Seagulls spiraled overhead, screeching down at the sailors of The Borala. The two-masted galley left a trail of foamy behind them, regardless of what the winged hagglers called for. Keeping the vessel on course were fifteen crewmen and six passengers. They’d only been out of Soros for a few days, and their pursuant birds still judged the land close enough. Every other morning, the sailors would drop down nets, and the gulls would take their picks from the haul.
“Can’t sleep worth a damn,” muttered Diaren, fitting a pebble into a long leather sling once more.
Farek grinned. “Maybe you shouldn’t be trying to sleep during the daytime,” he said.
Diaren blinked at him, but gave the sling a spin around his head. After a moment of judging his target, he let the rock fly. The projectile clapped off the tip of the mast and plummeted down to the deck once more.
“Better luck next time,” Matek muttered. He was whittling a small wooden statue and lounging against the rail of the ship’s side.
Diaren reclaimed his pebble once more. “I’d sleep during the night if I wasn’t trying to win some coin back from those rigging scoundrels.”
Farek chuckled. He didn’t care if the loyal soldiers wasted the coin he paid them, because it was their choice. And they were loyal regardless of the money. That was the key to maintaining security in Soros, the city of coin. He patted Diaren’s shoulder as he strode away from the bow.
Over the starboard side, Sievus lost his lunch. He pulled back, wiping a tattered rag across his mouth. His face was pale, but it was just sea sickness. He made eye contact with Farek as the lord walked down the ship, but waved his companion away—he would be fine.
Farek smiled and waved back, but kept walking. He wanted to get a view of the rocky coast of Var Nordos behind them. The Borala was just about done the straight edge, where the rocky ridge overlooked the Bay of Nordos like the blade of a sabre. It meant they would arrive in Noress-That-Was soon. Farek felt as though he’d been there just yesterday though a few weeks had passed. Of course, this time they would only be restocking supplies and sailing onward. From Noress, The Borala would lower its sails and soar on the rainy winds to the coast of the Great Isle.
He passed the husband of the married couple that had also taken passage aboard. The man bowed, but Farek chuckled and waved. The two had determined that their fellow passengers were the guards of a lord, but Farek’s actual identity was preserved.
As he was climbing the stairs to the small quarterdeck in the aft, he nearly leapt out of his skin. A dead gull smashed off the railing near his hand and careened onto the deck. He cursed, and looked back at the bow.
Diaren bent at the waist and flourished his hands in the air, while Matek burst out with laughter. The man with the slingshot nonchalantly folded his leather weapon over his belt. With a smile, he called out, “Orsmar, I think tonight might be the night your luck turns.” The rigger looked up from his ropes quizzically.