Prologue
The ruckus of the seaside bar filtered dimly through the spell surrounding the small corner table. The curses, shouts, squeals, and pelts of laughter were uninterrupted by the conversation of the two aging pirates who sat facing the room. They spoke in quiet tones regardless of the spell, though the room paid them no mind. They were strangers, pirates, nothing special.
“It ain’t right,” Vermit said, his voice thin and tight.
Kor snorted. “What ain’t right? That we meet without telling anyone, or what we came to talk about?”
“Just saying, it ain’t right.”
Kor looked hard at the man next to him. He took in the sunburnt head with its sparse fringe of stringy white, and the scars on his face, neck and arms. Watery eyes were sharp as broken glass in Vermit’s wrinkled, sagging face as he stared back.
Kor shook his head. “You wanted this parley. Get on with it.”
Vermit took a long drink of his ale. He sat the tankard down slowly and sighed deep. “It ain’t right that the Little Miss holds back the way she does. She could . . .” Vermit looked at Kor waiting for him to fill in the blank in his own mind.
Kor’s gaze didn’t waver. He said nothing.
Vermit shook his head. “I got word, Le’An is in a civil war since Ke’Les was killed by pirates. You wouldn’t know anything about that would you, General?”
Kor held. No expression changed his features. His eyes only waited.
“I still have family there,” Vermit said. “A grand-daughter, and others,” he finished gazing at his hands.
“And?” Kor said after several minutes.
“The thing about pirates,” Vermit said, “is they only really care about their own self-interest. The Cap, he don’t want anything to do with Le’An, or wars. I can’t convince him of any kind of profit. He won’t help,”
“Help what?”
“Help get the people out.”
The table was silent. The bar noise filtered to them as a distant whisper of a far off storm. Kor knew of the war. Knew there were many trapped by the grasping of the greedy. Any not choosing a side was fair game by all. Neutrality was not recognized by the Le’An – ever.
Vermit drained the rest of his ale. “Help me get them out,” he whispered.
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