First Draft

A warm breeze blew through the open doors and windows of the Lecherous Parrot. The breeze carried the bitter smells of Khosinga's Port through the tavern, but there were also the always present sweet undertones of the tropical flowers blooming farther up the hills towards the west of town. The spring, such as it was on the island, always brought with it the colorful and pleasant flowers of the myriad of plants. The rains would soon begin in earnest, and outside, to the west beyond the low summit of Khosinga's Peak, the high clouds were already graying with the promise of rains to come.

The breeze also carried with it the noises of the town. The Lecherous Parrot was close to the port town's harbor, on the leeward, eastern side of the island, and the continual creaks of ships in the harbor, the rolling of the sea onto the shore, and the shouts and curses of the shoremen moving crates around were the constant companion of the tavern's patrons.

This early in the afternoon, the tavern itself was quiet and nearly empty, with only eight patrons sitting at tables and along the bar. The ceiling of the tavern had a faded red sail nailed to it, a sail stained from the oily smoke of lanterns and the stale tabac weed burned in cigars and tabac sticks. An old, weather-worn ship's wheel was on one wall, and several wooden etchings of ships and the sea adorned another wall. Behind the bar were several kegs, one row of them featuring various local rums. A rare Eiresudian ale was in another keg, a prize from the last ship that had met the Crimson Sail. Several bottles of wine were in a small rack below the bar.

Captain Jak Stariat's ship, the Crimson Sail, had not sailed in over a week, and most of the crew had already settled into a routine of sleeping through much of the day and drinking through the evening. Morale had lagged, for no sailing meant no income, and many of Stariat's crew had spent their shares of the last prize already. The captain himself had not been seen outside of his roomy mansion for the last week, and it was only through the word of his shoreside "mate", Iain dei Sciotti, that the crew knew that the captain had a scheme in the works.

The bartender, Tangea, an aging ex-sailor, hobbled towards the kegs of rum that lined the wall behind the bar, a meticulously polished pewter mug in hand. Tangea had nearly lost a leg at sea when an inexperienced sailor had released the wrong ropes and the Crimson Sail's brilliant red sail had fallen. Tangea's leg was wrapped up in the ropes, and he had been dragged along the mast. It was only then that the crew found out that the ship's healer was incompetent. By the time the Crimson Sail made it back to Khosinga's Port, the damage to Tangea's leg had become permanent. The healers in port were unable to reverse the damage, and Tangea's sailing days were over. So were the inexperienced sailor's. Despite the crippling injury, Tangea challenged the sailor to a duel, and only Tangea emerged from the dueling pit alive. Tangea now spent his days yearning for the days of sailing, consoling himself with the tales his former mates told in the tavern.

Tangea filled the mug with rum, before settling onto his seat behind the bar to drink, pausing briefly to check his patrons to see if anyone needed anything. Half the time, the regulars would just help themselves, not wanting to trouble Tangea with having to hobble to and fro.

A young man raced into the tavern, breathing hard. A frown flashed across his face as he saw how few people were in the Lecherous Parrot. Gasping for breath, he shouted, "The crew of the Pestilent Blister have called us a bunch of shore-loving cowards! We haven't sailed in a week, and they say we've lost the love of the sea! A few of us challenged them to a honor match up at the Pits, but they outnumber us! Come on!"

A couple of the tavern's patrons scowled at the teenager.

"Ye can't let an honor match go unanswered," Tangea reminded his former fellow-sailors. "Captain Stariat's as good a captain as there is, and his honor and ours is at stake."

One of the men who was sitting alone took a deep draw from his mug. He slammed it down on his table as he stood up. He proclaimed loudly. "One thing's for certain, I ain't a yellow-bellied land-lover, and I love a good fight." As he ran for the door, he tossed a coin at the barkeep.

Another man, likewise sitting alone, was just finishing rolling up several maps when the young man ran into the bar. He slid them into a cylindrical leather case and smiled as the boy relayed the challenge. With a predatory smile that looked out of place on his kind face, he stood and adjusted his sword-belt so his cutlass hung properly from his hip. Deep blue tattoos covered his left arm, markings that his yellowing shirt concealed as its sleeve slid down.

He picked up a crossbow and crossed the tavern for the door. On the way, he tossed a coin wordlessly to the bartender. Outside, he turned to follow the boy. The afternoon sun glinted from a brass sextant hanging from his back. The words "Vasmar Dancer" were boldly engraved on the instrument.

"Who was that?" one of the long-time customers asked.

"He calls himself Haraldur the Navigator," Tangea replied. "He's said he wants a position on Cap'n Stariat's ship."

"Odd name for a Kellt, eh? It sounds more like one of those Javik Raiders."

"Aye," Tangea agreed.

"A coupla maps like those, and jumpin' in to defend the Sail's honor will get him far in Cap'n Stariat's eyes," another man said.

"Aye, 't will," Tangea agreed. "Do you know the other one who followed Peeper out, Enzo?"

Enzo shrugged. "He's an Italic man. Marius, I think he said his name was. Looking to get a post on the Crimson Sail as well." Enzo stood and smiled to the barkeep. "Tangea, keep the ale cold and the tabac dry. We'll be needin' our share after we take care of this bit of excitement. Maybe I'll find out when the Cap'n will be needing the services of his transaction coordinator once again." Enzo strolled out to follow the other men.

"Transaction coordinator?" the customer asked.

"Enzo is Jak's favorite fence. Good chap, Italic merchant, I think. He's an honest one, for a fence."

A young woman strolled down the hill towards the Lecherous Parrot. Her raven black hair was braided tightly, hanging in a rope over her right shoulder. She grinned as Peeper ran towards her, focused on getting back to the Pits before the fight started. He did not even notice when she took a half step to get right in his way and braced for a collision. The gangly boy ran smack into her.

"Ooof," she barked. She tossed her braided her back over her shoulder and braced the boy, keeping him from falling. "Where ya be headed in such a hurry, Peeper?"

Peeper blushed, a crimson streak that raced up his neck and covered his face. "Khiyara... Honor match... Pits... They called us land-lovers..." he panted.

Khiyara grinned wickedly. Several men had followed Peeper out of the Lecherous Parrot. "Well, I think we'll just have to teach them a lesson or two, aye?"

Peeper grinned and nodded to her. The teenaged girl tightened the lace that held her braided hair and tapped her knives to make sure they were secure in their scabbards before following Peeper. "A good little brawl sure as Hells beats taking money from the sandfleas down at the docks," she stated.

Peeper resumed his race up the road towards the Pits. Khiyara had started calling him "Peeper" last spring, when his voice started to crack. That, or she really had seen him when he was standing outside her open window that hot summer night. It wasn't his fault she had left the curtains open to get a breeze in her room, after all. Peeper stumbled on an uneven paving stone, his mind lost on a memory of the raven-haired Khiyara that he would not soon forget. Blushing again, he picked himself up from the stones and turned down a wide alleyway.

At the end of the short alley was a wide square of sand, twenty paces to a side, with a low wooden fence surrounding it. One building opened into the alley, with a shingle over its wide entrance proclaiming "the Pits". A hellish chasm had been painted onto the shingle for the less literate. An unruly crowd of pirates and fellow-travelers encircled the sands of the Pits' fight arena. The crowd was clearly divided into three groups, with the Pestilent Blister's crew and supporters against the far edge of the Pits. A far smaller group faced them from across the sands, representatives of the Crimson Sail who were sober enough and awake enough to respond to the challenge. A larger crowd stood along the two other sides of the pit, eager ne'er-do-wells who were interested in the early afternoon contest. The alley was stifling, with the press of the crowd, the heat of the afternoon sun, and the inability of the breeze to reach the sandpit. The stink of sweat was palpable in the dead-end alley.

Peeper stopped next to a well-dressed man on the Crimson Sail's side of the pit. "Master dei Sciotti, I rounded up everyone from the Lecherous Parrot. The crew's been sleeping the day, lately. We've been ashore too long." Peeper covered his mouth, a brief panic flashing across his face as he glanced cautiously at the lean Italic man.

