Corsair

SEVEN

29 Eleint, the Year of the Ageless One (1479 DR)

A cold, steady rain fell as Geran and Sarth rowed Seadrake’s skiff toward the broken towers of the ruined city. Hamil sat in the stern of the small boat, his hand on the rudder. It was a dark and dreary night, the sort of weather that would persist over the Moonsea lands until the bitter winds of winter arrived sometime in early Nightal. The steady hiss of rain falling into the sea masked the creaking of the oars in their locks and the soft slap of water under the small boat’s hull. They’d only been rowing for half an hour, but they were already soaked. Geran didn’t mind; the foul weather meant that fewer unfriendly eyes would be watching them.

Seadrake was a mile behind them, invisible in the darkness. She showed no lights, since Geran hoped that their landing in Zhentil Keep would go unnoticed. As an additional precaution, they wore the same sort of common garb that any deckhands might wear on a sodden Moonsea evening. Instead of a fine jacket and jaunty cap, Hamil glowered under a drenched hood. Geran had left his fine elven backsword in his cabin on Seadrake and carried a plain cutlass instead, while Sarth had used his magic to disguise himself as a sellsword of Teshan descent, with a thick black mustache and dark, fierce eyes under a heavy brow.

Hamil surveyed the crumbling buildings of the ruined city with a dubious expression. “That looks like the sort of place you venture into when you’ve a mind to feed yourself to some horrible monster,” he said. “Are you sure of this plan, Geran?”

“Sure of it? No, but I think it’s worth a try.” Geran paused to glance over his shoulder as the city’s ramshackle docks drew closer. Zhentil Keep sprawled on either side of the mouth of the River Tesh. In better times it had been the busiest harbor on the Moonsea, and both banks of the river-as well as some of the lakefront too-had been lined with broad stone quays that could accommodate scores of ships at a time. He would have liked to bring Seadrake into the Tesh and drop anchor in the river mouth, but he guessed that the sort of brigands and outlaws he was looking for would have vanished into the rain and rubble at the first sight of a hostile warship. “We’ll find the sort of cutthroats we’re looking for soon enough. Or they’ll find us.”

Sarth frowned as he pulled at his oar. “Are you not concerned that the sort of villains we seek might rob and murder three strangers the moment they catch sight of us?”

“A fate easily avoided. We have to appear too poor to rob and too dangerous to pick a fight with.” Geran smiled humorlessly. “Trust me, we should fit right in.”

Hamil looked past his larger companions and shifted in his seat. “We’re getting close. Steer for the docks on the north bank here, or do you want to tie up on the other side of the river?”

“The first spot you see. If the fellow in Mulmaster was right, there may be a ship or two moored up the Tesh, and I don’t want to run into them.” Geran paused in his rowing and turned around to get a better look at the looming shadows around him.

A hundred years ago, Zhentil Keep had been the most powerful city in the Moonsea lands. Its soldiers held the Tesh vale, the mighty Citadel of the Raven in the Dragonspine Mountains, and the ruins of Yulash; Hillsfar they subdued in Myth Drannor’s War of Restoration. Gold flowed into Zhentil Keep’s coffers from a dozen far lands intimidated by Zhentarim sell-swords or inveigled by Zhentarim spies. But the Zhents, for all their ruthlessness and might, had inevitably aroused the wrath of an enemy beyond their strength.

The unliving archwizards of the newly reborn Empire of Netheril did not look kindly on such an aggressive neighbor, and they’d turned their fearsome sorcery against Zhentil Keep. In the years before the Spellplague, the Netherese razed the city and scattered its lords, its priests, and its wizards to the four winds. Zhentarim expatriates dotted the lands of the Inner Sea, but their native city was now a shadow-haunted ruin that all decent folk gave a wide berth.

Except, of course, for Geran and his companions.

Geran’s eye fell on a dark quay that seemed like a safe spot to leave their boat. “There, that will do,” he said. He and Sarth resumed pulling, and in a few minutes the skiff bumped up alongside the old landing. Hamil scrambled out and looped the skiff’s bowline around a rusted bollard, then the swordmage and the tiefling followed. Geran paused on the cobblestone street to gain his bearings, hand on his sword hilt. The old buildings loomed over him, most standing five or six stories in height and crowded shoulder-to-shoulder like tired soldiers standing in ranks. Dark doorways and empty windows looked down over the street. It was said that the curse of the Netherese archwizards still lingered over the city, some nameless doom waiting to swallow anyone so foolish as to venture into the darkest shadows. Geran had no idea if that was true or not, but he sensed brooding menace just beyond his sight.

