“We must make do,” her father intoned.
Tatum thundered down the stairs with men behind, them lugging massive iron-bound chests. He went to her father, and though Tatum was big and balding, he looked small and squat. Neither man grinned.
“It will have to do, Tatum, little as we may like it,” her father grunted.
“The men, Robett, when they learn of what— “
“See that they do not—least until we have met with the Appraiser. It may be that we have overlooked some treasure that he may otherwise see value in.”
Tatum turned and issued orders to his men; they filled the chests and coffers and stacked the furs and pelts. Aerona stood beside her father and spoke quietly. “Tatum is right, Father. We will earn hundreds of gold coins, yet not the thousands they we need.”
“It will do, like it has before.”
Her father always put on this strong face for her, though she knew fate was rising against them. There was no shortage of vessels from Isilia, Dalia, and Trecht, but only a handful were left susceptible. Her father was brave, though not foolish enough to attack cogs escorted by great dromonds.
“Is that all of it?” her father asked as the men lugged the cargo out.
Tatum shouted and pointed upwards, before turning and said, “All of it, Robett. To the islands, by your command?”
Her father nodded and ascended the steps. Aerona watched as Tatum followed. She turned her head and looked at the empty cargo hold before returning to the Hammer.
Aerona looked out from the prow of the Hammer when the man in the crows nest called out land.
It was near mid-morning, and though the waves crashed against the rock, it was calm and clear. The port was dingy, old, and broken down. That is how we like it—looks like a decrepit village. She peered further out at the muddy streets and run-down hovels. Further along, in what used to be the market square, would be where the Appraiser was holed up: counting his treasures and employing captains to trade with ports far and wide.
Tatum led the men out, and the short and pock-marked Jenning followed at the rear. Aerona stayed near her father: he still wore his boiled leather and mail, though it was clean and polished. In his hand was a long sword. “Here, Aerona. I would not show the Appraiser weakness.”
She grasped it greedily, sheathing it on her left hip. She felt whole and hale again, though she would not draw it, not unless her father’s life was in peril. “Let us meet with the Appraiser.”
The streets were quiet, and near every hovel was shuttered. Some men wandered by side streets, and though they looked at the entourage—and her, she was sure—they did not linger long. She patted the hilt of the sword at her side, reminding herself that no men could be trusted.
The muddy streets wound inward into what was once a small market square. No merchant stalls stood, though broken wood still littered the outer circle. The centre was once grass, but now it was all brown and caked with mud. At the far northern end stood a long stone building with shuttered windows and near broken down doors. Aerona looked up and saw that a few patches of roof were missing, and a man laboured on top repairing it with grass and mud.
Her father pushed the dilapidated doors open. Tables and chairs littered most of the room. On the left was a long bar spotted with wine marks and broken mugs, though no bartender was in sight. To the far right, near an immense but low burning hearth, sat a hunched over old man counting coins. Three sellswords stood behind, holding the hilts of their swords. Aerona followed her father towards him, and the old man soothed the sellswords, who then put hands behind their backs.
“Robett Harkan, my old friend,” the old man grunted and smiled, showing a few brown teeth; the rest had rotted out of his gums. “What have you brought to me today?”
“Appraiser, see for yourself,” her father replied, and he signaled for the men to place the three chests on top of the table.
The Appraiser shielded his towers of coins while they did so, then shooed them away as he stretched his long, twig-like fingers into the chests, rummaging through the plunder. Aerona looked squarely at the Appraiser’s darting eyes as he assessed the cargo. She thought he screwed up his face a few times—as if considering or counting the stockpile. More than aught else, she thought he was entirely disapproving.
“You have not brought me much, old friend,” the Appraiser said, sitting down. He withdrew an old, stretched paper and wrote furiously. “Most of these pelts and furs you can procure from these islands, and with no unfriendly nobles to shoo you off. The gems and jewels, no, they do not come from the great mountains to the east, and if they did, no more than pebbles on the road. Heh, a child would bring me more.”