Master dei Sciotti did not react to the comment. Instead, he looked over the new arrivals. His left hand rested lightly on the swept hilt of the sword he bore, while his right hand absently fidgeted with the loose hem of his blousy shirt. The elaborate hilt of the sword and the cut of his clothing readily marked him a man of Italic fashions, and his dark hair, pulled tight in a tail, lent to his Italic airs.

"New arrivals, I see," he said to no one. "I am Master Iain dei Sciotti, Captain Jak Stariat's charge of land affairs. If you seek a position aboard the Crimson Sail, I am the man who decides if the Captain will see you."

From across the pit, a burly, dark complexioned man bellowed, "The Crimson Sail is crewed by children and girls now? Is that the best the Crimson Sail can get?"

Peeper leapt over the low fence and onto the sands. "The Crimson Sail's children can beat the Blister's men!"

He glanced around the sand. Practice weapons were organized along two edges of the Pits. Most of the weapons were wooden practice swords, closely balanced and weighted to match their sharpened steel counterparts. Several rapiers, with blunted tips and rebated edges, also had been placed in the sand next to a pair of steel cutlasses that were clearly sharp.

The rules of a pit fight were straightforward ­ there were two of every weapon, sharp or practice. The contestants could enter the Pits at any time, select a weapon from their side's supply, and face off against whoever from the other side wielded that same weapon. Fights continued until one or the other combatant chose to forfeit, or was rendered unable to fight, which usually meant being knocked unconscious by the battering of the wooden weapons. Once a contestant had won a fight, he was no longer obligated to remain in the Pits, although he could grab another weapon (or keep the one he already had) and keep fighting. Fighters were not allowed to help others, and fights with mismatched weapons were not permitted. If a fighter chose a weapon and no one from the other side fought him, he would win by default. The sharp cutlasses were available if there were blood feuds to settle, but they were rarely used outside of personal grudges. Per Pits tradition, a pair of healers hired by the challenging crew waited at a table near the fenced sandpits to tend to wounds.

The contest would continue until no one remained on the sands of the Pits. The side with the most victories in single combat would be declared the winner.

Peeper grabbed a curved wooden sword, modeled on an al-Rhayidhian scimitar. He quickly moved through a few guard positions, feeling its balance. It was blade heavy, since the wooden blade had to be much stouter than its steel counterpart to hold up to abuse. Glaring across at the crew of the Pestilent Blister, Peeper waited for a challenger.

The burly man climbed over the fence. "Little whelp, get ready for a lesson." He grabbed his side's scimitar waster and closed on the gangly young man.

The loud crash of wood striking wood echoed through the Pits, along with the shouts and cheers of watchers urging the contestants on or placing side bets.

Khiyara stopped just short of the alley way leading to the pits in order to catch her breath and to scope the crew as the brawling started with a dull roar. Master dei Sciotti stood on the edge of the pit, eagle eyeing the action in the pit. Khiyara strode deliberately up to the well dressed gentlemen and stood as straight as she could, letting her stance echo his. She glanced to the sides as the Crimson Sail's crew arrived. There were faces she didn't recognize starting to side with the crew as well. "Ahh. New prospects Master dei Sciotti?"

The older gentleman grunted in answer but kept his eyes on the action in the sand pit. With a shrug, Khiyara strode to the weapons pile for the Crimson Sail and stripped her crossbow, quarrels, and her throwing daggers as well.

"Well Master dei Sciotti, I can't let newbies have all the fun!" She threw a grin over her shoulder at the older gentleman, and hopped the fence to join the fray.

Once in the pit, she grabbed one of the practice rapiers from the Sail's side and took a few practice lunges, before one of the crew from the Pestilent Blister crossed his rapier with hers and snarled, "Little girls have no place on a ship and even less of a place here lassie."

Khiyara grinned and pushed the burly thug away with both the sword and her other arm. "I don't think you belong here either pus face. Geesh, when did you clean your teeth last?"

The thug snarled and raced at the willowy girl, but he was angry and clumsy. As the thug charged at her, Khiyara balanced on the balls of her feet, and just as the sailor reached where she should have been, she spun out of his way and brought the flat of her blade across the sailor's backside. The sailor rolled to the ground and came back up madder than ever.

"Oh girlie, you'll pay for that one."

Khiyara grinned back and waited for the attack. The two exchanged attacks, deflecting one another's blows for a minute before Khiyara twirled to one side and stabbed her dulled rapier strongly into the man's ribs. As he spun to face her, she punched him resoundingly on the chin with the solid cup hilt of her rapier. The pirate fell to his knees at Khiyara's feet.

Bruised and battered, Khiyara wiped the blood from the side of her mouth where she had met the hilt of her opponent's rapier by accident. "It was a fine brawl man, but I don't think I'll be thankin' ye for the lesson just yet."

The older pirate spat on the sand at Khiyara's feet and dragged himself to his feet, returning his weapon to the table with a slam. He stomped out of the pit to seek care from the healers.

Khiyara placed her weapon on its table as well, and winced as she ran her hand over yet another scrape on her cheek. She climbed over the fence to the Sail's weapons pile to retrieve her own weapons.

Peeper and his opponent were exchanging blows. The burly sailor put Peeper on the defensive quickly. A flurry of violent swings left Peeper with no option but to parry, both hands white-knuckled on the waster's grip. The snarling sailor's cruel smile grew as Peeper's eyes widened in desperation. The young man's arrogance had bested him, and he was slowly coming to the realization that he would not win the fight.

Marius approached dei Sciotti. Trying not to sound overly eager, he offered, "Master Sciotti, I seek your permission to defend the honor of the Crimson Sail. I have heard nothing but good things about the crew of this magnificent vessel and I'm eager to offer my skills to such a lady."

Dei Sciotti appraised the new arrival. "This is your lucky day boy, jump in there and show me what you're made of."

In the sandpit, Peeper swung, an awkward attack from his left. The sailor stepped to Peeper's exposed right and chopped his scimitar-waster in a rapid downward weak-side cut of his own. Peeper's shriek of pain echoed in the confines of the dead-end alley. He dropped his waster, his left arm gingerly grabbing his right, which now hung at an odd angle from mid-arm, where the burly sailor's wooden sword had smashed it. Peeper stumbled towards the healers, tears flowing from his eyes, the mocking laughter of the burly sailor echoing in his ears.

Marius announced, "They'll learn better than to challenge the Crimson Sail!" as he hopped over the low fence and entered the arena. He ran past the training weapons, heading towards the burly sailor who had bested Peeper as he shouted, "You'll need better moves than that to defeat me you yellow bellied land lover."

Marius dove in a nimble somersault to grab the scimitar Peeper had discarded. Landing on his feet, Marius held the sword at ready in his left hand. His face screwed in disgust as he surveyed his burly opponent. "You're one ugly sailor. After the pounding I dish out to you, it might just improve your looks. It certainly couldn't make them worse."

Marius jabbed the wooden scimitar at the sailor, gauging its balance and heft while watching his opponent's reactions. The sailor readily deflected the half-hearted blows before he commenced his own powerful attack. The wide swings never found their mark as Marius deftly weaved past his opponent's scimitar. As he dodged the attacks, Marius saw an opening.

Smack! Marius's scimitar reported as it struck the sailor's rear.

Angered and insulted by the blow, the sailor snarled, "Why you little..."

Marius laughed as he delivered a lightning-fast series of blows to the sailor, cracking a rib and causing the sailor to cough blood. Several more rapid exchanges of cuts and parries passed between the two opponents until the sailor overextended in an ungainly overhead chop. Marius spun past the blade, avoiding the painful blow by mere inches, and he swung his wooden scimitar at the back of the burly sailor's neck. The waster struck with a dull thud, and the sailor collapsed, unconscious.

Marius took a moment to catch his breath. He glanced towards Iain dei Sciotti, who nodded approvingly. "That one is for Peeper!" Marius shouted.

Three more sailors entered the pits. Two of them grabbed the burly sailor by the ankles to drag him out of the pits. The third, a tall, slender pirate with an eye patch, hefted the fallen scimitar.