“This is an accursed place,” Sarth said. “Terrible spells were spoken here.”

“We’ll keep to the riverbank. The stories I’ve heard about this place claim that whatever lingers here doesn’t like the water, or that the Tesh has washed away some of the curse,” Geran said. “Either way, I don’t think it would be a good idea to explore any of these buildings.”

Hamil stopped and looked up at him. “It’s also a bad idea to leave a fire untended, speak a demon’s name, or run while you’ve got a knife in your hand. Is there anything else we should go over?”

Sarth snorted through his mustache. Geran sighed. “I’ve known you to ignore common sense once or twice,” he said to Hamil. “I remember some times with the Dragon Shields when you leaped before you looked.”

They left the skiff tied up by the quay. Since there were no ships visible at the river mouth, and Geran didn’t see or hear anything to suggest that other folk might be around, he decided to follow the riverside street westward, deeper into the city. They gave the old buildings on their right a wide berth, staying out in the open street.

After a half mile or so, they passed the remains of one of the city’s great bridges, now little more than a series of six stone piers in the river. Beyond the bridge piers, several ships were moored to the old quays-a couple of small coasters that were likely smugglers of some sort, a round-hulled cog, and a half galley with a long, slender hull. A few dim lanterns illuminated the streets by the riverside, and the distant strains of voices and faint music carried over the water. Geran and his friends exchanged looks, then they continued.

Along the riverbanks above the first of the bridges, a dismal little town of sorts had grown up in the city ruins. Although the looming stone buildings here were still mostly abandoned, the lower floors of a dozen or so in the immediate area had evidently been reoccupied. Lanterns hanging from posts outside marked the locations of taverns, festhalls, boardinghouses, provisioners, fences, armorers, sailmakers, and others who did business with the sort of brigands and pirates who lurked in the ruins. Despite the late hour, dozens of men-and a few women-loitered out in the street, staggered drunkenly from one place to the next, or simply lay sprawled on the cobblestones wherever they’d fallen asleep or passed out. More than a few seemed to be half-orcs, goblins, hobgoblins, and other such creatures, but the humans seemed to pay them no special attention.

“We’ll try the taverns first and keep our ears open,” Geran said. “Let’s get the mood of the place before we start asking dangerous questions.”

They headed for the first taphouse they saw. A crude signboard hung above the door, showing the image of two busty mermaids. Directly under the sign a gray-bearded sailor slumbered in the street. Geran stepped over him and pushed open the door. Inside, raucous sailors crowded a small room that looked like it might once have been a well-off merchant’s parlor. Simple tables and benches replaced all of the old furnishings, and an overturned skiff served as the unlikely bar. In one corner, a man in a patched cape strummed at a lute, but no one was paying him much attention. They were watching a contest of knife throwing, with the target hanging close by the door. As Geran ducked through the door, a small dagger thunked into the wood not far from his face. Drunken sailors and their rented lovers roared with laughter as he flinched aside.

“I think you’ve found what you’re looking for,” Hamil said. “What a charming place.”

Geran gave the knife thrower a hard look and made his way over to the bar. Hamil and Sarth followed, while the game resumed behind them. The barkeep was a balding dwarf with a striking scar across his mouth that notched his beard. He looked up at Geran with a yellow-toothed grin. “Dun’t think I’ve seen ye before,” he said. “Are ye lads from the Impilturian merchant lying on t’other side o’ the river?”

Geran was momentarily tempted to say yes just to satisfy the fellow’s curiosity, but of course he had no idea whether any of the other crewmen were in the room. He decided that it would be best to say as little as possible. “No, we’re new in town. What do you have to drink?”

“I’ve got a keg of Hillsfar’s own Moonsea Stout tapped, and I’ll draw ye a mug for half a silver talent. Or I could find ye a bottle of southern wine, though that’ll cost ye dear. It’s hard to come by.”

“The stout, then,” Geran told him. He fished two silver coins out of the purse at his belt and handed mugs to Sarth and Hamil. His companions found stools fashioned from old barrels sawn in half around a battered old capstan salvaged from some wreck or another, and settled in to nurse their ale and observe the crowd. Geran lingered to speak with the barkeep, and motioned for him to stay a moment.

