Ardaik 11th - Central Ocean

Finding a suitable place to spend a quiet moment with Flann was proving as difficult as it might have been back in La'Trest. With the addition of the Serellians on board, their room was now shared not only with Edna but with Folian and McKee as well. Artus had been offered space within Sebastien's accommodations by the guild emissary and a separate arrangement by Admiral Paniel, too. He had declined both.

The cargo hold, where he and Rowan had thought they'd found solace before the dragon attacked, was completely out of the question. In place of ammunition and supplies, it now held the cold, unflinching corpses awaiting their return home. While they certainly wouldn't breathe a word of anything that transpired around them, their company was nonetheless unbearable.

Artus paused to weigh upon if the gundeck would be fairly vacant this time of night. They may be scolded if found there and escorted away, but he supposed it was worth exploring, even if briefly so.

They found the space to be dark, at the very least. No lanterns had been lit near the cannons to avoid any powder igniting by accident, and Artus found himself groping for Flann's hand as he cautiously led the way toward the ship's bow. The guns needed space to roll, of course, but they needed to be caught, so a system of ropes was anchored to the floor and hull near the square portholes. An easy tripping hazard, particularly in the dark. Artus froze, though, the moment he thought he heard a voice. No. It wasn't one voice but two. He was sure of it.

"Resign? I'm sure you have more than enough reason to suggest it, but I must protest." The marquis's voice was above a whisper but still private enough that Artus and Flann had to listen carefully.

"Look, Bhal, I know you've never been the sort to let being a mage hold ya back. I, as well as anyone, wouldn't have blamed you for not wanting to assume your father's position after what happened, but ya got nothing left to prove. Ya've served Serellia and me well, but now the Lorellian king and queen know what ya are. You're a good Yarl, Bhal. I'd rather not lose a good man over bad choices," Liam said as he dusted off a gunpowder barrel and took a seat.

"Thank you, your majesty. Your concern is very much appreciated, but I won't be cowed out of my duties. If my choices are poor, then at least they are my own, and I shall see them through to their conclusion." He'd decided that the day his father was killed, and he did not use his magic to save him. He let him die. Not because he hated him, though he surely did, but because a man should be held accountable for his actions.

"Aye, I understand. If ya didn't lack the fortitude, ya would have made a fine soldier, Cullach. What else did ya learn while in the palace?" Liam's praise did remind Bhalthier of what he envied in soldiers like Folian and Edna. Their physical prowess was something that a sickly boy like him could only ever dream of, but their honorable nature was something that he could share regardless of shield and sword.

"That, just as we feared, our foe seems to have originated from the Silent Slough," Bhalthier replied.

Artus inched backward. He couldn't make out enough of what King Liam or Lord Cullach was saying to be useful, but he was certain he'd made out a few key words that spurred more than enough questions on their own.

But when his back met the solid wall that was Flann, he thought that he may not have been the only one interested in eavesdropping. It stood to reason, though. Clearly, the two men had gone through considerable effort to speak privately. The implication alone was compelling and implied the sensitivity of the discussion.

"Wonderful, as if having that pigsty in our country wasn't damning enough, now we'll no doubt be blamed for their transgressions." Liam snorted as he shook his head. "Should have throttled the entire frigid marsh when we had the chance."

"Hmm, perhaps...or perhaps that would have only hastened them to retaliation?" Bhalthier suggested.

"Eh, perhaps," Liam conceded as he pushed up to his full height. "I know what yar gonna say next..." Liam murmured as he glanced at Bhalthier, who just gave a questioning look in return. "Send word ta the Citadel, isn't that what ya were gonna say?"

"I would advise it, yes."

"Hmm, very well then. See it done...but quietly, please? I don't need word of undead armies spreading through the villages."

Flann's movement was Artus's signal that the other prince was ready to retreat, and he had no objections.

When they mounted the steps, Artus led them up toward the top deck, a decision he regretted the moment they were exposed to the open night air.

"A mage?!" Artus whispered harshly after pulling Flann close. "Were you aware of this?"

"Uh..." Flann hesitated a moment before replying. "Aye...I knew. D'not know why Da brought him. Though I suspect it was easier than asking questions directly," Flann said honestly; he considered Artus a friend, and what was a friend if not someone that a man could share truth with?

"Asking questions direc—" Artus clipped his last word short as a few sailors moved past them. While he may not have understood Flann's full meaning, there was plenty implied by such a statement. "Actually," he said, releasing Flann's arm and holding his loose hair out of his face. "Forgive my prying. It isn't my business to know nor place to press you on it."

"Ya don't think so? Bhalthier is the ambassador between our countries, so maybe it's better ya ought ta know," Flann replied. "Anyway, Bhal's Citadel trained...so he's got a strict code of ethics that he follows. Otherwise, they could strip him of his license to practice magic."

Flann's forthcomingness had rendered Artus speechless. He couldn't think of anything Flann stood to gain from revealing what he'd just said to him, save for his trust. Was that worth sharing a secret so potentially valuable?