"Ye'll not git the best of me, matey!" he vowed. The pirate threw a quick swing at Marius, catching the newcomer off-guard and tearing the front of his shirt.

"That was my good shirt you skinny little plank," Marius blurted. "You best not make me angry. You wouldn't like me when I get angry."

"Oooh, I'm scared now," the pirated retorted.

Recovered from the surprise, Marius began to probe his opponent's defenses: a jab here, a slash there. The pirate received each of the blows, following most with repostes of his own. Marius unleashed a volley of blows on the slender pirate, grimacing as the pirate handily deflected each of them. Exhaustion was setting in already. The pirate sneered as he sliced again with his wooden practice weapon. The scimitar found its mark, striking Marius's left arm and jarring the scimitar from his grip. Marius clenched the painful bruise on his arm, chuckling quietly.

"What's so funny, waif?" the pirate barked. "Ye'll not be swinging that sword again today."

Marius reached for the scimitar with his right hand. "Alas, my tall, skinny friend. I know something that you don't know."

"What's that?" the pirate prompted, confused.

"I'm not left handed, you fool," Marius laughed. He shifted to a fighting stance, keeping his bruised left arm behind him.

The pirate was slack-jawed. In a blur, Marius struck the pirate three times, first to the leg, then to the ribs, finally to the side of the skull. The pirate reeled backwards. Marius followed without hesitation, sweeping the pirate's legs out from under him. With the pirate splayed on the sand, Marius placed the tip of his wooden sword at pirate's throat.

"Surrender!"

The pirate gamely nodded. Marius let him crawl away. Seeing no other takers for the scimitar, Marius returned his to the Crimson Sail's table before taking his place in the line forming at the healers' table.

The two healers were not terribly busy yet. They were both focusing their attentions on Peeper as Marius waited. One held the lad's broken arm in place, ignoring the pained yelps of the patient, while the other wove strands of Heka through the broken bone. It fused into place, whole once more.

"I'll heal the break, whelp," the healer shouted over the din of the fighting, "but I'll not heal the bruises that come with it. It'll be a reminder to you not to choose a fight you can not win. Now get along."

Peeper cautiously moved his right arm. The middle of his upper arm had already turned sickly yellow, and there was still a slight chill from the healing, but he could move it without the sharp pains of a broken bone. The dull ache of the bruises was another matter. Peeper walked sullenly towards the Sail's side of the fence, pausing long enough to grab a small mug of rum from a serving wench's tray. The rum would soothe the hurt of the bruise as well as the hurt of the pride.

Enzo put an arm around Peeper, careful to avoid the bruise. "Not to worry, kid, you'll have better days."

Peeper glanced up at the fence uncertainly. Enzo had a mug of foaming ale, and there was a smear of blood on his lip.

"You fought, too?" Peeper asked incredulously.

"Aye," Enzo said before taking a drink to wash the taste of blood from his mouth. "It was a quiet day, and I haven't had anything to dispose of from the Cap'n lately. I'm not much of a fighter, but it's always good for some sport."

The skinny pirate soon joined Marius at the table, limping from the deep bruise in his leg. The healers turned their attentions to Marius.

"May we never meet in real battle, you're as crazy as they come!" the pirate said hopefully.

As the healers finished their arts on Marius's wounds, Marius winked at the pirate. He joined the other contestants on the Crimson Sail's side of the pit.

A young woman strolled into the sandpit, heedless of the other fights taking place around her. Her long, dark red hair swung behind her, full of tiny braids and beaded and trinketed lengths. As she picked her way across the arena, she held a practice rapier loosely in her right hand, letting its tip make shallow lines in the sand at her feet.

At the center of the pit she stopped abruptly and looked up. Her eyes were bright, and her smile wide and catty, as she bellowed, "Alrigh', ye lot of pox-faced bilge rats! Which one of ye 'as the brass t' take on lil ol' me?"

A wiry little lemur of a man jumped the fence from the Pestilent Blister's side of the pit with a cheer from his crewmates, and the game began. A flurry of strikes later, the woman dumped the man over her shoulder and onto his back. She promptly placed a trim leather boot firmly on his throat.

"Yield?"

He grunted. She let him up, and as he scrambled to his knees she gave him a good swat to his thigh to encourage him off. "Good boy, an' don't let me hear ye insultin' me ship again!"

She strolled back off the arena floor, dropping the rapier in its spot as she passed it, and drifted towards the rest of her crewmates to watch the rest of the fights.

Master dei Sciotti watched some of the new faces on his side of the pit. Spotting Enzo, he approached the fence with a warm smile.

Iain spoke loudly over the din of the pit fight in his native Italic tongue. "Enzo Liuzzi, my friend. How good to see you out here this day." Captain Stariat's shoreside administrator glanced over his shoulder at the thin ranks of sailors on the Crimson Sail's side of the sandy pit. "It makes up for the rat-bitten crew who have been drinking the night away. Captain Stariat certainly would not have expected his favorite transaction coordinator to step up to defend his name."

Enzo nodded and laughed. "Well, it's been too long since the good Captain's been out at sea, and there's but a few trinkets to be had."

"I hope the healers treated you better than they did Peeper. One moment..." Iain switched to the Islander tongue. "Peeper, lad. Fine fight!"

"Thank you, Master dei Sciotti," Peeper mumbled, his head hanging low.

"Don't worry, lad, you'll have better days to come. Be good, and run up to the Captain's house. Tell him I'll be along with some mates soon." Dei Sciotti watched the young teen jog away, still probing at the painful bruise on his arm. Switching back to Italic, he continued his conversation with Enzo. "The Captain wanted me to pick out a few of the better behaved crew for something he has planned. Captain Jasmelde of the Pestilent Blister always was a little slow on the take, so he was more than willing to mock Captain Stariat. A fight this early is a good way to pick out the loyal crew who haven't buried themselves in the bottle after a week at shore." Iain chuckled. "Enzo, come with me up to the Captain's house. I think you'll appreciate what he has in mind."

Iain stepped past several spectators to stand next to Marius. The newcomer had put on an impressive display in the pits, and it was clear that he wanted to impress Iain.

In Islander, dei Sciotti said, "Well fought, good man. Do you sail as well as you fight?"

Marius replied in Italic, "Sir, I've got two passions...Fightin' and works o' art, be they a well crafted sculpture or a fine woman." He paused to wink. "As for sailin', I do as well as any other."

Switching to Italic once more, Iain asked, "And by what name are you known?"

"Marius D'Oro is the name me mother gave me sir. I hail originally from Porto Vicenza. If yer lookin' for a loyal, hard workin' crewmember, I be yer man."

"I am picking out some crew to meet with the Captain. We're provisioning a second ship, and I think you'll make a fine addition. Come with me once the fight is over."

Iain strolled over to Khiyara, who was scowling as she watched the fight. In fluent al-Rhayidhian, Iain said, "The good Captain ordered me to roust you from your bed personally if you were not at this fight. I had hoped you were sleeping in this fine morning." Iain winked at her. "You'll want to come with me. Captain Stariat is putting to sea, soon, and he wants you along."

Khiyara grinned evilly at Iain. Her voice was mockingly innocent. "Master dei Sciotti, ye dirty old pirate, now why would you be wanting to catch a dirty little waif like me at my worst, especially when ye know how jealous your Mistress Dinera would be if she were to see ye lurkin' outside my door that early in the morning."

Dei Sciotti raised an eyebrow at the girl. "That assumes I'd be outside your door, waif. It'd be difficult to roust you from your bed from outside, after all."

Khiyara laughed loudly and finished wiping the blood from her battered face with the astringent the healer had given her.

Iain approached the other of the Crimson Sail's women. Switching back to Islander, he said, "Good of you to show up this morning, too, Rhiannon. I was wondering if you were going to make it to the fight. You're usually the first one here when there's a pit fight. No matter. The Captain wants some of his crew to visit with him when the fight is over. Come with me."

