felt a certain theatricality was appropriate to the occasion.
She spoke the wordMask only knew what it meantgraven on the blade just above the leather ricasso. Darkness swirled inside the steel, and she sensed the sentient weapon’s eagerness to kill, a gleeful malevolence directed at all the world but her.
It was a magnificent sword, and a big one, too, nearly as long as she was tall. If she fought with it, no one could possibly think of her as a fat old man’s dainty concubine. She brandished it, and everyone gave a cheer.
She also chose an onyx ring that would enable her to see in the dark like an owl, and she reckoned, she was through. She beckoned for Sealmid to take his turn.
The first mate chose a bowseemingly made of polished amethyst though it flexed like yewand the purple quiver of arrows that went with it. Durth, who fancied himself the finest archer in all the Pirate Isles, cursed, and the human gave him a mocking toothless grin. The lookout strode forward, clenching his gray-skinned fists.
“No!” Shandri snapped. “I called him; he chose; that’s the end of it.”
The ore took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Yes, Captain,” he muttered.
“You can pick last, to remind you to keep a grip on your temper.” She cast about. “Anton.”
Anton sauntered to the table, made a show of inspecting the remaining articles, then grinned, selected a cape, and spun it around his shoulders. The garment was a vivid scarlet, a fitting wrap for a Red Wizard, but shot though with threads gleaming gray like steel. The magic in the weave could absorb the force of a cut or blow as if the cloth were a piece of plate armor.
He then picked up three red-bound books and a wand.
A deafening boom thundered through the room. The floor shook, and Shandri staggered a step. Taking advantage of its new mistress’s sudden lack of balance, trying to reach for the nearest potential victim, the greatsword shifted in her grasp. No! she thought, and it abandoned the effort. She sensed the mind inside the blade, half sheepish, but likewise half amused.
There was no time to think about that now. She pivoted to see what had caused the bang. Chadrezzan stood glaring, gripping his serpent-girded staff with both gaunt hands. From his stance, she surmised the mute had disrupted the proceedings by striking the butt of the rusty rod on the floor.
“What are you doing?” Shandri demanded.
Chadrezzan jabbed a long, skinny finger at Anton.
“What he means,” Kassur said, “is that the wand and grimoires should rightfully go to him.”
“Nonsense,” Anton said. “He’s not an officer. He doesn’t get a double share.”
Chadrezzan gestured to himself, then to the priest of Talos.
“He’s pointing out,” said Kassur, “that neither one of us is weighted down with gold. In fact, we haven’t pocketed a single copper. That was so we could fairly claim the spellbooks and wand.”
“That’s too bad,” Anton said, “because it still doesn’t give you the right to choose ahead of me.”
“Be rational!” snapped the priest. “Thanks to a fluke, you can call yourself ship’s mage, but your handful of paltry spells doesn’t derive from the learning of a true wizard. They’re just a bit of freakishness, like an extra toe.”
“It makes no difference,” Anton said.
“It does!” At the most peaceful of times, Kassur stamped about glowering, seemingly full of anger he could barely contain. Now his face was brick red, and as he shouted, spittle flew from his lips. “You can’t profit from the lore in those volumes or use the wand either!”
“I can profit from it all if I sell it.”
“Chadrezzan will use it to augment his abilities.” Kassur pivoted toward Shandri. “Captain, you saw the magic he threw at the Thayans and how potent it was. We never could have won without him.”
“We never would have won,” said Anton, “if I hadn’t opened up the house.”
“That was one spell,” said Kassur, without diverting his monocular gaze from Shandri. “Chadrezzan cast more than a dozen. Imagine what he’ll be able to accomplish for us all once he masters the secrets of the Red Wizards. It’s stupidand selfishto deny him the chance.”
Some of the company clamored in agreement, but as many appeared to favor Anton. Durth said, “If I had to give up the bow, then your friend can do without the stinking books.”
