Two ships raised sails in the middle of the Grey Sea, and began to circle one another. The sun beat down from overhead onto the shirtless backs of the tanned or dark skinned crews, until they were slow enough to drop anchor and drag alongside one another. On the deck of Storm, Captain Urro and Lerran son of Gharo stood side by side, watching the approaching vessel. Carved into the wooden boards on its hull were the words “Twelve and Coast,” an odd name for a ship. The crew were a mangy lot, Lerran saw, as they came into view. They all had matted black and silver beards, save one or two. A few wore their tattered mops of hair in knots or tails, and most were missing teeth.
“Better have good reason for stopping our fine vessel,” a man with black leather straps criss-crossing his torso said, standing amongst the rest of his on-looking comrades.
“Twelve and Coast?” Lerran called.
“It’s so,” the man replied. He leaned over the rail of his ship as they floated in the middle of the blue prairie.
“You the captain?” the son of Gharo asked. They had flagged the ship to stop it; it was one of the first they’d encountered since leaving Tekla and his men in Bellasa.
“Sort of. Name’s Talon,” the man replied. With a mocking voice, he called, “What’s your fancy today, milord?”
Lerran spread his arms wide. “Don’t intend to trouble you, Talon. Just looking for a friend.”
Talon laughed. “You with the law?”
“No,” Lerran chuckled. Above his head fluttered Gharo’s emblem on a flag. “Have you never seen the green eye before?”
Talon gave an exaggerated shrug. “Got a whole hold full of friends below deck, if that’s what you mean.” He grinned, and one of his teeth glinted with a yellow light. Gold seemed unlikely—it was copper probably.
“I’m looking for a ship, the Vanci Dispatch, and either of its captains, Renado or Vanci,” Lerran said. The Grey Sea and Radregar were overrun with slavers, it seemed, while the Great Isle, and the lands west of it had a larger measure of law.
“It was a small vessel, is it not so?” asked the man. “Smugglers, I thought.”
“It’s so,” Lerran admitted, in the man’s own lingo.
“And what is this information worth to you?” Talon asked. “As well as my time?”
Lerran sighed. He unbuckled a pouch from his belt and hurled it over. One of the other men grabbed it, and Talon scuffled to reclaim it. He opened it, and rubbed two of the coins inside together before looking back up at the Storm. “Two more of those,” Lerran said, referring to the bag.
“Fine,” Talon said. He wore a sword on each hip, and the pouch soon hung beside one. “Send them over so I may be on my way. The… what was it, the Dispatch? It was in Kedar for a week only. Set sail last month, if I recall.”
This was the first any had heard of it. “It did set sail?” Lerran asked, as one of the crew men came running up with more coin for their barter.
“Indeed,” the slaver drawled. “My money, please.” Once he had it, he barked, “Raise anchor!”
Lerran shook his head as the Twelve and Coast lowered its sails and set out. It was hardly a resolute witness to heed. Urro scratched his head and asked what they ought to do now. “I’m not about to take Talon’s word for it,” he decided at last, and began walking back to his quarters. “Onward, to Kedar.”