Two more of the Blister's crew hopped the fence to grab practice weapons, as did one of the Sail's crew. Another of the Blister's men shouted across the sand in Northern-Kelltic, the language of the Kelltic nations of the distant Vasmar. "Haraldur the Navigator. It looks like you've chosen the wrong side of the boat again. And I thought I saw the last of you on that island in the Tammar."

"And last time I saw you I swore revenge," replied the dour Kellt who had followed the crew of the Sails to the pits.

"Did ye now?" snarled the larger man, this time in the local tongue of the Islands, "It t'was a bit hard to hear you over the screams of your Javik whore."

"My wife," replied Haraldur through clenched teeth, the knuckles on his hands white from their involuntary grip.

"I didn't think that barbarian ceremony would have counted," mocked the large Kellt with a huge grin, "Besides, you should have heard her moan by the time we were done with her."

The man stood laughing with his compatriots from the other crew. Haraldur was beyond thought, seething with hatred. One of them would die this very afternoon, the rules of the pits and the honor of the Crimson Sail be damned. Having already dropped his gear, Haraldur leapt the low fence and snatched the two sharpened blades. The other man took his time disengaging from his mates and stepped into the arena.

The larger Kellt laughed, then turned to Haraldur. The man formerly known as Petty Officer Caden was a good foot taller than the navigator and easily outweighed him, but Haraldur was blind with rage and no longer cared. He threw the other cutlass at Caden's face, causing the larger man to raise his arms up to catch it. Deftly, Haraldur closed the range and lunged at the man's exposed ribs. The enlisted man managed to dodge the blow, but just barely, leaving a torn shirt and a smear of blood to show proof of how close the blade had come to killing him right there.

"Ahh, so that's the way you want to play it?" Caden growled, swinging his cutlass down and forcing Haraldur to back of a few paces. His swing was greater than the navigator's, but Haraldur had been trained as a young man at the Saviolo School of Defence in Londoun - as was proper to his station. Swords rang, feet shuffled through the dust, insults were shouted, and blows were exchanged. At long last, Caden landed a savage slash across Haraldur's midsection, forcing the smaller man against the edge of the arena.

"Had enough... sir?" Caden hissed, snarling the last word with a vile curl of his lip. "Unless you wish me to spill more of your lordship's officer blood." His friends on the sidelines started laughing, enjoying seeing their mate so easily trump the ragged representative of the Crimson Sails.

Haraldur leapt to his feet, gripping the cutlass with two hands and directing a series of savage blows against his opponent. Both men bled from numerous slashes as they continued to hack at one another. The other contestants in the pit ceased their fights, wary of the swinging, deadly blades that clashed far too close to them.

Despite the brutal force of the larger fighter, Caden did not have the finesse needed to strike a terminal blow against his better-trained opponent. Caden was winded and exhausted from his onslaught. He stumbled to his knees as Haraldur closed once more. The shorter Kellt hacked repeatedly at Caden, battering his cutlass against his opponent's, until Caden could no longer hold off the attack. Haraldur's cutlass left its deep mark on the larger Kellt over and over, as Caden fell to the ground, dead.

Haraldur staggered back, looking at the gory carnage he had wrought. He dropped the cutlass as he stumbled towards the edge of the Pit. As he reached the edge of the sands, he rolled his left sleeve up to expose the tattoos on his arm. Thirty names had been etched in dark blue ink. Five had been crossed off, and tonight Haraldur would add a sixth.

After the healers plied their arts on Haraldur, Iain approached.

"Well," Iain said.

"Well," replied the man, unsure of what else to say.

"The Captain appreciates strangers who fight for him. He also is looking for a second navigator, and I noticed you have a sextant. Surely you do not carry that just for decoration. If you can follow the stars, come with me."

"I always follow the stars," confirmed Haraldur.

"That other man called you an officer. By what name are you known and what positions have you held?"

"Haraldur the Navigator. I have been Sailing Master, Navigator, Ship's Healer, and occasional musician."

"Musician? Good, The Captain does love his music. When you're fit to stand, come with me."

"Aye, aye, sir," Haraldur replied, eyeing the healers' work and deciding that he would have to simply redo most of their efforts himself later that evening. "I'm fit to travel now."

With the fight over, the noise in the alleyway quickly subsided. Iain called out to the remaining crew of the Crimson Sail. "Men, well fought. We will be putting to sea today, to get out before the rains hit the island." There was a small cheer. "Head back to the Lecherous Parrot, and have drinks. Tell Tangea that I am buying." Another cheer. Turning to the men and women he had gathered, Iain said, "And we shall have a talk with Captain Stariat. Come along."

Iain led the entourage down the alleyway and onto the main road. He turned left, up the gentle slopes towards the larger, richer houses. Several minutes later, after weaving through the midday foot traffic, Iain stopped at one of the whitewashed mansions that lined the stone-paved avenue.

Patches of dark green moss clung to the shadows of the house. Gray streaks along the walls marked the stains of water dribbling from the roof. On closer inspection, a fresh coat of whitewash was a year or more overdue.

Iain walked up to a faded oak door with tarnished brass fittings. He pushed the door open and stepped into the markedly cooler interior of the house.

Iain sighed. "That was probably the best payoff the Captain ever had. That mage was a testy hostage, but he did a nice job making the interior of this house comfortable." Glancing back at the other guests, he elaborated, "The Captain captured a ship a few years back that had a mage on his way home to al-Rhayidh. The mage did not put up much of a fight. It turns out he had specialized in magicks used on homes, not on magicks used in battle. He complained endlessly about the heat and humidity, to the point that Captain Stariat was ready to kill the mage. I suggested to the Captain that he should let the mage buy his freedom in exchange for making this house comfortable. The mage worked his dweomers, and now the Captain has one of the only cooled houses on the island."

The interior had a motley mixture of décor. Some Kelltic artwork hung next to Italic statues, while al-Rhayidhian rugs covered the cool stone floor. A pair of stylized Hellenic vases shared a table that was almost too small for them. Overhead, the cool, steady light of Heka globes streamed from a pair of lanterns. A stairwell on one side of the room climbed to the second floor, where a small balcony opposite the entry served as the hallway between two rooms. Beneath the balcony was a single door.

Iain strode across the atrium to the ground floor door. He rapped on it sharply and paused to adjust his jacket.

A muffled voice on the far side of the door shouted, "Come!"

Iain opened the door and stepped through. "Captain Stariat, I gathered the crew you wanted, and I brought a couple of promising additions."

A long, ornate table, stolen from a noble's personal galleon, filled the room. Several chairs, some of them matching, lined the two sides of the dining table, and someone had arranged three candelabras on the table. One of them glowed a soft bluish tint. Sitting at the table, near the middle, were two men. The first had the traditional white robes of an al-Rhayidhian. His back was to the atrium's door. He sipped coffee from a delicate al-Rhayidhian cup. As Iain entered, he turned to see the new arrivals, revealing a neatly trimmed beard and mustache.

The other man at the table stood up. He wore a long officer's jacket, with epaulets removed. His dark beard was unkempt and long, with several braids along the bottom. He wore a scimitar at his side, an affectation he had picked up over the years sailing with al-Rhaydhians who cherished the sharp single-edged sword. Dark, long hair hung loosely down the back of his jacket. His green eyes twinkled mischievously as he surveyed his new guests.

"Iain, my dear," he growled in Islander. "Bring in this crew for me." Switching to a Kelltic-accented al-Rhayidhian, he turned to his guest. "Master Merchant Hassi, we will have to continue our discussion of tabacs another day. I have business to attend to."

"Of course, Captain Jak," the al-Rhayidhian merchant replied. He took his coffee cup and left the room, bowing his head slightly at Iain in greeting.

Once the merchant was gone, Captain Jak Stariat picked up his own coffee cup, a larger, sturdier pottery cup from Brallian. Switching back to Islander, he muttered, "I can't stand this coffee. It needs something..." He picked up a crystal decanter half full of reddish brown liquid. He poured it into the half-full coffee mug until the mixture was about to overflow. Setting the decanter back on table, he took a sip. Sighing blissfully, he said, "Better." Returning his attention to Iain, he said, "Show me this crew."