“Have a mind not to insult me, Appraiser,” her father replied, slamming his fists down upon the table. The sellswords glared towards him, hands on the pommels of their swords. Aerona balled her fists, resisting the urge to draw steel.
The Appraiser put his quill down, and though his eyes bulged, they seemed to settle, like a puff fish that has been pricked. “I would not think of it. I simply tell you what is. I am an honest man. Have you known me for otherwise?”
“Only to scum that you do not like. I thought myself otherwise.”
“Two years past, dear Robett, the Black Storm’s wrath faded. Heh, that made the holy land cautious, and Trecht less willing to mingle in affairs. Then, ah, not a year past High Priestess Gloria suddenly dies, and of all within the clergy, those pious fools pick a slip of a girl to don the mantle of Voice. An orphan, if you can believe that! King Marcus has become overbold, but the Dalian knights, no, they are more vigilant than others. You are not the only captain who has since come to me with, hmm, less than what he used to.”
“What is your offer, Appraiser?” Robett asked sternly.
The Appraiser returned to his quill and parchment, scribbled some more, then circled a sum. He passed it to Robett. Aerona stood on her tippy-toes to see the sum, and knew her father would not be pleased.
“Is this some jest, Appraiser? One hundred and fifty gold coins? The bounty is worth more than that! Do not cheat me.”
“Yes, yes, and I am most generous in that,” the Appraiser said, folding his hands together. “Though I am not unkind. If you but listen to an offer from a, hmm, a good friend, a remarkable partner upon the seas, yes, I shall raise it to two hundred gold coins.”
Figures and sums had not come easy to Aerona, though she thought they were coming easier day by day. Still, she knew that even two hundred gold coins would barely account for supplies and weapons. She looked to her father: his face was strained but resolved.
“The other captains, have they taken your offer?” Robett asked.
“Most have, yes,” the Appraiser proclaimed with an all too slimy look of approval across his face. “Some reject it and have gone on their way. I have not heard from them in some time. Did you see them upon the sea on your journey to this bounty?”
Aerona looked to her father. She had not often seen dismay upon his face, but it was clear as day. Brokers like the Appraiser held the smugglers and reavers by the throat, and he knew it.
“I care little for the affairs of others. Only my own,” Robett replied.
“Much like your daughter here?”
Aerona felt the eyes of the Appraiser upon her, and she felt so dirty and naked. Averting her eyes, she noticed the sellsword beside the old man eye her inquisitively. His face was covered by a plate helm, though the blue of his eyes shone with mischief. She placed a hand on the hilt of her steel.
“Now, now, let us not make a mess here,” the Appraiser said, whilst waving a dismissive hand. “I merely made an inquiry.”
“If we had not known each other for as long as we have,” her father said, grating his teeth. “I would allow her to gut you.”
The Appraiser laughed and sat back in his chair. “Then who indeed would keep you afloat at sea? Will you raid the shores to the east and west, earn the ire of the men and women who have hitherto left you alone? E
ven if you assailed Dalia’s shores, their meagre fleets would come after you. Sers Jacob Merlen and Johnathan Falenir would be all too happy to rid the realm of you. No, you will not do that. You will listen to my offer—for yours and your daughter’s sake.”
“All I hear is poison,” Aerona said flatly. She felt her father’s hand on her shoulder, but she pressed on. “The islands are still mean. We cannot live off them. If we must raid more fertile shores, then that is what we shall do.”
“You have raised her well, old friend,” the Appraiser said without so much of a glance at her. “Is this your mind—is this your men’s minds?”
The labourers said not a word, and Tatum and Jenning bowed their heads in obeisance. Aerona knew that it did not mean much. If they were truly dissatisfied, the whole crew would rise in unison far away from any shore.
“Our gold, Appraiser,” Robett declared.
The Appraiser marked a section of his coin towers with his bony hand and pushed them forward. Jenning collected them all in a satchel and lugged it over his shoulder.
