of
Whitebone Desert had the dark skin of his people. His mines in the sand filled
Midlan’s treasury with gems and precious metals. The many jeweled rings on
Sahar’s fingers sparkled in the torchlight as he inspected the golden goblets
on the table. If there was a flaw in any of them, Sahar would find it.
The man to his
left was not as concerned with the cups as he was with their contents. Earl
Hubert sucked down glass after glass of an array of liquors, his watery red
eyes watching greedily for the bottom. Though his vineyards in the shadow of
the Unforgivable Mountains produced some of the best wines in the Kingdom,
their flavors were wasted between Hubert’s gluttonous lips.
The last ruler
was Lord Gilderick the Gruesome of the Endless Plains. If someone took a bit of
skin, stretched it over a skeleton and topped it with a mop of lank hair, they
might end up with something that looked like Gilderick. But it would take some
dark magic to make it half as wicked. He lurked in a shadowy corner, watching
the room through sunken eyes — and the others pretended not to see him.
Crevan rarely
bothered with gathering the Five together: as long as his coffers and
storehouses remained full, he didn’t care what they did. But today was special.
Today, one of them would die.
The steward
entered the throne room, and Crevan saw his chance. While their backs were
turned he darted out from the tapestry and strode up behind them. “Hello, my
friends!”
They all jumped
and collectively dropped to one knee. “Your Grace,” they mumbled in unison.
Crevan waved
them to their feet. “Come now, there’s no need for kneeling. And you may leave
us,” he said to the steward, who scuttled obediently from the room.
He ordered the
Five to take a seat at the table and lounged in his own chair at the head.
Sahar had to jerk his hands out of the way as Crevan dropped his boots squarely
on the tabletop.
Ah, silence.
Nothing told more than a bit of silence. He put his hands behind his head and
waited, looking at each of them in turn.
It was Reginald
who spoke first. “To what, Your Majesty, do we owe this rare privilege?”
Reginald was a
gutsy man. After all, one did not come to own every ship on the High Seas by
shying away from negotiation. But Crevan wasn’t interested in playing business,
and he didn’t have to. “Surely a man with your connections must know why I’ve
called you.”
Reginald
blinked. “My Lord — if something troubles you, all of the High Seas are
at your disposal. We move at your command.”
The others were
quick to add their vigorous nods and pledges of allegiance. He let the Five
murmur their promises for a moment before he raised his hand.
Silence.
“Now that I
think about it, I am troubled by
something. One thing. And what could that be?” He leaned back in his chair and
tapped the side of his face in mock contemplation. It was a common enough
gesture, but to the Five it meant something particular. None of them would look
at where his finger tapped.
“We’ve all
tried, Your Grace, and we’ve all been wounded,” D’Mere said. She kept her eyes
wide and serious. The Countess knew better than to use her powers on the King.
“Yes but to be
fair, Hubert’s squandered more opportunities than the rest of us combined,”
Reginald said.
Hubert stopped
slurping long enough to gasp. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
“Don’t know what
I mean, eh?” Reginald leaned forward and fixed his sharp eyes on Hubert’s.
“Every time you take some half-hearted jab at her, she flies off and wreaks
havoc on the rest of us. She’s sunk three of my vessels. Three! Do you have any
idea how expensive it is to replace a ship?”
Hubert shrugged.
“Well I don’t see how that’s my faul —”
“And the last
time she was in Whitebone, she dropped a net full of trolls in the middle of my
palace,” Sahar said, inspecting his rings. “The stupid, slobbering beasts ran
wild in the halls for
Whitebone Desert had the dark skin of his people. His mines in the sand filled
Midlan’s treasury with gems and precious metals. The many jeweled rings on
Sahar’s fingers sparkled in the torchlight as he inspected the golden goblets
on the table. If there was a flaw in any of them, Sahar would find it.
The man to his
left was not as concerned with the cups as he was with their contents. Earl
Hubert sucked down glass after glass of an array of liquors, his watery red
eyes watching greedily for the bottom. Though his vineyards in the shadow of
the Unforgivable Mountains produced some of the best wines in the Kingdom,
their flavors were wasted between Hubert’s gluttonous lips.
The last ruler
was Lord Gilderick the Gruesome of the Endless Plains. If someone took a bit of
skin, stretched it over a skeleton and topped it with a mop of lank hair, they
might end up with something that looked like Gilderick. But it would take some
dark magic to make it half as wicked. He lurked in a shadowy corner, watching
the room through sunken eyes — and the others pretended not to see him.
Crevan rarely
bothered with gathering the Five together: as long as his coffers and
storehouses remained full, he didn’t care what they did. But today was special.
Today, one of them would die.
The steward
entered the throne room, and Crevan saw his chance. While their backs were
turned he darted out from the tapestry and strode up behind them. “Hello, my
friends!”
They all jumped
and collectively dropped to one knee. “Your Grace,” they mumbled in unison.
Crevan waved
them to their feet. “Come now, there’s no need for kneeling. And you may leave
us,” he said to the steward, who scuttled obediently from the room.
He ordered the
Five to take a seat at the table and lounged in his own chair at the head.
Sahar had to jerk his hands out of the way as Crevan dropped his boots squarely
on the tabletop.
Ah, silence.
Nothing told more than a bit of silence. He put his hands behind his head and
waited, looking at each of them in turn.
It was Reginald
who spoke first. “To what, Your Majesty, do we owe this rare privilege?”
Reginald was a
gutsy man. After all, one did not come to own every ship on the High Seas by
shying away from negotiation. But Crevan wasn’t interested in playing business,
and he didn’t have to. “Surely a man with your connections must know why I’ve
called you.”
Reginald
blinked. “My Lord — if something troubles you, all of the High Seas are
at your disposal. We move at your command.”
The others were
quick to add their vigorous nods and pledges of allegiance. He let the Five
murmur their promises for a moment before he raised his hand.
Silence.
“Now that I
think about it, I am troubled by
something. One thing. And what could that be?” He leaned back in his chair and
tapped the side of his face in mock contemplation. It was a common enough
gesture, but to the Five it meant something particular. None of them would look
at where his finger tapped.
“We’ve all
tried, Your Grace, and we’ve all been wounded,” D’Mere said. She kept her eyes
wide and serious. The Countess knew better than to use her powers on the King.
“Yes but to be
fair, Hubert’s squandered more opportunities than the rest of us combined,”
Reginald said.
Hubert stopped
slurping long enough to gasp. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”
“Don’t know what
I mean, eh?” Reginald leaned forward and fixed his sharp eyes on Hubert’s.
“Every time you take some half-hearted jab at her, she flies off and wreaks
havoc on the rest of us. She’s sunk three of my vessels. Three! Do you have any
idea how expensive it is to replace a ship?”
Hubert shrugged.
“Well I don’t see how that’s my faul —”
“And the last
time she was in Whitebone, she dropped a net full of trolls in the middle of my
palace,” Sahar said, inspecting his rings. “The stupid, slobbering beasts ran
wild in the halls for
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