Iain made quick introductions of the new men and briefly described the fight at the pit.

"Enzo, you fought for my name?" Captain Stariat smiled. "Now that's what I call a good fence! Please, take a seat. I am going to need a good fence for this game."

Enzo took his seat and added, "Just burning off a few weeks' of rot, Captain, and looking forward to getting back to some intrigues for certain."

To the two women, Jak said, "Ladies, please take a seat. And, Khiyara, `ladies' is not fighting words."

Khiyara grinned mock-sweetly at the captain. "But of course not captain." She took her customary seat three down from the captain's seat on the left. She slouched down into her chair with her feet stretched in front of her, ankles crossed. She plopped her elbows on the arms of the chair and steepled her fingers as she studied the newcomers with interest. Her eyes fell on the one called Haraldur. He had fought a vicious blood duel in the pits, and he was good, but what on Oerth did the good captain need with a second navigator? I wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of that sword, but I'm surely not stepping aside for some hoity-toity newbie.

Jak glanced around the room. "Where is she?" he snarled as he walked to the back wall, next to a door. He pounded on the wall. "Ophri, dear servant! Please come out here to fetch my guests whatever they would like to drink. Fighting in the Pits is hard work."

Exploding through the door was a young woman, not yet sixteen. She wore a pale conservative dress of Kelltic cut that she continually fussed with. Her long raven hair was tied back in a single braid. Her coal-black eyes flared as she snarled, in al-Rhayidhian, "I am not a servant! Stop calling me a servant!"

Khiyara covered her mouth and dropped her head to stop a snort from exploding from her mouth.

Switching to accented al-Rhayidhian, Captain Stariat snarled back at Ophri, "You have the manners of an oaf. You claim your father is the richest merchant in as-Liaq, where ever that village may be, but I've met slaves with better manners than you. Until you start acting like a proper woman, you'll be a servant in a servant's dress. Now bring drinks."

Watching Ophri stomp back out of the room, Captain Stariat muttered to himself, "One of these days, I'll stop taking teenaged women for hostages. They're not worth it." Glancing back at Khiyara, he added, "Although some of them turned out okay." Looking at his other guests, Jak insisted, "Please, please, everyone. Take a seat. Once Ophri has brought drinks, we'll get underway."

Haraldur looked around the office, still stunned at what he had seen on the way in. Magick was very rare in the Kelltic lands up north, and still feared. The displays that he had seen in this one house alone would have made the King of the Five Crowns weep with envy and the witch hunters chortle with vile anticipation.

He shook it off, realizing for the hundredth time today that he was far, far from home. He had missed most of the conversation. He could tell it was the al-Rhayidhian tongue, but he did not know the tongue well enough to understand it. The Islander's language, however, was easier to follow. Haraldur adjusted the straps on his equipment slightly so that they did not rub against his freshly mended wounds.

Taking a good look at the Captain, Haraldur tried to discern where exactly in the Kelltic lands he was from as he waited for the man to get down to the business at hand.

With a lull in conversation, Marius injected, "Captain, it is an honor to meet you sir. I look forward joining your crew and being of service. Might I also add that you have a fine collection of artwork. I noticed the scepter in the other room. It looks al-Rhayidhian, judging from the stylized head of the scepter, and the use of rubies inset in the gold. It also looks very old. A scepter of command from an old caliphate? Enough though, I am anxious to hear what adventures you have planned for us."

"Soon enough. Marius, was it? Italic? Hmm." His eyes focused somewhere in the distance for a moment. "That scepter. Yes. It is an al-Rhayidhian antiquity. Iain tells me it's from their Golden Era, which means it would have been something the Dark One or his minions held. Iain suspects it's a scepter of office from one of the Caliph's Grand Emirs, since the Caliph's scepters have all been kept in the Caliph's treasury."

Enzo snorted, failing to completely stifle a chuckle. With a nod to Jak and Iain, he listened to a tale that he had heard many times before.

"I was on the ship that had the scepter," Iain explained. "The ship was hired by the Academy of Hellenas to carry some antiquities from the Academy back to the Caliph's Library. I was one of the academics they were carrying."

"I boarded the ship and found out it was a ship full of scholars." Jak spat on the floor. "Most useless people I've ever met. Present company excepted, Iain." Iain nodded appreciatively. "Then I found the crates in the hold." He smiled at the thought. "Enzo got most of the goods, of course, in exchange for a hefty pile of coin. I kept the scepter and Iain. I still haven't decided which one is more valuable." He grinned.

Enzo opined, "Tis the hefty pile of coin, Cap'n." He winked and nodded towards Iain.

Ophri returned with drinks for the guests. Her lips pursed, she circled the table, placing mugs heavily in front of each of the guests. Marius smiled at her as she slammed his mug down.

"Thank ye, miss," he offered. She sniffed disdainfully and continued on her task.

Once she had swept back out of the room, slamming the door on the way, Jak turned to his guests.

Jak switched to the rolling lilt of the Brythokelltic tongue spoken in Eiresud. "Haraldur, was it? You're a Kellt, not a Javik, though. From the Kingdom of the Five Crowns? You're a long ways from home, lad. Welcome to my crew. Those cuts still look nasty, even after the healers put their hands on them. Pity the healers on this island leave so much to be desired. I'll be happy when I can get an al-Rhayidhian surgeon."

Jak paced slowly up and down one side of the dining table. In Islander, he spoke. "Iain tells me that the crew have been upset that the Crimson Sail has been in port for over a week now. There's a good reason, but not one I can tell most of the crew. Not yet, at least." He took a long drink from his rum-coffee mixture. His nose twitched at the bitter taste of coffee that the rum did not completely hide. "The Crimson Sail will be provisioning today. I sent Peeper out to get the word to the crew to make the Sail ready. You, my friends, will not be on the Crimson Sail."

Enzo snorted once again, this time trying not to cough up his last sip from his mug. He mouthed, "Not?" in Iain's direction. Iain nodded and smiled.

Jak paused at the head of the table, next to a chair that must have been in a lesser throne room at one time. "We live in a wondrous time. Events are happening in our times that no one has seen in centuries, if ever, and I think even our corner of the world is going to get swept up in these changes." He slapped the chair. "And I want to be there first."

Jak laughed as he resumed his pacing. "The al-Rhayidhians have been making sailing ships that fly. Fly! I have yet to see one, but I've heard the accounts." He stopped at mid table to pour more rum into his coffee. "Imagine! A ship that sails in the sky, away from the roll of the seas."

"Out of reach of pirates on the seas," Iain added.

Jak scowled. "Exactly. Out of reach of pirates. There are not many of these sky ships, and they are expensive. And the crew must learn to operate on masts on the side of the ship, with nothing between them and the land far below. The Caliph's shipyards around al-Qayir are all building sky ships. All of the rich merchant families in al-Rhayidh have orders in for these ships. I've heard that some of the Italic and even Kelltic merchants have ordered sky ships. If we all live until we're old and gray, we won't see valuable hauls from the ships that remain on the seas. All the rich bounties will be flying."

"A flying ship?" Marius thought aloud. "How delicious."

"A flying ship?" Haraldur echoed in his native Kelltic. "I had been on that island a long time." He mused to quietly to himself. A flying ship! Think of the possibilities... If this is the way the stars have led me, then the list on my arm may grow short indeed!

"So why not get a flying ship?" Iain prompted.

"Why not, indeed?" Jak responded as he circled around the table to walk behind his guests. "Certainly I can put together enough coin to buy one, and I could probably bribe someone to be a straw hat buyer, so the builder won't worry when he sees an order for a sky ship for a `Captain Jak Stariat, Pirate'." He took another drink of his rum and snorted. "I considered it, would you believe? The problem is, the wait for a sky ship is already over five years, and I don't want to wait that long."

Marius addressed the captain. "Five years is a long time to wait. May I presume that we are sitting here because there is cheaper, faster way to acquire such a vessel?"

