The next few days at sea passed much as the first had – Tristan spent time practicing and reinforcing his mastery of First Order spells, to the point where all of them that he knew of were easy to complete.

He had offered to spar with some bored Pathfinders, and using some wooden spurs of spare parts in the cargo area of the vessel, they were able to practice without fear of major injury – just some minor bruises.

This gave him the chance to really focus on utilizing both spells and weapon combat; well, the combat-oriented spells such as Scales of Our Foe and Fireball. And the same went for the ice elementalism spells of the Second Order – he wanted those mastered before moving onto other spell types. Blending essence-weaving and combat, what The Matriarch had taught him was called spellweaving by the Elves of old.

He did not actually release the spells, only performing the spell phrases and gestures mid-combat, then letting the essence fade, and reverse-spinning his essence crucible to pull back the energy. It was not perfect recapture of the expended essence – he estimated maybe a third of it was lost when a spell was cancelled.

Felicity had joined the Pathfinders in their sparring – swapping her paw-claws to small hammers of tough chitin that would bruise just like the wood. She was having fun being a nuisance during fights, bonking Tristan on the head to simulate him being attacked by a flying opponent whilst he tried to focus on fighting his sparring partners.

The Pathfinders all had varying combat skills. The older ones seemed more experienced, and Tristan found them to be more of a challenge. Not to the level of The Matriarch going at her hardest, but close to when she held back. Tristan was pressed to score any counter strikes. William was not a skilled combatant, and Tristan trounced him several times over – but the young man showed gumption and constantly threw himself back into the small, roped off square on the center of the largest deck.

Obadai was spending some time with the now-less-seasick Shandra and began teaching her some basic essence-weaving principles. She spent a lot of time meditating and trying to get 'into' her inner world. But she never seemed to get there. The young woman was grumbling consistently at her lack of progress, but Tristan gave her a few brief words of encouragement which seemed to buoy her up just a little bit.

Obadai confirmed Tristan's theory on loss of essence as he observed Tristan's practice bouts. Tristan had just wrapped up a round when Obadai commented on it. "When an essence-weaver commits essence to a spell as you have been doing, then lets it fade, they can do as you have been doing by reverse-spinning their crucible to get the essence back. There is approximately a twenty-five percent loss in essence when this is done."

Tristan nodded, then looked over at the still unable to properly meditate Shandra. "I don't understand why she struggles so much."

"She has an essence crucible of high quality, but no essence channels. Even meditating and spinning her crucible is causing her minor pain. And getting to that point of deep meditation where you enter your inner world is more difficult with outside influences."

Tristan frowned, "How come I found it so easy? I can do it within seconds."

Obadai leaned back against the railing as he observed Shandra, sitting on a barrel, with her eyebrows furrowed. "Essence crucibles have quality to them. Almost like a rarity, like how precious metals have varying rarity." He hiked a thumb at himself, "I have the second rarest."

"Explain more," Tristan replied as he picked up a water flask that the Pathfinders were passing around in between sparring. "Especially what different rarities actually does to one's ability to essence-weave."

"Well, I mentioned precious metals because the naming schema is the same. Copper is the worst of the bunch, followed by silver, then electrum, then gold, and lastly platinum – which doesn't exist in coinage since it is so rare. Realm Protectors, supposedly, have a wholly different rank that has been referred to by scholars as a 'divine' crucible." He cleared his throat, and muttered quietly, "Shandra there has a silver crucible."

Tristan glanced at her, "How can you tell?"

"Divination. I've checked yours as well. Platinum. Even rarity than my own." He cracked a rueful smile, "You just got a lot of luck in your life, eh?"

Tristan shook his head and passed the water off to William, who joined them at the rail as he finished a practice bout. "I didn't have a lot of luck," Tristan replied. "Or rather, I never felt lucky. Circumstances led to me gaining what I have."

William clicked his tongue after drinking from the flask, "I would hate to be a half-breed or non-Human – no offense. It just seems so…difficult, you know? Humans are tolerated pretty much everywhere – regardless of beliefs or appearance."

"Hence why Bhant is a place I detest," Obadai replied.