“As well as the wand,” Kassur retorted, “and the cape? If you can’t see anything else, it should at least be clear to you that the greedy bastard’s laying claim to too much.”
Shandri thought he might well be right, but with the disparate items involved, it was difficult to be sure.
She was certain she didn’t want to lose Chadrezzan or Anton from the ship’s company or appear less than fair and impartial in the eyes of her crew. She also did not want to do anything Vurgrom would view as a mistake. Feeling overwhelmed, she hesitated.
The tiny image of one of the oil lamps reflecting in each black lens of her goggles, Tu’ala’keth stepped forth from the crowd. “This squabble is foolish.”
Anton grinned. “That’s what I’m trying to tell them.”
The shalarin gave him a stare. “I mean it is you who are the fool. I told you at the start, we have come to Dragon Isle to craft an instrument of sacrifice. To spill blood upon the waters for the glory of Umberlee. Anything that strengthens Shark’s Bliss serves our purpose. Accordingly, Chadrezzan shall have his tools.”
The declaration resolved Shandri’s doubts. If Anton’s closest ally, who was likewise the voice of a goddess and the harbinger of Shandri’s destiny, said he was in the wrong, then wrong he must surely be.
“Yes,” Shandri said. “The spellbooks and wand go to Chadrezzan and Kassur, as their entire shares. Anton, you’ll have to content yourself with the cape. Or put it back and take something else.”
Anton looked back and forth between her and Tu’ala’keth as if astonished they hadn’t supported him. “I planned the raid. We wouldn’t have any of this swag, not one particle of gold, if it wasn’t for me.”
It sounded as if he were claiming to be the leader, and Shandri’s belly tightened in anger. “Everyone contributed to our successunder my direction. If you want to keep your position, remember that.”
“Otherwise,” said Tu’ala’keth, “the Queen of the Depths will discard you and find a weapon more to her liking.”
“To Baator with the both of you.” Anton turned toward Vurgrom, who lounged smirking as if the argument were a play staged for his amusement. “Sir, we all know you’re the one who’s really in charge. You tell us: Who’s in the right?”
Vurgrom stroked his chin. “Well, after my famous raid on Yhaunn”
Velvet skirt flapping around her legs, Shandri dashed the few paces separating her from Anton. The greatsword shot up over her head. She didn’t feel she was lifting it, but rather that it flew and pulled her hands along. Yet it was nonetheless expressing her ire, and the sensation was exhilarating.
It was only when the dark blade flashed down at her lieutenant’s head that a measure of clarity returned, and she realized she didn’t truly want to slay him. She strained to cut wide of the mark, and Anton, though startled, managed a scrambling step backward. The sword missed.
“All right!” Anton cried, raising his hands. “If you’re willing to chop me to pieces over it, Chadrezzan can have what he wants!”
“I” Shandri faltered. She’d started to say she hadn’t intended to strike at him, but realized blaming it on the influence of the sword would make her seem weak. “Good. Then we can put this squabble behind us.”
“As you say. I have my share of the loot, and I’m tired. I believe I’ll find a place to lay my head.” He turned and stalked toward the door.
Shandri disliked seeing him depart in such a bitter mood, but knew she couldn’t call or scurry after him. That too would create the wrong impression.
“Some of the crew,” said Anton, “wanted to burn the compound to the ground.” He emptied his mug of grog, and one of his admiring listeners refilled it, slopping a bit of the clear, pungent liquor onto his hand. “Shandri Clayhill was willing to go along with it. But I convinced everyone it would be wiser to sail out before anybody else showed up to hinder us. Besides, leave the Thayans a cozy nest to come home to, and we’d know right where to find them when we want to rob them again next year.”
His audience laughed then fell silent as they noticed the newcomer at the fringe of the circle. Anton, too, felt a pang of surprise. Upon entering the tavern, a stuffy, murky, candlelit shack of a place stinking of spilled beer, he had, with a spy’s reflexive caution, taken inventory of the folk inside, and afterward tried to keep track of departures