Haraldur smiled, speaking cautiously in heavily accented Islander. "While I am not Javik, I know their raiding ways well. There are many ways to take a vessel, not all of them legal."

"Indeed," Iain noted.

Jak stopped pacing behind Khiyara. "Think about what a sky ship could do for a pirate. Not only could we chase the fat merchants flying over the seas, but we could swoop down," he leaned over Khiyara's shoulder, glancing quickly at her face, "and take treasures from the ships still on the seas." He grabbed her mug and stood back up, sipping from it. "Captain Jak Stariat, the first Sky Pirate!"

Khiyara twisted around in her seat and deftly plucked her mug out of the captain's hands. She looked at him wide eyed, not quite believing what she was hearing. She then turned her gaze on Master dei Sciotti. Was this a joke? Some sort of laugh at our expense? There was a gleam in Iain's eye, the gleam that told her they were definitely up to something "business" related here.

She let out a low whistle of wonder, "A flying ship? A ship that flies in the air? I lived in al-Rhayidh most of my days. I saw the carpets that flew, I even managed to, um, borrow one from one of the rich boys for a few hours, but a ship, an entire ship that flies? I wonder how the winds will differ and the rigging.., surely that has to be different as well. We could avoid the storms."

As Captain Stariat circled back to the far side of the table, Iain pointed out, "A sky pirate wouldn't have to prey on just the sea lanes, either. A sky pirate could sail inshore and raid treasures from a rich noble who thought he was safe, twenty miles from the sea."

"Aye!" Jak barked. "A whole new world of pirating awaits us, my friends. We just need the ship to do it." He smiled as he faced his seated companions. "And that is where you come in."

Enzo's eyes were distant as he thought through the ramifications of a flying pirate's ship. The value of it alone would make us all rich beyond our... well, maybe beyond most of our dreams. Jak's wildest dreams are, after all, pretty wild. The piracy that could be accomplished using such a vessel...

Khiyara looked back at her captain with a gleam in her eye. "When do we sail captain?"

"Soon enough, Khiyara," Captain Stariat replied. He grinned at Marius and Haraldur. "I see I have your attention, and you're already thinking the right way about this little caper. I am taking the Crimson Sail to sea with most of my crew. Like I said, you won't be on the Crimson Sail." Jak looked at Khiyara. "Remember the Tira's Vine?"

Khiyara nodded, "Aye, she's a sweet little lassie of a ship."

Jak explained to the others at the table. "She's an Italic caravel redunda we took two months ago. I put a prize crew on her to bring it here to Khosinga's Port. I was originally going to sell the ship. She's small, but she's not fast. Not enough room for cargo and a full pirate crew, so she can't put to sea to hunt for ships for a long time. Good thing you didn't have a buyer already lined up, eh, Enzo?"

Snapping out of his daydream, Enzo responded, "Ah, no one who'll miss her, and only a small down-payment to return is all."

Jak set down his empty mug. He grabbed the decanter of rum instead. "I've quietly gotten the Tira's Vine ready to sail, and changed her name to the Sky Wind. You'll be taking the Sky Wind to sea, and bringing me back a sky ship. Once I have a sky ship, I have something in mind to tell the world that we're here. That's when I'll need a good fence." Jak smiled at Enzo. "Of course, if you want a chance to go to sea and visit some distant markets to sell some goods, you're welcome to sail with the Sky Wind, Enzo. Master dei Sciotti will be aboard as well."

"Readin' my mind as usual, Jak." Enzo admitted, "A simple man, I must be."

Jak raised a finger dramatically. "You must all be wondering, `where do we get a sky ship?'" Grinning, he pointed the raised finger at Iain.

Dei Sciotti took over the discussion. "We know every sky ship but one calls al-Qayir home port. It's the capital of al-Rhayidh, and the Caliph's seat of power. There are usually several sky ships in port at any given time, and there are always the shipyards building new ships. There's a problem with al-Qayir, however." Iain held one hand out, palm up. A small, crackling globe of lightning appeared over his hand briefly before dissipating.

"The al-Rhayidhians use magick. Lots of magick," Jak explained helpfully before drinking from his decanter.

Iain nodded. "And we know that after the fight against the Dark One in the Wasted Lands south of al-Rhayidh, the Caliph's army started using more magick. They even use flying carpets that can outrun a ship in anything short of a hurricane. If we fly away with a sky ship in al-Qayir, we can be guaranteed a pursuit from the Caliph's men." Iain shrugged and sipped dark al-Rhayidhian coffee from his mug before setting the mug back on the table. "Or, maybe, a mage drawing power from the Great Pyramids of Duzai just outside town will disjoin the magicks of the flying ship, sending us on a rather unpleasant fall into the sea."

Jak sat down on the throne at the end of the table. "Of course, stealing a ship out from under the very noses of the al-Rhayidhians would be impressive."

"If not suicidal," Iain added. "However, the sky ships make regular calls to several duchies in the Italic lands. We Italics are not as magickally active as the al-Rhayidhians, of course, but we still use some magicks. There are certainly no flying carpets, so if we could get in the air quickly, we stand a good chance of getting away. The ships make calls in Hellenas as well, but waiting in a Hellenic port town for one to arrive might be a challenge, considering the propensity of the watchmen to question anyone staying in a Hellenic port town for more than a few days, especially if it's a ship's crew who aren't loading or unloading cargo.

"Many of the ships stop in Brallian, on the Eiresudian coast." Iain sipped coffee again. "The Kellts still don't wield Heka often, but their attitudes are changing, and there is an al-Rhayidhian school of magick in Brallian now. And the Church of Kells is formidable, and they have a large cathedral in Brallian." He set the mug back on the table. "One advantage, or perhaps disadvantage, of all of these places is that they are port towns. Our crew could disappear into the hordes of sailors around the ports, and no one would be the wiser. The sky ships pull their lower masts onto the deck and land in the water before they sail into harbor like any other ship. Once anchored, they'd be vulnerable to a raid. Or, if we could get close to the ship when it was going into the sky or coming back down, we might be able to throw grapples and board from below, but that's risky. Escaping to sea may be tricky, depending on where the navy is and what it's doing when we make our move."

"This will not be easy," Jak observed.

"There is one other port that I know of," Iain added. "It's a port in the Middle Ranges, between Eiresud and the Kingdom of the Five Crowns, called Ithell's Town. Some of the sky ships fly over Eiresud and land in the middle of the mountains at a trade town."

"An inland port," Jak commented, "that very likely has nothing more than a town watch that is keeping any eye out for cutpurses in the marketplaces and highwaymen on the roads. I truly doubt that anyone there has even thought of the risk of pirates stealing a ship. Of course, this town is how far in shore?"

"A few hundred miles," Iain replied. "It is a long ways to walk. It'll be hard to be subtle with twenty or thirty crew following along shouting `Yar' all the time and trying to find Islander rum."

For the first time, Haraldur looked at the flamboyantly dramatic pirate captain with suspicion. "Ithell's Town? There's no such place! Everyone knows that the Middle Ranges are havens of evil, ruled by pillaging Orc tribes and hungry dragons." Haraldur paused, mentally going over the maps of the region in his head. "The only safe city for miles around is the trade town of Arabel Cinlu, which is a den of corruption so thick as to make Khosinga's Port seem like the Cathedral of Kells by comparison. But anyone trying to take a flying ship up and over those frozen passes would be committing suicide..."

Haraldur trailed off, horrible images of broken vessels dashed against the steep cliffs of a mountain valley halting any further comment. He crossed his arms over his chest and eyed the captain warily.

Captain Stariat met Haraldur's gaze, then looked at Master dei Sciotti. "Iain?"

Iain looked bemusedly from Jak to the Kellt. "Arabel Cinlu is a den of corruption that would do the worst pirates proud, yes. The steep valley makes for turbulent winds, and there's little space in the valley for ships. Ithell's Town, however, is a different matter. The orcs of the Middle Ranges have disappeared, and merchants have found a much easier passage from Brallian to Londoun in the lower extents of the Middle Ranges west of Arabel Cinlu. The route saves a few days of travel, and it's open all year, since there aren't high passes like Yeti Pass that a merchant heading to Arabel Cinlu has to cross. Story has it that Ithell's Town is ruled by the general who led the armies against the Dark One two years ago, and the kings of Eiresud and the Kingdom of the Five Crowns are both courting him to sway his allegiance their way, since Ithell's Town is outside both kingdoms, and it's becoming a wealthy free city."