“What more are ye wantin’?” the dwarf asked.

“The warship out in the river. Who is she?”

“That would be Moonshark.”

“Is she a Black Moon ship?”

“Why, are ye lookin’ for a billet?”

“We might be.” Geran shrugged and glanced at the patrons of the taphouse. “Are any of these fellows Moonshark crewmen?”

“Dun’t think so,” the dwarf answered. He took up a rag and started wiping down the bar; Geran decided to leave him to his work instead of pressing the question. He joined Hamil and Sarth at their table.

They drank a round, listening to the people around them. Geran and Hamil made a point of keeping up an animated discussion about various taverns in the cities of the Vast, providing Sarth with the opportunity to study their neighbors surreptitiously. The tavern-goers included seamen from the ships hidden in Zhentil Keep’s ruined harbor, sellswords on hard times, and brigands and outlaws who preferred the company of others of their kind.

After half an hour, Geran leaned in to speak to Sarth and Hamil. “I think we’ve heard everything we’re going to,” he said. “Let’s see if we can find some of Moonshark’s crewmen on the street. We might find one that’s talkative when drunk.”

“A good idea,” Sarth agreed. The three of them drained their mugs then filed out into the dark street outside. The hour was growing late, but there was little sign of it in the pirate den. The faint strains of music still echoed across the water, broken by the occasional sound of breaking glass or a shouted oath. They headed upriver, toward the next island of lanternlight they could make out.

A door on their right burst open, and a party of boisterous men flooded out into the street. Geran halted to let them pass, but one of the men-actually a bandy-legged half-orc with one tusk at the corner of his mouth-turned and met his eyes. A dark scowl came over the half-orc’s features. “Now what d’you think you’re lookin’ at, you goat-buggering bastard?” he demanded.

Geran bit back a retort and nodded down the street with more friendliness than he felt. “Just on my way to the next taproom. Don’t mind me.”

“I’ll mind whatever I decide to mind,” the half-orc growled. The fellow’s companions-five of them-moved to surround Geran and his comrades. They were a dirty, ill-favored lot, dressed in ill-fitting leather and armed with cutlasses or cudgels at their belts. At least a couple of them seemed unsteady on their feet, more than a little in their cups, but the sallow half-orc was unfortunately not one of them. “I don’t think I’ve seen you lot ’round here before. You ain’t in any crew I know. That means you’re mine.”

It seems we’ve seen this more than once, Hamil remarked. The halfling shifted a half step behind Geran, hiding his hands from view.

Geran glanced over his shoulder at Sarth and gave the tiefling a subtle shake of the head. “No magic,” he mumbled under his breath. Sarth scowled, but he nodded. It would be hard to masquerade as common sellswords if thunderclaps and blasts of fire erupted in the street. Then he looked back at the half-orc glaring at him. He doubted it would work, but he had to try. “We’ve got no cause to quarrel,” he said. “We’ll go our way, and you can go yours.”

The half-orc spat something in Orcish and swept out his cutlass. Geran had no idea what he’d said, but as far as he could tell negotiations were at an end, and he drew his own cutlass an instant later-nearly sticking the blade in the scabbard because the shape and weight were different from the fine elven steel he was accustomed to. The other brigands followed suit; the sound of steel rasping on leather filled the air, followed an instant later by the ring of steel on steel. Geran blocked the half-orc’s first vicious cut by passing it over his head then stepped close to smash the heavy handguard into the side of the half-orc’s head. The half-orc staggered back, and Geran immediately turned and leaped at the man to his right. They hacked at each other for three quick passes of steel, then Geran slashed the cutlass out of his hand with a nasty cut to the forearm. The cutlass dropped to the cobblestones with a shrill ring, and when the brigand doubled over holding his arm, Geran surged forward and planted a boot in the center of the man’s belt. With a strong shove of his leg, he sent the wounded brigand stumbling over the side of the quay and into the water.

Sarth blocked the cudgel of the man attacking him with a two-foot iron baton-actually his magical rod, disguised by his illusion magic. Then the tiefling bludgeoned his foe to the ground with a rain of blows to the head and shoulders. Meanwhile Hamil efficiently hamstrung the swordsman moving in to attack Sarth from the side, and kicked the man unconscious when he fell to the cobblestones. “Behind you!” he called to Geran.