Artus's heart ached. It wasn't a familiar kind of pain. It felt as though he missed Flann, despite the fact the Serellian was right in front of him. Which hardly seemed right when Rowan was the one who was gone. Yet...it hurt all the same. "I see," Artus replied, realization taking form. "Thank you."

"Did I say something to offend ya?" Flann wondered as he followed after the other prince.

"No," Artus replied quickly. "I'm no longer in the mood, that's all."

"Artie..." the Serellian said as he caught him by the arm before he could go any further. "I'd like ta think that we're at least friends. We are friends, aren't we?"

"I don't—what does it matter?"

"It matters a great deal if we're both going to be kings someday."

Something vicious sparked behind Artus's golden eyes. "Is that it, then? Get close to me now so that you'll have favor in Lorellia later?"

"What? No!"

"So that you can make me look like a fool, just like Ro—" Artus cut himself off and forced himself to take a breath while Flann's shocked look softened some.

"Ah, I see...I see," said Flann as he released Artus's arm. "I'll help you find him, then."

"You'll what?"

"Just what I said. I'll help you find Row. If we need to use"—Flann dropped his tone to a whisper –"dragons and Bhal's magic to it, then we'll see it done."

"Well, that's—" Artus wrung his hands, his gaze flitting about before returning to Flann. "Why would you do this?"

"Because we're friends, Artie, and that's what a friend would do."

***

Ardaik 12 - Malton, Lorellia

As the Retribution and the remaining ships finally crossed into the bay housing Malton's docks, Artus wagered nearly every hand was above deck, eagerly waiting for the port, and the city beyond it, to materialize among the mist and fog.

What they found, however, was not the warm glow of lanterns tracing out the docks and walkways but instead cold, harsh shadows and unlit lights.

It was immediately apparent that something was terribly wrong. Nothing appeared destroyed. Nothing was burning, and there were no signs of undead or any other unnatural creatures. There were no signs of anything or anyone at all.

The ships moored were uncannily still and quiet. No one walked the docks. No carts were rolled along the boardwalk to load and unload goods or supplies. No oil lanterns flickered with little points of light. The port of Malton appeared completely abandoned—washed clean of any sign of the living or dead.

"Mr. Kelber, have a boat readied," Paniel ordered once the Retribution had anchored in the bay. "We'll need to investigate before I'll risk venturing further."

"With haste, sir."

"You may see if some of our hardy Serellian friends are up to the task as well," Paniel added, peeling his gaze momentarily from their eerie scenery.

Kelber replied with a tight nod.

"I should like to join them," Artus said, drawing Paniel's attention and giving Flavien pause as he made his way up the steps of the quarterdeck to join Paniel.

What was moored of Malton's fleet looked to be loaded to near capacity by how seated the ships were in the cold waters—primed for sailing south to aid the capital. Supplies were sorely needed.

"That doesn't sound wise, Your Highness," Paniel replied. As he'd expected, however, the prince wasn't at all deterred.

Artus's gaze snapped to the guild emissary as he came to their sides. "Am I still under arrest?"

Paniel and Flavien looked at each other.

"With Laurent gone, I find my vessel unable to fulfill her intended duties. I lack the authority, men, and supplies to hold prisoners...our concerns now stretch no further than offloading our obligations quickly and returning to report back to the guild," Flavien explained.

"Then I don't see why I shouldn't. Besides, Sebastien has voiced a desire to return to the capital by less nautical means."

Paniel shifted his weight. "Yes, I'm aware of that, and while I have no command of you, I do wish you'd consider staying aboard."

"My suggestion to bring you to Causter was in the interest of the law, Your Highness," said Flavien. "Would you bet coin that your advisor's interest was also well-meaning?"

"Perhaps not," Artus replied, tightly entwining his fingers behind his back.

"If you do choose to go ashore with him or anyone else at any point, I'd strongly advise you to exercise caution," Paniel warned before discreetly moving his coat away from his hip. He removed a utilitarian dirk of sorts...a boarding knife, and presented it to his prince.

Artus chuffed at the offering before the weight of what was very sincerely being implied dried his throat. His gaze flicked to Paniel's face, then to Flavien's, before he took the weapon in hand.

It would prove useful should he need to defend himself while ashore. More useful than his bare hands, at least, but was that actually the expectation? For him to defend himself? Surely, the Serellians could handle most, if any, true threats. They had dragons of their own and were accomplished warriors.

And if he should find himself still in Sebastien's company after today, he couldn't imagine they'd travel alone. Besides, Artus couldn't fathom throwing a fist at the man, much less brandishing a blade against him. Where was he even supposed to carry such a thing? He didn't have a belt to tuck it into nor a frog to cradle it. Still, he supposed the intentions behind such a gift were genuine enough, motivated by some manner of caring rather than not.

"I'll do that, Admiral," Artus promised, outwardly exuding comfortable confidence.

While he truly didn't have any intentions of fighting anyone, he did have a plan that he'd been mulling over since the previous evening.

One which would, at best, see him free of Sebastien entirely...