Marius was skeptical. "Well, I don't know anything about Ithell's Town, but I'm certainly familiar with most of the ports in the Italic Duchies. Certainly if flying ships are venturing out from the al-Rhayidhian lands, they would visit the most prominent port in all of the Italic lands, Porto Vicenza." Marius glanced over to Master dei Sciotti. Continuing, Marius said, "It's my home town and I know it very well. Some of you may have friends there, and if not, I certainly know people there who could provide us cover until such time as need to hatch our plan." Marius glanced around the room to see what others think.

Enzo reached over and swatted Marius. "Porto Vicenza?! You're from - ah, we'll talk about it later. Maybe you know some of the girls I once knew... But it's been a number of years since I'va been there, not likely they'll remember me."

Marius turned to look at his assailant with a scowl. "If ye likes ye fingers attached to ye hand, you best not touch me again." After a few seconds of awkward silence in the room, Marius busted out with a light laugh. "Ha! Just kidding, mate! You know Porto Vicenza? Great, we can talk after this and swap stories!"

Iain nodded at the mention of Porto Vicenza. "I haven't been there in years. Not since I left for the Academy. After what Duke Firetta did, I swore I wouldn't return..." He caught himself. "But I digress. Porta Vicenza is the closest of the sky ship ports to Khosinga's Port."

Khiyara sat up straighter in her chair, and began tracing a circle on the table top. From that circle, she drew a line. "Granted, Porto Vicenza is closest to our current location, but the Italics know of the flying ships. They may not know how they work exactly, but being a fairly popular port town anyway, we know they'll be expecting an attack from the pirates at sea. No matter how clever we are, they'll still be watching for the likes of us. They always do, which is what makes stealing from under their noses all the more entertaining. "

Her fingers trailed back to her circle for Khosinga's Port, and traveled to Brallian and stopped there. She drew a large X that would indicate the land. "Now, this Ithell's Town... That's an interesting prospect. If the orcs have truly deserted the territories, it'd make sense to have a new route that bypasses Arabel Cinlu. Think of the riches that will travel the new route if they don't have to worry about the corruption from Arabel Cinlu. From what me momma told me when I was smaller, magicks were not, and from what we've heard here today, still are not used widely in the lands across the sea. I'd bet a bottle of Peeper's favorite rum that the further away from the new magick school we get, the less magick use there will be, which means they're less likely to dismantle the magicks used to fly the ship. Less magick, lots of riches, far enough in land that they won't know to look for the likes of us, I'd say it's a target very ripe for the harvest for the likes of us, if we're to be the first pirates of the sky!"

As the others shifted to comment, Khiyara kept speaking, "Yeah, yeah, I know. It will be tougher to disguise us, this is true, but we have a long trip to prep the crew. We could possibly pose as a rich merchant and his guards, traveling in land to sell goods. Once we reach this Ithell's town, we just need to blend in at market until our ship arrives. Captain, do we have maps available of the regions in land?

"I've never needed inland maps," Captain Stariat replied. "The cartographer in town may have some."

Enzo added, "There's a guy, named Ibn Iben or someting - I know he's got a lot'a inland kind of stuff... always thought he had'a just his al-Rhayidhian places, but maybe. I'll check wit him once we're done here."

"Anything new would be good," added Haraldur. "Things seem to have changed drastically since I was through there last. Which, admittedly, was several years ago." He stopped, hesitating before asking the next question. "Are you, absolutely sure the Kingdom of the Five Crowns has no legal hold on this Ithell's Town?"

Jak looked at Haraldur. "I don't know. It's not on the coast."

Iain interjected. "The Middle Ranges have traditionally been under the claims of both the Kingdom of the Five Crowns and the King of Eiresud. However, in reality, neither of them have made any effort to claim that territory because there was a tribe of orcs who roamed the Middle Ranges. The only human settlement to survive in those mountains was Arabel Cinlu, the free city. Its isolation kept it independent."

Iain got out of his chair and left the room for a minute. He returned with a loosely rolled, large sheet of paper. He moved one of the candelabras to make room for the paper, which he unrolled to reveal an old map of Central Avillonia.

Khiyara moved quickly to stand next to Master dei Sciotti so she could see the map more clearly. Her fingers itched with the urge to hold the map in her own hands, and to study it more closely, to see the way the land played out in front of her, to see, at least on paper, all of the places she had yet to visit. Yes indeedy. Maps are truly one of the most wondrous things ever created.

Iain pointed at the map. "Here's Brallian, on the Brythomar coast. From what I've gathered, Ithell's Town is here." He pointed to a region of the Middle Ranges due north of Brallian. " It's a straight line from Brallian to Londoun, and Ithell's Town is right on that route." He pointed at a town just north of the Middle Ranges. "This is Llwelyn, the southernmost city in the Kingdom of the Five Crowns. It's about three days by caravan from Ithell's Town." Iain stared at Haraldur. "Gathering from your accent, you're from Londoun, so I would assume that you know this better than I do: the king has a castle in Llwelyn, but he never travels there. The king spends his time at court in Londoun. I hear that tax collectors rarely venture away from Llwelyn, because the southern extents of the Kingdom of the Five Crowns are so unruly that they refuse to pay taxes." Iain shrugged. "Unless the king has changed in recent years, I doubt you need to worry about the king laying claim to Ithell's Town. At least, not an enforced claim."

"Now, what to do about the crew?" Jak wondered as he surveyed the map. "Whether you decide to travel overland or raid one of the port cities, you'll need the crew aboard the sky ship to man the riggings until my crew learns the ropes. I don't have enough crew right now to fully man three ships, and I certainly do not have two captains to spare for this excursion, so the Sky Wind can be scuttled, for all I care, once you have a sky ship. If you can find someone reliable to captain the Sky Wind, you can bring her back here with a skeleton crew and Enzo can sell her or keep her for his own trading. She's a fine coastal merchant." Jak stood up once more, finishing off his bottle of rum. His walk was unsteady, but his eyes were still focused. He stopped in the middle of the table, opposite his guests. He slammed the decanter back on the table and braced himself against the nearest chair. His eyes were fierce as he looked at his guests.

Enzo chuckled and muttered "My crew'd be just as likely to bribe me for more rum than do what I tell 'em, and I'd be just as likely to agree to their terms...." He raised his mug to Captain Stariat. "With a little fortune we'll all make a big one."

Jak spoke. "I want you to bring me a sky ship. I want to be the first pirate sky captain. You will all receive officer's shares when we start a-pirating with the new ship, and I'll throw in five gold coins, no, seven! Seven gold coins apiece when you bring me the ship. And I'll commission gold sword-rings for all of you. Iain is the only man who's received a gold sword-ring from me in all my years of pirating. I don't give them out lightly." Jak pointed towards Iain.

The knuckle bar on Iain's sword curved out from the quillons and curved back to nearly touch the pommel. At the pommel end of the bar, the knuckle bar curved back upon itself to form a small loop. Set through the loop was an ornately engraved gold ring that featured Captain Stariat's sigil, a xebec sailing ship with enameled red sails. It was a tradition amongst Islander captains to give sword-rings to those people who did a valuable service for the captain. The metal of the ring designated the value of the service, ranging from copper all the way to gold or even platinum.

Captain Stariat leaned against the chair. "I'm disappointed that none of my senior officers are here." He smiled grimly. "I'll be having words with them once we put to sea on the Crimson Sail. Pity. Mate as-Tiaqa will make a good captain someday. He did well bringing the Tira's Vine to port." Jak shrugged. "The Sky Wind needs a captain that I know and that I can trust. Enzo, I've worked with you for a long time, long enough that you've heard most of my stories. The crew think of you as a fence, not as a sailor. I would have asked you to command the Sky Wind." He looked at Master dei Sciotti. "Iain, I've already asked you."