"Heck, even essence-weavers – you lot are so rare," William continued. "I've only met maybe twenty in my life – you three included."

Obadai replied, "There is approximately one essence-weaver per every thousand people. Anyone can obtain an essence crucible from consuming essence in a raw form – mostly through essence elixirs. But becoming trained? A whole different matter." He looked back to Tristan, "You also wanted to know what differing rarities of crucibles does. Well, the easiest way to put it is the rarer the crucible, the faster it naturally regenerates essence."

Tristan looked over at Shandra again, "So she could work her way up to having enough essence capacity for over Tenth Order spells, but just would have to wait longer between using them?"

"Correct."

William raised his hand, "These crucible things you're talking about – could you ever increase the rarity thing?"

Obadai nodded, "If you harvest enough crucibles of other essence-weavers. Against people it is heavily frowned upon and will earn a death sentence in most countries if the deed is found out. But other creatures who are natural born with a crucible? Fair game."

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"Like the demon lord I killed," Tristan stated. "It had a crucible despite not using any spells against me."

"Correct," Obadai replied. "Oh, one more thing. Lower quality crucibles are…tighter, if that makes sense? Picture you trying to enter your inner world through meditation. For you, Tristan, your platinum-quality crucible would be like this-" Obadai held his arms in a large loop over his head. Then, he slowly brought them in on each other, making the ring smaller. "Mine is like this." He put his arms down and held up his fingers in a circle, "This is what the lowest rarity would be in comparison."

"I can get through my tunnel more easily," Tristan clarified. "Which is why it is so easy for me to get into my inner world through meditation…but Shandra is struggling because the space is so tight."

"Correct again." Obadai got off the rail, "You could consider going to the Citadel of Essence in Yustat yourself. You have the aptitude for learning and soaking up information."

Tristan grimaced, "I still have to get you to Dorcel as per our deal."

"Well, think on the idea. I could always just stay on the boat and keep traveling along with the crew on their various trade expeditions."

Tristan pushed off the rail and grabbed his practice 'blade' – really just a piece of wood. "Well, back to it." But the thought lingered in his mind as he prepared to spar with another one of the more veteran Pathfinders. I could, he thought. If Bertram is on that island like the Phil guy back at Jewel's Point said, then once I find him, I could just stay there. Have the ship do a trading tour of the world and spend some time at the Citadel.

The vessel was three days out from Rigger's Cove. Tristan was sore. Extremely sore. Not just his muscles, but his essence channels, as well, from the exercise. On the plus side, he thought as he struggled to push himself out of the bunk, it means I'm getting stronger. Not just with essence capacity and my channels – but muscle-wise, as well.

He had not stopped thinking about what Obadai had mentioned. The idea of being a proper student at the premiere school of essence-weaving was very enticing. But he knew that Bertram getting his inheritance came first. As well as clearing his debts. Bringing up these thoughts with Felicity, she was quiet, at first.

"Well," she said in a measured, even tone, "I don't think that is a good idea. As long as we can buy spell books, you would be much safer in the Fey Realm or on this ship doing your practice and studying. Plus, you have Obadai to teach you until you drop him off at his destination."

Tristan couldn't fault her logic, and was about to respond when a bell was rung. It clanged over and over, and he heard movement below-decks. From outside, he heard shouts of "Pirates!"

"Felicity, armor. Help me get it on."

She complied, opening up the storage space and helping him suit up – something she had become a deft hand at doing given their time in the Fey Realm. He also got his bow, the quiver of arrows, and the knife. He left the maul inside – but did briefly reach out to touch it, spinning his essence crucible and pushing it into the weapon to activate Lucky Instinct.

Tristan left the room, Felicity sitting atop his head, and got to the main deck. Sailors were busy putting together ballistae, and the Pathfinders were emerging onto the deck with weapons and bits of armor equipped.

Captain Yokain yelled down from the mid sternpalace just above the lower sternpalace where Tristan had emerged from. "We have two sails on the horizon! They aren't flying colors!"