Geran turned and found the half-orc rushing in again despite the vicious clout he’d taken. But the fellow was unsteady on his legs, and the swordmage easily twisted aside from a clumsy thrust. This time Geran hammered the pommel of the cutlass to the nape of the half-orc’s neck as he stumbled past, and stretched him out senseless or dead on the street. He leaped over the half-orc to smash the flat of the cutlass against the skull of a brigand stabbing furiously at Sarth. The man crumpled to the ground; Sarth dealt him a heavy clout as he fell for good measure. The tiefling looked up at Geran and scowled. “My way is easier,” he muttered.

“And louder,” Geran reminded him. He straightened up and looked around, just in time to see Hamil test the balance of the dagger in his hand and let fly at the last brigand, who had turned to flee. The blade turned over three times before the pommel cracked the fellow on the back of the head and knocked him to the cobblestones. Silence fell over the scene, and Geran realized all of the brigands were on the ground or in the river. Several bystanders stood nearby, including one tall, strongly built woman with a shaven head, who had her fingers wrapped around the hilt of her own sword.

Hamil looked at the bald woman. “You want a part of this too?” he demanded.

The woman let go ofher sword and held up her hand. She was no beauty; her shoulders were almost as broad as Geran’s own, and her face was square with blunt features. Geran could easily have mistaken her for a man, if not for the heroic expanse of her bosom and the fine point to her chin. “Not I, friend. I’m just an interested spectator,” she said. She looked down at the thugs on the ground and twisted her mouth into a hard smile. “Consider me impressed. You handled those wretches easily enough, although I can’t imagine why you saw fit to leave them alive.”

“We’re new in town,” Geran answered warily. “I have no idea who these fellows belong to. It didn’t seem wise to kill them without knowing who might take offense.”

“You’re a man of uncommon wisdom, then.” The woman nodded toward a ramshackle establishment on the other side of the river. “Those fellows work for Robidar. He’s the half-orc that runs the bar, festhall, and gaming hall over yonder. They’re in the habit of rolling drunks and stragglers. You’ll want to watch your backs if you stay here long. Sooner or later Robidar’s boys’ll want to even up the score.”

“Thanks for the warning,” Hamil answered. “I’m in the habit of watching my back anyway.”

“Indeed.” The woman hesitated, studying the three companions for a moment, then she spoke again. “By any chance, are you three looking for billets? I could use a few more sharp fellows who can fight like you can and have a good share of common sense too.”

“What sort of billets?” Geran asked.

“Deckhands on Moonshark. She’s the half galley tied up by the bridge, a good ship and swift. My name is Sorsil. I’m her first mate.”

Geran glanced toward the shadowed outline of Sorsil’s ship to hide his quick grin. It seemed that fortune had smiled on him. To conceal his interest, he rubbed at his jaw as if in thought. “As I said, we’re new in town. We intended to weigh a few opportunities before making any decisions.”

Sorsil gave a short laugh. “You won’t find many better opportunities, no matter how long you stay moored here. We sail under the Black Moon’s flag, my friends. Things are going well for us these days. A deckhand’s share’ll make a wealthy man of you after three prizes-maybe just one or two if they’re rich. And for men of ability, there’s even more to be had.”

Geran made a show of thinking over Sorsil’s offer, while he considered his next step. He’d hoped to catch a rumor of the Black Moon by visiting Zhentil Keep, but it seemed he’d caught a pirate ship. Now that he’d confirmed that the Black Moon Brotherhood had more than one ship at their command, he found himself wondering how many more vessels belonged to the pirate flotilla and where they might be found. He had the woman he wanted to talk to right here in front of him. The question was how to engage her without making Sorsil suspicious.

Tell her we’re interested in signing on, Hamil said silently. It can’t hurt to see what more she’ll tell us.

“That’s an interesting offer,” Geran said slowly. “But, truth be told, we’d sort of hoped to sign on with Kraken Queen.”

The bald mate looked at him oddly. “Really? Why?”

Hamil glanced up at him. You put your foot in it now. Why indeed, Geran?

Geran affected a small shrug, thinking furiously. “I haven’t heard of Moonshark before. But I know Kraken Queen took a Sokol cog just a couple of tendays ago, and it wasn’t her first.”

