It didn’t take the trio long to find a ship that made somewhat regular runs to Schallsea Island. It was a small coastal trader called the Wind Chaser. Made of poplar and pine, it was not quite fifty feet long and had only one mast and a square sail. The captain was a handsome, dark-skinned man with short black hair. He was tall and muscular and bedecked in a crisp yellow shirt with voluminous sleeves that snapped in the wind. His tan breeches were baggy and gathered at the knees, just above his black snakeskin boots.
“Schallsea, huh?” the captain asked as he strode from the center of the deck and peered over the low rail at Dhamon. He had a deep, melodious voice that carried well and was pleasant to listen to. His dark eyes locked onto the kender, and he pursed his lips. “I only go when I’ve enough passengers—and enough coin. That will probably be sometime tomorrow or maybe the day after that”
Raph produced the filigreed long sword he’d been dragging. “Will this buy us a ride?”
The captain grinned, his eyes surveying the weapon in admiration and lingering on the pommel. Dhamon glanced at the cutlass that hung from the dark man’s right hip. It was well-oiled and had a keen edge that flashed in the sunlight, but it wasn’t as valuable as the sword Raph had offered him. Several daggers were strapped about his waist, and the pommels of more daggers peaked out from beneath his shirt and from the tops of his boots.
“That’s a fine blade. How’d you come by it, little one?” The speaker was a woman, as dark as the captain, but with even shorter hair. It almost appeared as if she’d shaved her head. She wore an ivory satin vest that nearly matched the color of the lowered sail she’d stepped from behind. Her brown breeches hugged her long legs like a tight glove, and the green silk sash she wore low around her hips waved animatedly in the strong breeze.
Dhamon suspected they were from the race of sea barbarians far to the northeast, black mariners from the lands around the Blood Cup, or the Blood Sea.
“My uncle gave me the sword,” Raph began. “It’s been in the family for years. I’m just too short to use it, and I’m tired of hauling it around.”
“That’ll buy passage for you,” the captain stated.
“For all of us,” Blister said.
The dark man raised an eyebrow. “All right. For all of you. The sword’s valuable enough. Come back tomorrow. Before noon.”
“Today,” Dhamon insisted. “I need to go to Schallsea Island today.”
“Well, you’ll not get there in a day—no matter how early we leave. It’s about three hundred miles to the main port on the island. Come back tomorrow and we’ll see if there’s enough passengers to make the trip.”
“I’ve some coin,” Dhamon continued. “I could make it worth your while to leave now.”
“Someone after you?” the captain probed. “You a wanted man?”
Dhamon shook his head. “I’m just in a hurry.”
“The coin and the sword,” the woman said. She moved up behind the captain, gliding silently like a cat. “And then you’ll have yourself a deal. I’m Shaon.” She extended a slender, calloused hand to Dhamon to help him aboard. Her grip was forceful. “This is Rig. He’s in charge of the Wind Chaser. We’ve two other crewmen, and they’ll be here soon. They’re picking up some supplies.” She pivoted on her sandaled feet and brushed by Rig. “The men won’t be happy about this,” she whispered. “They thought we’d be in town at least one night.”
“It’ll cost you a hundred steel coins and the sword,” Rig snapped.
Dhamon sighed and reached for his backpack. Raph’s eyes grew wide.
“He’s got that much steel?” the young kender whispered as he tugged on Blister’s tunic.
“We could practically buy a boat for that,” Blister cut in, ignoring her curious companion. “Fifty, and not a coin more. Fifty’s too much anyway, but we’re in a hurry. Take it, or we’ll find another boat.”
Rig grumbled as he glared at the two kender, who scrambled onto the deck. But he nodded and cupped his hands.
“Heard of the Silver Stair?” Dhamon asked as he paid the coins.
The dark man nodded. “The Citadel of Light. Pilgrims have been visiting the site for years.” He passed the coins to Shaon, then pointed to a pair of benches near the center of the deck.
“That’s where I need to go. The Silver Stair.”
“It’s farther up the coast. It’ll cost you more.”
“How much more?” Raph piped up.
“Twenty.”
“Ten,” Blister countered. The kender put her hands on her hips and scowled.
“Done.” The dark man laughed and strode toward the bow.
“You would’ve really paid him twenty—and the hundred he asked for before that?” Blister asked.
Dhamon drew his lips into a straight line. “It’s all the coin I have. But, yes, I would have.”
“You’ve got to learn to bargain, Mr. Grimwulf,” Blister lectured. “If you don’t, you’ll end up without a coin in your pocket. And then you’ll starve.”
Dhamon and the kender hadn’t quite settled themselves on an old bench when two sailors laden with fresh water and fruit climbed aboard. They seemed surprised at the ship’s imminent departure, and started to object, explaining their plans for the evening. But a cross look from Rig and a couple of barked orders cut them off and sent them scurrying to work on the sail. Moments later they were untying the ropes that held the Wind Chaser to the dock and the boat was moving slowly away.
“Stop! Wait for me!” called a voice accompanied by the hurried stomping of bootsteps. Dhamon looked over the rail at the hopeful passenger. “Rig Mer-Krel, you told me you weren’t leaving until tomorrow at the earliest! What do you think you’re doing?”
The captain motioned to Shaon, who rushed to the side and stretched to reach a slender arm over the railing. Dhamon noticed Raph’s filigreed sword hung from Shaon’s hip. Within a heartbeat she had helped aboard a russet-haired, panting dwarf.
“Sorry, Jasper,” Shaon said, as she ruffled her fingers through the curls on his head. “We must’ve got our days mixed up.”
“It was a good thing I saw your sail open,” the dwarf huffed. He grumbled and fished around in his pocket, eventually producing seven steel coins. “The usual place, the Citadel. Just drop me up the coast as close as you can get.”
Blister and Raph opened their mouths, a protest at the dwarf’s small fee playing on their lips. But a glare from Dhamon silenced them. Dhamon inwardly fumed that he’d paid so much more than the dwarf, but he had the sense to keep quiet. At least he had a ride to his rendezvous with the ghost.
The dwarf shuffled toward the bench opposite them and settled onto it, directly across from Blister. Dhamon caught Raph staring at the newcomer. The dwarf did indeed look a little unusual and worth a second glance. The hair on his head was short, no more than a few inches long, and it grazed the tops of his ears. His beard was neatly trimmed, too, and was short—undwarf-like. Dhamon guessed him to be about a hundred years old, in his prime, and fit for his stunted race, wearing a leather tunic over a bright blue shirt and trousers. He lacked the paunch of many of his kind, but not the dour expression. The dwarf grimaced at them.
“Who’re you?” Raph asked.
The dwarf glowered at the kender. “Jasper Fireforge. Shaon says you’re going to Schallsea, too.”
“The Silver Stair,” Raph announced. “Mr. Grimwulf thinks he has to go there, and Blister and me are going too.”
It was Dhamon’s turn to grimace.
The dwarf’s eyes narrowed and he cocked his head. A shrug of his stout shoulders parted the neck of his leather tunic, showing a heavy gold chain and a piece of jasper.