“Fare thee well, Appraiser,” her father said. “Until our next meeting.”
Aerona turned and followed her father. The men were near the door when a voice called out, “Heh, you will not make it more than a day before I hunt you down. I might have a taste of that cunt before I toss her to the Deep Below, though. It has been too long since I took a small woman to my bed.”
Aerona drew her steel, and her father did the same. Tatum followed in kind, though Jenning pushed the labourers out the door, running behind them.
“What did you say to me?!” Aerona demanded.
“Me? I did not say a word,” the Appraiser professed, hands up.
“Leave, old man,” the threatening voice said again. Aerona could see it was the middling sellsword who sat closest to the Appraiser, who eyed her with those mischievous blue eyes. “You did your part—incompetently—but you did it. Small bloody mercies.”
The Appraiser bobbed his head, pushed the towers of coins into satchels, and sauntered off like a rat with his tail caught between his legs.
The sellsword flared his crimson cape and removed his plate helm, revealing long flowing blonde hair and a hard, scowling face. The other sellswords stood to his side.
“Tell me why I should not cut your throat?” Robett demanded.
The sellsword laughed as if a chill shot through his body. “Oh, I know you would very much like that, Robett Harkan, but you could not, not to me, not here in mine own den. I doubt overmuch that you could slay me, even if I did not have my own men. Come now. Put that steel away. You would do well to hear what I have to say.”
Aerona did not release her steel. Nor did her father or Tatum.
“Put yours down on the table, all of you,” Robett commanded.
The sellswords tossed their swords upon the table without a command from the one who spoke. He simply sat there, laughed, then put his own down. The blades were long with a slight curve and the pommels ornate, depicting lions and wolves.
Tatum followed in kind. Aerona did not want to, but tossed her steel afterwards. Her father did so last, reluctantly.
“Are you more at ease, Robett Harkan?” the sellsword asked.
“Your name?” her father asked.
“Damian Dannars,” the sellsword said, smiling widely. “You know of me, that is well. You cannot hide that from your face.”
Robett seemed to tense before answering. “I have heard many stories. I know that you are Trechtian—”
“Impudent bastard!” Damian exclaimed, slamming down on the table. His eyes looked sere and inflamed. “I long gave up my birthland. I do not, will not, serve that wretched king. He does not deserve loyalty. One day, mark me, one day he will meet a bloody end. ‘Tis a shame I shall not be there for it.”
“Yet you were born there, Damian,” Robett insisted. “We heed no overlord, whatever claims you may make.”
Damian sat back, amusement spreading across his lips. “Remove your helms, my friends.”
The men did so. The sellsword on the right had short cropped hair and a stern, hard face. The other was tall and broad, with a welcoming face that Aerona thought hid dark secrets. She did not trust either of them.
“Davat Ducat to my left,” Damian declared. “And Daniel Baccan to my right. You may know him as the Corsair.”
Aerona knew of the Corsair. Smugglers had often spoke of him in their cups. They said he traded in slaves and whores, and none dared double cross him. Yet she did not think that such a man would have the noble and austere look that he had.
“If I do understand you right, Damian,” Robett began. “You would have me trust you, a disgruntled noble from Trecht, a smuggler who trades in flesh, and a thug who is in your employ? I am no fool, Damian—I see your play. You would hold the Appraiser at sword point, have him serve your whims, and give all other captains a choice: subservience or death—all the while you reap the little coin that remains for the lot of us. You would dominate the sea but make beggars of us all!”
Damian smiled ear to ear and looked to Daniel. “Have you ever met a man who is so right and wrong?”
“Speak to my face, Damian,” Robett demanded.
“So be it,” Damian said, turning back. Aerona saw a glimmer in his eye as he spoke. “I would dominate the sea but make beggars of you? No, I would raise you in power—not to a captain of some galley, but fleets! You see, I know King Marcus better than any man living. I know what he wants. What he lusts after. Most of all, I know that it rests in the Dalian mainland.