Tristan glanced up at the main mast and saw a deep, red flag that could stand out against the blue of sky or sea. He immediately went over to the rigging and began climbing his way up to the crow's nest. Halfway up the rigging, he saw the ships that Yokain was speaking of. They were not the same size as their carrack.

The captain shouted out, "Balingers! They'll catch up to us even with the wind!"

Obadai was standing on the aftcastle, and he looked up at Tristan. "Shall you deal with it or shall I?"

"You're better with fire," Tristan shouted back as he kept climbing up to the crow's nest. There was a crew member there holding a crossbow, and Tristan gave him a brief nod as he clambered onto the somewhat stable platform and strung his war bow. His weapon would easily outrange anyone else's weapons save for the ballistae.

The two vessels approaching the aft of their vessel, chasing the ship, were crewed by people of all heritages. Primarily Demihumans of varying types. But, he spotted two pale-skinned individuals at the helms of each ship. Their ashen skin, blood-red eyes, sharp, elongated fangs, and general pallor told Tristan exactly what they were. Vantir. Or, half-breed with Vantir heritage in them.

Tristan pulled his first arrow from the quiver but did not nock it yet as the ships were out of range. Shouts of preparation followed by the 'clank' of ballistae being locked into firing position echoed over the waves, as well as the shouts of those on the hostile vessels that echoed over the waters. Tristan rapidly performed the Near Miss spell, just in case, and waited.

A huge sphere of flame appeared above the aftcastle, and Obadai let out a shout of "Incoming!" as he seemingly threw the sphere forward. It blasted outward over the waves, dipping down near the surface and seemingly skipping off of it with bursts of steam that buoyed it up. It was an enormous, bouncing ball of flame that went right for the leftmost of the two vessels.

The fire sphere splashed over the ship, and screams could be heard. Tristan winced as he knew he was hearing the sounds of people who were going to burn to death. Flames licked the sails, but were quickly extinguished. To his surprise, the hull did not catch fire; nor did the deck, mast, or anything except the rigging and sails – which men clambered along to smother with soaked cloth.

"They had anti-fire preparations," Obadai shouted. "Don't light those ballistae rounds – that'll just be a waste." He looked up to Tristan, "What do you have?"

Tristan smiled as the ships came into range. Pulling back the string with the arrow couched in position, he spun his essence crucible and flooded his channels with the powerful energy, feeling it course through his body in a cooling rush. He focused it into the weapon, and the arrow turned a shimmering, icy blue. He let loose, aiming right for the mast of the ship that Obadai had just hit.

The arrow shot far and true, striking the mast before exploding into a shower of razor-sharp ice and skewering rime. Men screamed out in pain – but that wasn't what Tristan was hoping for. Damn, he thought. I wanted to blow the mast apart.

He was not naïve – he knew that these pirates would not show quarter. But he also knew that just like the thieves he had encountered in the Sapphire Coast, these could be people with no other choice. He did not want to maim or kill them – just stop their pursuit.

But, it did not look like that would be an option. The mast was still intact, and even a second ball of flame launched by Obadai did very little once the crew responded to the flames. Almost as if they trained for this, Tristan thought. I mean, if I was on a flammable vessel raiding people for loot, I would get really good at protecting my ship from anything. Or preparing like they obviously have.

Tristan decided to forego the Frosty Flurry empowered shots, instead focusing his aim on the captains – the Vantir heritage people at the helm. Letting loose at the one on the left, he watched as the arrow sailed true and impaled the man through the chest – but he just winced and kept piloting the vessel on its course.

Tristan had never seen a Vantir in real life, but apparently the rumors were true – they were extremely durable, did not feel pain, and were very hard to kill unless ripped apart, decapitated, or their body was completely destroyed.

Ballistae rounds from the hostile ships fired off and impacted the hull below Tristan with enormous cracks and thuds. He could hear the splintering of timber, and winced as another volley came in. But not a second later, the Tideskipper's Crest fired off its own barrage – and their crossbows got into range. The Pathfinders began firing off their weapons alongside the ballistae being manned by the ship's crew.

Tristan also saw the hail of bolts coming toward them. "Incoming!" he shouted.

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