea voyages, not privateering."
Claude's brows furrowed as he examined the ship, sitting heavy in the water, presumably loaded with supplies. "A fleet that disappears becomes a legend." He mused, catching on to her line of thinking "A treasure to be found… but a fleet that limps home after nearly a decade is a warning." Byleth nodded and he sighed, before brightening up again "Okay, so we set fire to every ship but that one." He grinned. "We'll have to be stealthy, and we need an escape plan…" he mused, sitting back and eyeing the scene further, considering the limited resources they had with them, his mind whirling with possibilities.
Byleth shifted at his side and he found he had to drag his eyes from her back to the ships -except! He glanced at her and then across the water, to Byleth and Petra and then to the shallower end where the ships were closely packed, to Byleth again and then to his Immortal Corps behind them…
"Sea-people and sky-people." He said, and Byleth's eyes met his, questioningly. "How quietly do you think you can swim?"
~o~*~o~
It was only five of them; herself, Petra and three Immortals, who made the swim. They moved slowly in a quiet breaststroke, each heading for a ship that had a trailing line running down to the water at the stern. The immortals were heading to the closely-clustered ships at the shallow end and Petra to the difficult looking climb of two ships at the mid-point, separated by a narrow pier. Byleth had one target; the last ship before the gap to the sea-voyager.
She paused for a moment, treading water, when she reached the anchor chain that dove down into the darkness below her. She checked her gear was all in place, including the small pouch Claude had hooked onto her belt. Within it were two vials of "something that would burn very easily, but very quickly," he had warned as he passed them out to the swimmers. "It won't be hot enough to catch tar, if any of the ships have their own supply on-board, you'd be better in the galley looking for cooking oil or any kind of powder to make an explosion. Flour would do it."
Byleth had startled at that "Jeralt's Mercenaries aren't renowned for our culinary skill, but even Raoul couldn't make flour explode. Are you sure-?"
"Yes." Claude answered over the snickering of a couple of the Immortals. "Very sure."
Byleth shook her head to re-focus and checked along the line. The rest of the saboteurs had made their marks, it was time to begin.
Although her climb was the longest, it was also one of the easiest; the large links of the chain provided plenty of hand and foot-holds for Byleth to haul herself up. Even with the additional weight of water dragging her down and the need to be quiet she still came up to the gunnels just as the Immortals were climbing over the railings of their ships -Petra had already vanished into the hold of her first target.
She pulled herself onto the deck, keeping low and crouching behind the heavy wheel the rest of the anchor chain was wrapped around as she checked for any guards. There were none that she could see, but that may only mean they weren't topside at the moment. She crept forward until she found a hatch that led below deck, lifting it carefully and slipping through. The timber creaked about her as she descended, drawing her dagger (more use to her in narrow passages than her sword) and easing down the steps. She realised she was leaving a water-trail and frowned, hastening her step a little -speed would server her better if she couldn't hide but it was still best to go undetected for as long as possible.
Byleth guessed at the galley's location based on the Adrestian ships she was familiar with and got it wrong on the first door, but right on the second. The door creaked open heavily and the entire ship seemed to shudder around her. Coincidence, she convinced herself, carefully propping the door open so it wouldn't swing to and make any more noise.
The galley was well scrubbed down. Everything had been stowed away safely so there was no slippage -which made everything easy to find. There wasn't much by way of provisions aboard, but there was oil. There was even a bag of coal to stoke the oven, stored below the drawer that contained flint and tinder to light it. More than enough for her purposes. She set the oven going with two quick strikes of the flint, letting it heat while she began other preparations. A cursory search of the rooms on either side turned up a coil of fraying rope and an old, unravelling, hammock. She doused them in oil, spilling as much over the floor as she could in the process, and set about trailing the rope through the room and into the hallway, making sure to weave it through every dry bit of netting and past every lantern she could see.
A bell began to toll in alarm as she coiled the last of the rope near the bottom of the stairs. Abandoning stealth she dashed down the passageway to the galley and set the first end of the rope in to the merrily burning oven before darting back. She opened one of Claude's vials and doused the other end, flinching back when she set spark to it and it went up before she'd even completed the motion. She could hear voices calling above as she used the flame to light the edge of the hammock and cast it as far down the other edge of the passage as she could manage, trusting to luck that it would catch something nearby without her having run extra oil over the area first.