"I'm not a captain," Iain replied quickly. "I don't want to be. I'll be happy to be an advisor, or first mate, or what have you."

"That certainly narrows my options, now, doesn't it? The Captain needs to know his way around a ship, and he needs to know his way around the sea, and he needs to know his crew ­ my crew. Haraldur the Navigator, Marius, I've just met you. I won't turn a ship over to a man I don't know well, and none of my crew know you, either. The last thing I need is a crew who decides to mutiny."

"Aye Captain, you'd be a fool to turn over a ship to someone who hasn't yet earned your trust," remarked Marius. "I'd be a fool to trust a captain who would do something so rash too. I'm just happy to be of service...and the gold is nice too." Marius grinned.

Jak scowled. "My senior officers are sleeping off rum. They've gotten sloppy while we've been in port." He paced unsteadily up and down the table before stopping across from Khiyara. He turned to face her. "One of my junior officers is sitting before me. If I'm going to pick an officer I know and I trust, who isn't too drunk to be awake when the sun is directly above us and the bells toll Sexts, it looks like I know who that officer is." Jak stared at Khiyara. "Captain Hadeel, your ship awaits."

Khiyara had just picked up her mug to take a swig when the captain stood in front of her chair. It took all she had not to spit her drink across the table. She glanced behind the captain and back to the door looking for her father, the only Captain Hadeel she had ever known.

It took a moment for the words to fully sink in and for her to realize that Captain Jak was looking straight at her. "Oh." She nodded her head in assent, and tried to mask her confusion with another sip from her mug.

Haraldur nodded absently, but the map still held his attention. "Not in the Kingdom of the Five Crowns," he pondered to himself. "That is good. But still a Kelltic society." Looking at the assorted people in the room, he was worried again.

He looked up, nodding in agreement with Jak's choice to not pick him as the Captain. Haraldur was quite happy with that, as his last command had ended rather poorly. The choice of the attractive al-Rhayidhian girl surprised him though. Among his people, it was considered bad luck to even have a woman on board a ship while under sail - let alone have her in command. But if there was one thing his dear wife had taught him, it was to never underestimate the fairer sex.

"If you trust her," Haraldur began, "then I'll sail under her. I have held the position of Sailing Master on many a vessel. I would be honored to once again serve in that capacity on the Sky Wind. If that be to your liking," he finished, tipping his head towards Khiyara, "Captain."

Jak smiled briefly at Khiyara. "You'll need to pick out your crew. You already know the Crimson Sail's crew. I have the best crew on this island."

Iain commented in Italic to Enzo, "Considering his ship has bright red sails that can be seen from the horizon, he needs a good crew to catch the merchants as they flee."

Jak smiled. In Brythokelltic-tinged Italic, he replied, "But how many pirates can truly say that their ship is recognized on sight at five miles without a spyglass?" Turning back to Khiyara, Jak ordered in Islander, "Take who you need from my crew, and I'll fill those losses with bilge rats laying around town. Iain has already agreed to be your mate. You'll want a second navigator." Before she could protest, Jak put up his hands. "The captain should always have a good navigator. You can't always do both jobs at once all day and all night." Jak nodded towards Haraldur. "And he is a navigator, and he's offered to be the Sailing Master. You can find out how good he is once you put to sea. If he can't find the North Star, the Evening Star, or the Morning Star, well, he says he's been a Ship's Surgeon. He certainly can't be worse than the ones we have in Khosinga's Port, and I'll be thrice-damned before I hire another one of them." Jak straightened. "Marius has shown himself reliable. You'll take him, of course. I doubt charm alone will get you a sky ship, and Iain says he can swing a blade."

Jak's voice grew stern. "The crew may have a hard time with someone as young as you in command. Iain will back you, and I expect the rest of your officers to back you as well. However, you should also listen to your officers' advice. Age and experience are important. You are capable of taking care of yourself. You're young for a captain, but I think you won't disappoint me. I certainly hope not." Jak grinned again. "If you're going to beat the storm front out to sea, you'd better get your crew rousted and get underway, Captain. And don't forget to stop at Amman ibn Ibena to get some charts on the way."

Khiyara grinned fiercely at the captain and her first mate as she stood up. "I will do my best to prove your trust is not misplaced Captain." She took a deep breath and looked around at the people assembled before her. She grinned wolfishly at Enzo. "Master Enzo, if you choose to sail with us, we will have to see what we can do to make a true sailor out of you yet. That being the case, I expect to see you on the deck of the Sky Wind shortly."

She turned her attention to the others at the table and inclined her head to Marius and the one Captain Jak had called Haraldur. "Marius, the same goes for you. I will see you in an hour and we will find appropriate work for you aboard the ship as we set sail. Master Haraldur, it would seem I'm in need of a second navigator if you'll go?"

"Aye mum, the more eyes you can keep on the stars the better."

"We will meet at the ship in an hour," she continued, "and plan our course."

With that, Haraldur rose from his seat as if dismissed, leaving his drink untouched. He stepped out of the artificially cooled house and waited outside the front steps.

Khiyara nodded her head and let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding as those around her started to move around the room. As the other guests of Captain Stariat dispersed, Khiyara said, "Captain Stariat, Master dei Sciotti, might I have a word with you before I go? I'd like to go over my list of crew members to pull from the Sail onto the Wind." She walked to the side table to retrieve paper, quill, and ink and began hastily scribbling names of the crew she'd like to take and their positions.

Jak skimmed over the list and nodded his approval. "A good crew, lass. You've a good eye for sailors." He winked at her. "If you take Peeper, you might make sure you keep your cabin's portholes closed at night."

Khiyara tried to look innocent, "But why would I have to do that captain? Peeper surely wouldn't be lookin where he shouldn't be. He's an honorable lad. Or, at least that's what he keeps telling me." She winked back at the captain with a wicked grin. She turned on her heel and started to walk out of the room. About mid way, she turned back again, "Sorry to interrupt again Captain, but did you have any other instructions or any other advice you'd like to be sharin' with me before we head out?"

"Aye," Jak said. "As tempting as it may be on your first command, don't waylay any ships on your way to the sky ship, wherever you decide to go to get it. You don't need to be risking crew on a ship as small as the Sky Wind when you may need every blade you have to board a sky ship. Once you have the sky ship, bring her back here to port. But put to sea before you get close to the island. As soon as someone sees that we have a sky ship, word will spread across the Brythomar faster than the crew of a ship runs for the wench-houses when it makes port. We'll need to find our own harbor for the ship, but there are islands aplenty along the Gates of Heracles. I'll keep the Crimson Sail out for two months to get the crew back in shape, but we'll swing through Khosinga's Port regularly after that." He winked at Khiyara. "Good sailing, Cap'n."

Khiyara looked at the captain with one eyebrow raised and a side of her mouth cocked as if to say, "Aye, Aye, Cap'n. I shall keep yer instructions in mind." She brought her closed fist to her heart in the traditional salute the crew used aboard the Crimson Sail and tried not to wince as she hit the bruise on her chest that was determined to make an appearance after this morning's brawl. "May the wind favor ye, Cap'n." She smiled at the captain and turned to the new first mate of her crew with mischief written all over her face.

"Master Dei Sciotti, I make way to the roomin' house to collect a few things there, and will meet you aboard the 'Wind as soon as ye may take your leave of Mistress Dinera. Preferably before midday though, if you don't mind, sir." Before Master Dei Sciotti could throw the half eaten apple he had in his hand, Khiyara bolted for the door, and shut it loudly behind her. When she didn't hear any sounds of immediate pursuit, she grabbed another apple out of the bowl beside the door and tossed it in the air several times while whistling some tune she'd heard in the street the previous night.

Continue to the next chapter: As Khiyara Walked

Back to the PBEM Index.

Back to the Dark Mysteries Campaign Chapter Index.

Original Draft 16 March 2006

Contact for this page: JourneyMaster@BabylonByCandlelight.com

Legal Notices