Sorsil shrugged. “Well, you’ll have a long wait if you hope to catch Kraken Queen in port. But she’s a Black Moon ship also, and we see her from time to time. If you can convince the captain to let you cross-deck, you might get your wish. Moonshark’s your best bet for now.”

“All right, then. I guess we’re in,” Geran said. “When do we sail, and where are we bound?”

“Good!” the mate said. “We’re sailing tomorrow morning. As far as where we’re going, that’s the captain’s business for now and none of yours until we’re at sea. Come on with me, and I’ll introduce you to him.”

Sorsil indicated the shadowed quay with a wave of her well-muscled arm, and they set off toward the slender warship lying by the ruined bridge. Geran studied the ship as they approached. Moonshark was a half galley, built for sailing instead of rowing. She was smaller than Kraken Queen, a two-master instead of a three-master, but she looked like she’d be swift and handy under oars or sail. Geran decided that Seadrake would have a hard time catching her on the open sea unless she gained the weather gauge on the pirate. Sorsil led them up the narrow gangplank and gruffly acknowledged the greeting of the deckwatch-a pair of dispirited-looking men who evidently wished they were free to spend the night in the ruined port’s taverns. The mate went aft to a companionway beneath the quarterdeck and knocked. “Captain?” she called in a low voice. “New hands.”

“What have you got there, Sorsil?” The voice was not quite human, wetter and more throaty, with a hint of a growl deep in the chest. A tall but curiously hunched figure appeared in the small companionway, ducking beneath the doorway as it stepped onto the main deck. The creature stood almost seven feet tall despite its posture, and as it moved into the lanternlight by the head of the gangplank, Geran saw that it was a gnoll-a savage beast-man with a hyena-like muzzle and a short coat of mangy yellow-gray fur. It wore a shirt of black mail and carried a curving scimitar at its belt.

“Three hands as say they want to sign on, Captain Narsk,” the bald woman answered. “They handled a gang of Robidar’s lads well enough, and I thought you might want to meet them.”

“Rrrobidar’s men aren’t worth a cup of warm piss. Still, we need the crew, don’t we, Sorsil?” the gnoll-Narsk, Geran reminded himself-said. The mate remained silent, and Narsk paced closer, looking over the three companions. The swordmage did his best to look surly, violent, and desperate without challenging the gnoll by holding his gaze too long. Narsk twisted his lips away from his fangs and then looked down at Hamil. “The other two might do, but I don’t need a little rrrat like this one on my ship. I need fighters.”

Hamil planted his feet and looked up at the gnoll. “I’ll try any man on this ship-you included, Captain.”

The gnoll scowled at that, but Sorsil spoke up. “He can fight, Captain. I watched him hamstring one man and kick him unconscious just as neat as you please and then knock out a second man with the pommel of a thrown dagger. He’s worth a share.”

“Rrreally?” Narsk looked down at Hamil and smiled unpleasantly. “Well, we’ll find out soon enough. If he’s not as good as you think, the rrrest of the crew’ll kill him within three days, or my name’s not Narsk. Are you still willing to sign on with Moonshark, little one?”

“I can look after myself.”

“It’s your neck.” Narsk pointed one clawed finger at Hamil. “I won’t spare a word to save your worthless life if you are wrrrong.”

“What are your terms, Captain?” Geran asked.

“The crew divides half the value of any prize we take, one share each. The three of you make fifty-five hands. You can sleep wherever you find space, and you’ll be fed twice a day. There’s no other pay. I’ll keep your shares in the ship’s chest until you decide to leave, and then I’ll count you out if you want.” The gnoll grinned. “Better that way, less thieving and killing among the crew.”

Hard terms, Hamil said to Geran. He doesn’t care whether his crew likes him much.

They seemed more or less in line with what Geran would have expected of a pirate captain. “What are the rules of the Brotherhood?” he asked.

“There aren’t many,” Narsk answered. “Sorsil can explain them. All you need to know is that you’d better do what I say-or what Sorsil says in my place-or you’ll be damned sorry you didn’t.”

“I wouldn’t expect otherwise. All right, Captain, I’m willing. When do we sail?”

“Tomorrow at sunrise,” Narsk said. “You’ll be pulling oars with the rrrest of the crew.”

“Then if we’re sailing tomorrow morning, I’ve a mind to say my farewells to the ladies of the port before we cast off,” Hamil said. He winked at Geran and gave the gnoll a sly grin. “When do we have to be back on board?”

