mist thinned and finally evaporated, to the Hart’s Heart behind them, captained by a particularly notorious man named Gharic, and currently also host to two more of the council’s elders.
“Ha’Rish shine a good face on us today.”
Samir’s mouth turned up at the corner cheekily.
“Are you intimating that our favourite goddess has ugly faces?”
Ghassan flashed a glare at Samir, who merely laughed.
Suddenly, with the veil of mist lifted, the Sea of Winter Storms reflected the dancing sunlight back to them in all its glory, revealing a wide swathe of open horizon and drawing the viewer’s attention squarely to the array of sails positioned in a rough arc around the sea into which they sailed. In other circumstances it might look pretty; it was certainly impressive. Perhaps forty or fifty daram of varying sizes and construction face the Empress as she emerged from the fleecy blanket. Three quarters of the sails were white, bearing aloft the colours of the Imperial navy, punctuated by the less common black sail of the fleet of the King of Pelasia. And in the centre of the arc, a particularly outsized daram, bearing the blue insignia of the governor of M’Dahz.
Ghassan frowned.
“It worries me that the governor’s flying that pennant. If he’d agreed, I would expect to see a different insignia there.” He ground his teeth. “But then they’re all here… they haven’t blockaded the entire circuit. Isn’t that a good sign?”
Samir shrugged.
“Either very good, or very bad. Hush for a moment. One of my more interesting coin tosses is about to come down. Let’s see whether we win or lose this one…”
Ghassan frowned again as he looked past Samir. Master Culin of the Lassos council was strolling toward them, hands clasped behind his back, while the other two councillors remained at the rail watching the events ahead unfold. As he approached, Culin stopped by the group of menacing looking guards that the councillors had brought aboard and selected half a dozen of them, gesturing for them to join him. Ghassan winced inwardly and realised that his breathing had become shallow and fast. He forced himself to calm down. Culin was the sort of man who could read emotions and appeared to have an intuitive mind, almost a match for Samir.
“Captain…” the man addressed Samir, and then nodded at Ghassan.
“Master Culin. What could I possibly do for you?”
Culin smiled quietly.
“Samir, please… you are not the only one here able to see beyond the end of his nose. I’m not entirely sure how you’re going to do it, but I have a pretty shrewd idea of what’s about to happen. Somehow, despite being outnumbered more than three to one by an enemy fleet and having most of your own fleet out for your blood, I have this disturbing feeling that next to you may be the safest place to stand today.”
Samir sketched a light bow.
“Master Culin, you flatter me. I am a mere gambler with an eye for good odds.”
Culin’s answering grin was equally self-assured.
“As am I, Samir. I have been watching you and my peers with interest and trying to decide what to do about my suspicions. As a matter of duty and sense, I fear that what we should most do right now is to dispatch you both and tip you overboard before you can do any more damage.”
He sighed.
“My somewhat acute sense of self-preservation, however, presses me to other courses of action. When your little game plays out here, Samir, I would appreciate it if you remember the choice I made.”
Samir nodded, his smile fading to a grave expression.
“You are, as you have been for a while, foremost in my thoughts, master Culin.”
The councillor nodded and then turned to the men with him.
“Stay with the captain and first officer. You know what to do.”
The burly pirate he addressed nodded respectfully as the master turned and strode back to the rail to join his peers. Once he was out of easy earshot, Ghassan leaned close to Samir and spoke under his breath.
“I don’t know what you’re up to with him, but that sounded good?”
Samir grinned as he nodded.
“Master Culin has revealed his hand and, I think, that the balance in our own fleet has just tipped in our favour.”
He smiled curiously.
“How prophetic I was…”
Ghassan frowned and Samir laughed.
“Later, my brother.” He squared his shoulders. “Can you see the ships behind us now? Your eyes are so much better than mine.”
Ghassan squinted off behind them.
“Most of them. They’re coming out of the fog and they’re all as close as the ones just behind us. Shall I give the signal?”
Samir waved his hand noncommittally.
“Best ask the council for permission first.”
As Ghassan stood tensely, Samir stepped forward and cleared his throat, addressing the pirate leaders in a loud and clear voice.
“Masters? May I ask your indulgence and allow my brother to give the order to call the fleet to battle lines?”
Halcar turned his sour, hawk like face back to them.
“You do not have to send any messages to your people yet?”
Samir grinned.
“That’s taken care of, Master Halcar. We should see a reply any time. Permission?”
Halcar looked at Culin and Saja, standing to his left at the rail. Saja shrugged his bare ebony shoulders and Culin raised his brow.
“Why not?”
Halcar turned back to Samir.
“You have the council’s permission to prepare for the attack.”
Samir nodded and turned to his brother.
“Alright Ghassan, let’s get this fleet into position while we wait for my other coin to fall.”
In which other coins come down
With the practiced ease of veteran sailors, the eleven assorted vessels accompanying the Dark Empress from the reefs fanned out into a battle line. Given their hushed conversations the previous night, during which Samir had given his brother a complete rundown of the ships, their captains and any crew or tactics that he knew of, Ghassan rubbed his chin and glanced to the left and right trying to size up the fleet. Careful attention as the ships spread gracefully out into the line had given him the time and leisure to put together a mental map of the battlefield, as it were.
The Empress held the centre of the fleet. Stretching away to starboard lay six ships. The first, the Hart’s Heart, clearly held little love for the Empress and her captain. The artillery master on the vessel had two of his weapons charged and angled to fire on the enemy fleet, below the rigging and past the mast, but the third weapon stood on a pivot and continually straying back and forth along the hull of Samir’s vessel. Ghassan sighed. The Hart’s Heart would be the most dangerous foe here. Beyond her lay three more ships captained by the more barbarous of Lassos’ occupants, each of whom would have no compunction about sinking the brothers without a moment’s pause. Beyond them, and almost out of useful reach of the Empress, lay one of their few allies: Orin’s vessel, the Southern Fang, itself being shepherded carefully by another council-loyal vessel at the far flank.
Ghassan gritted his teeth. There was nothing they could do to help Orin that far out and equally nothing that Orin could do to help them, but that was not their problem. Their own great problem would be captain Gharic of the Hart’s Heart, a northern barbarian come south decades ago in search of warmer blood in which to wade. Samir had