“Daniel and I, we have been feeding lies to the king for years. Now the lies will be greater, more seductive. I will tell the king that it is not just Dalia that harbours secrets, but Isilia as well. Oh, the war that will unfold, Robett! The king will pour all his knights, his ships, his swords unto the Dalian mainland. The pious fools, the arrogant fools in the wasteland, they will be so weak. It is we that shall be kings!”
The plan seemed naught but madness to Aerona, no matter how often she considered it. She did not know what King Marcus could possibly want in Dalia, no less that he would risk all his strength. Though there is merit, if they were to expend themselves—
“What do the Dalians have, Damian?” her father asked furiously. “If it is so treasured by the king, why would you not take that for yourself?”
“You do not understand what it is, nor do I trust you enough to impart knowledge of it,” Damian said. “That may come in time, if you are as strong as tales say. Either way, when the war is at its end, we can take this treasure for ourselves.”
“If you think I would risk the lives of— “
“You would and you will,” Damian interrupted. “I have stood beside the Appraiser for weeks now. The lot of you free captains, or whatever shit name you want to call yourselves, you are all the same. Strong men, yes, but you cannot procure cargo worth time or effort. Months, not years, and there will be mutinies on every one of your fucking vessels. New captains will rise, they will either assail ships that they should not and perish, or continue to collect the scraps of upstart merchants. You follow me or you will descend to the Deep Below, Robett.”
Aerona felt the eyes of her father on her. She knew what he must do. She looked at Damian; she did not trust the man, but she did not doubt him.
“So do the tides of fate turn, then,” Robett said.
“And so begins our sea of storms,” Damian replied, bursting to his feet and laughing all the while. “Retrieve your steel.”
Aerona sheathed her own steel, watching all three men in turn. Davat was dark and brooding, and Daniel did not keep his eyes from Robett. Meanstwhile Damian laughed and jested, as if he and her father were old friends.
Father, our lives are in peril—for we break bread with mad men.
Reign of the Overlord
Dusk
17 February 15130
Daniel did not trust the reservation on the face of Robett Harkan.
It could h
ave been naught at all, but there had been many men who spurned the overlord—not out of fear or better judgment—but only that they knew Damian would bring ruin. That was the look Robett Harkan bore, though he acquiesced. He thinks of his daughter, but if that concern should cease, we may lose our new-found captain.
Daniel looked to Aerona. He did not think her older than fourteen, fifteen seasons at the most. The lass had skill with a blade, her demeanour said as much. He thought she would be a worthy ally when she aged. If she aged.
The other man was big, broad, and carried a swagger about him that Daniel thought would serve well in the days to come.
“So what is next, Damian?” Robett asked suddenly, breaking the silence. “We are yours. What does that entail?”
“You are eager, Robett?” Damian replied, grinning. “Yet you do not know your place. I would have the proper title out of you.”
“Overlord.”
“See that you do not forget it. We shall return to Lanan. The Corsair will take you there.”
“And my ship?” Robett asked. “Do my men have leave to follow your man’s vessel?”
“I did not think you so bland and stupid, Robett,” Damian replied, laughing all the while. “The Corsair will board your vessel and instruct your navigator. Off with you, now. My Ruination will arrive hours before your Hammer. Do not make me wait any longer.”
Daniel had learned not to test the patience of the overlord. He shouldered his way past the trio of conscripts, waving his hand towards the inn door. They followed, mercifully.
The dilapidated town was as barren as when he first arrived. The roof mender ceased his work, likely at the command of the Appraiser. Striking the streets leading to the port, he saw Robett matched stride for stride with an eager look in his eye. Mind what you ask, captain—I am no scared lapdog of your new master.
“Who are you and why do you serve him?” Robett asked sternly.
“You heard what he called me,” Daniel replied gruffly. The Corsair defined him: Emily’s death made sure of that—a fact he did not care to be reminded of. “What I was before does not matter.”
The Prelude to Darkness Page 28