For a moment Geran was afraid that Narsk was going to tell them that they were finished with their port call and had to remain aboard; after all, why give them a chance to change their minds? But a sly look stole over the gnoll’s face, and he bared his fangs in what Geran supposed was meant to be a friendly grin. “Go say your farewells, then.”

Geran relaxed. He’d judged the gnoll well. Sailors with full purses were all too likely to jump ship at the first opportunity, but penniless sailors were more or less at the captain’s mercy. Narsk was all too happy to let his three new hands spend their last remaining coin ashore, since that would put them well and truly in his power when they straggled back aboard Moonshark. Chances were he had no intention of paying them at all, or at least not until it suited him to do so.

“Back by sunup, or I’ll leave you,” the gnoll warned. Then he ducked back through the small door leading to the aft cabin, shutting it behind him.

Sorsil looked over the three companions and shrugged. “Well, you heard the captain,” she said. “You can go back ashore, or I can show you where to sling your hammocks now. But I’ll warn you that the best spots are taken.”

“The night’s still young,” Geran answered. “We’ll be back before dawn.” Then he trotted back down the gangplank, with Sarth and Hamil a few steps behind. He turned back toward the yellow lanterns marking the location of the taverns along the ruined quay and walked away from Moonshark without a backward glance.

“Well, what now?” Sarth asked quietly.

“I think that a bold opportunity is before us,” Hamil replied. “The question is: should we take it?”

“Do you mean to attack Moonshark before she sails?” Sarth asked.

Geran thought he knew what Hamil had in mind. “Not exactly. What do you think about becoming pirates for a while?”

Sarth stopped in midstride and fixed his dark eyes on Geran. “It strikes me as pure madness,” he said. “Do you have any idea how hard it will be to keep our identities a secret in the close confines of a ship filled with enemies? You may be able to pass yourselves off as deckhands, but I know nothing about ships.”

“I prefer to think of it as audacity, not madness,” Hamil said. “In any event, I have a hard time imagining a better way to spy out the plots of the pirate captains or to find out where the Black Moon ships are lairing.”

Geran chewed on his tongue for a moment, thinking it over. He’d gone along with Sorsil’s offer simply because that seemed a plausible cover for approaching the pirates-nothing more than a ruse to ferret out some rumors of Hulburg’s enemies. A couple of miles away under the clouded Moonsea night, Seadrake waited. He and his companions could slip out of Zhentil Keep and bring the ship into position to catch Moonshark in the morning. But Moonshark wasn’t the prize he was after; he wanted Kraken Queen, and his intuition warned him that she might prove an elusive quarry. All he had to do was board Moonshark before dawn, and Narsk’s ship would take him exactly where he wanted to go. Once he spied out Kraken Queen’s lair, he could slip away to summon Seadrake and bag the Black Moon Brotherhood with a single efficient stroke. With his arcane magic-and Sarth’s-at their disposal, abandoning Narsk’s ship should be simple enough.

“I don’t ask either of you to come with me,” he told Hamil and Sarth, “but I intend to sail with Moonshark in the morning. Seadrake’s in Kara’s command. I want her to take the ship back toward Hulburg and protect shipping as best she can until I return or send word.”

“I’m with you,” Hamil said. The halfling looked up at him with a fierce grin. “You’ll need someone to watch your back.”

Sarth sighed and looked up at the dark skies overhead. “I, too,” he said. “There is an excellent chance that you will have to fight your way off that ship. If so, my magic may be of some small use. But I am going to be a very inept deckhand.”

“Hamil and I can help you with that,” Geran told him. “Besides, there’ll be plenty of men on that ship who know just as little as you do. Narsk needs fighters even more than he needs sailors.”

“Very well,” Sarth said. He frowned unhappily. “I will trust your judgment.”

“Good. That brings up two more things. First … Sarth, you have a spell of flying. Can you return to Seadrake, explain to Kara what we’re doing, and come back swiftly?”

Sarth nodded. “Of course, but we should get out of sight before I take to the air.”

“The place where we left the skiff should do. I don’t think many of the people here are in the habit of roaming the ruins at night.”

“What else?” Hamil asked.

Geran smiled. He knew it was a foolish thing, but it amused him nonetheless. “We’ll need to come up with good pirate names.”