She scrambled up the stairs and her luck ran out. Her hip checked painfully against the edge of the hatch as she rolled out of the way of a sword. It throbbed as she completed the motion, coming up into stance with her own blade drawn.
Across the hatch, the duellist's eyes widened in recognition before narrowing again. Byleth's own face was impassive.
They circled carefully. Byleth's eyes flicked to the side for only a moment to see that the shallow end of the base was engulfed in towering flames that were spreading quickly from ship to ship as they were so close to each other and smoke was rising from the first boat that Petra had struck.
That was the only moment she could spare. With a cry the duellist sprang forward, pushing Byleth back to the defensive as he had during their first clash. She parried, repulsing his blade and refusing to give up the ground to his onslaught this time round. He feinted, and Byleth spun out of the way only just in time to exchange a serious wound for a stinging slash across her thigh. First blood. Their blades locked on Byleth's counter-thrust, but his arm trembled under the pressure she bore down with, until he was forced to give way and Byleth's sword flicked up.
Several strands of dark hair fell away at neck level.
They disengaged, and for a moment it seemed he smiled.
But the shadow of a wyvern passed over them. Two burning arrows sank into the mast, catching guide ropes and sails alike into flame.
With a snarl the duellist came on again. Words that could not be complimentary hurled at her with every clash of their blades as their fight traversed the deck and back again, firelight flicking strange shadows across them.
As the rising smoke in the cave began to sting her eyes, Byleth knew she would not be able to keep fighting for long. She pushed forward, levelling heavy blows against her opponent until she'd managed to herd him back to the far railing. Sensing the lack of space he sprang forward hoping to turn the tide on her.
She let him, deflecting his sword, not stopping the thrust at all. She let the motion carry through and caught his wrist. She pulled him forward, spinning in place until he was once more at the railing but facing it this time. A swift kick to the back of the knees sent him crashing down and an arm across his neck held him in place. Byleth used the hand she had on his sword arm to point his sword out at the unburnt ship, uniformed sailors scrambling aboard it, some waving and calling out to them.
"Look!" She rasped, and felt the moment he saw them as his body stiffened, jerking in her grasp.
His sword clattered to the deck as he released it. Byleth moved back several paces, her own blade lowered but still in hand.
He got to his feet, lifting his sword to sheath and climbing onto the railing, ready to jump over and swim to the ship. He paused and turned to face her.
"Ikram Eisner, of the land of Dagda, in the West" he announced to her in a heavily accented dialect of Brigid.
Byleth's hand twitched, her steely expression faltering for just a moment.
"Byleth Eisner," she returned in the same, with only a moment of hesitation "of the land of Fódlan, in the East"
The corsair gave the same start she had, then laughed aloud, head tipped back. "Then I hope the fates will some day give us a friendlier meeting, cousin!" he called through a wide grin, then touched his hand to his lips then brow, extending that hand out towards her as it came to rest back at his side. Byleth responded by sheathing her sword, placing a hand over her heart and bowing. She inclined her head to him when she stood straight again, he returned the nod and then dove to the water below, emerging several lengths away in a front crawl heading straight to the remaining ship and crew as it began to pull away from the conflagration the rest of the cave was becoming.
A tethering rope above gave way and something crashed through the deck nearby her, revealing the blaze below below-deck as well. Byleth weaved her way around the debris to the other side of the ship. She looked into the water below, but found it choked with flotsam. Coughing, she was about to step down from the rail and take her chances making it to the stern of the ship when a voice called her.
"Byleth! Jump now!"
She leapt without hesitation. Claude's strong hands caught her about the waist pulling her down into the saddle in front of him. The motion jarred her, and she turned her face, coughing against his shoulder as the wyvern swooped low beneath the smoke, skimming the water surface past the departing ship and escaping into the light. Her eyes watered after the smoke and dimness of the cave, but she forced her head to turn again, to count the wyverns and passengers in the sky ahead of them -she had been the last it seemed. Everyone else was accounted for.
Her throat burned again and she turned back to Claude's broad shoulder as she tried to force the sensation down. Over the edge of his sash she caught sight of Ikram's ship heading west under full sail and came undone at the thought that occurred to her, chocking and coughing and sputtering as the impulse to laugh did nothing to help her breathing;
Jeralt had told her there were no castles to inherit in the Eisner family, but he had neglected to mention the possibility of pirates!