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 and new arrivals. Still, up until this moment, he hadn’t spotted the tall, lean, grizzled man fastidiously clad in blacks and grays. Either the old fellow had an exceptional talent for creeping about unobtrusively, or he employed magic to accomplish it.
Or in all likelihood, both, for the newcomer with his wry, shred, weather-beaten face was Teldar, chieftain of the largest faction on Dragon Isle. On previous missions, Anton had seen the legendary freebooter from a distance but never up close.
Like everyone else lucky enough to have a seat, he rose in respect. With a murmur of vague apology to the hairy, amber-eyed hobgoblin he was dispossessing, Teldar appropriated a chair and motioned for everyone else to take his ease. Peg leg thumping the floor, the tavernmaster came rushing with a straw-wrapped bottle of wine and a silver goblet. Apparently he knew from past visits what the great man liked to drink.
The tavernmaster was no sommelier. The shaking he’d given the bottle while conveying it to the table demonstrated that. Still he evidently thought that for Teldar, with his gentlemanly airs, he ought to make an effort. He ceremoniously poured a small measure of red wine into the cup and waited for the old pirate to sip and give approval. Teldar played along with some blather about the bouquet, the aftertaste, and grapes growing on the sunny side of the hill, meanwhile giving Anton a wink. The tavernmaster limped away, beaming.
“Aelthias sailed with me,” Teldar said, “before his injury. A mage aboard a Cormyrean Freesail pretty much burned his leg out from under him, and the healer had to cut off what was left. I helped set him up here.”
“It’s an honor to meet you, Captain,” Anton said.
Teldar waved a dismissive hand. “Nonsense. You’re the hero of the hour, conducting a successful raid on a Thayan outpost. Or I suppose I should say, one of the heroes. I’m surprised to find you drinking with this lot, fine fellows though they are, instead of celebrating with your shipmates up in Vurgrom’s house.”
Anton frowned as if reluctant to explain. “I had a… disagreement with Captain Clayhill.”
Teldar nodded. “Ah. Well, of course, she’s only just assumed command of Shark’s Bliss. I suspect you’re a more experienced freebooter than she is. Though I don’t believe you and I have met before.”
“Until recently, I sailed out of Mirg Isle. It’s just where I happened to wash up when I decided to try my hand as a gentleman of fortune.”
“That explains it. Is Mirg Isle where you met the shalarin priestess?”
Anton grinned. “Just how long did you lurk about listening to my tale before deciding to reveal yourself?”
Teldar smiled in return. “You must think me a sorcerer like yourself. Not long at all, actually. But all Immurk’s Hold has at least heard rumors of the raid on the Red Wizards. It’s a shame you and your captain fell out after achieving such a coup.”
“I didn’t want to quarrel with the bitch. I simply wanted my due.” He told the tale of his supposed grudge. “We were just talking, and she tried to cleave me in two! When what I’d asked was only the hundredth part of what I deserve!”
Teldar sipped his wine. “What is it you think you deserve?”
“The red caravel. Or, at any rate, some ship of my own. Naturally, Shandri Clayhill and Vurgrom would thereafter receive a share of the prizes I took.”
“You came to Dragon Isle only a few tendays ago. Do you think anyone rises to a captaincy so quickly?”
“I don’t see why not, if he can plan a successful foray against folk as dangerous as the Red Wizards. I’ll wager these lads would sail under my flag.”
Tipsy with the rounds he’d bought them, a number of the pirates cried out in agreement.
Teldar rubbed his shoulders as if trying to work out an ache. Perhaps, spry as he still seemed, arthritis had begun to trouble him. “I suppose that’s my cue to declare that if you’ll join my faction, I’ll give you a ship.”
“I don’t know about that, but I doubt we met here by chance. I believe you have some reason for talking to me.”
“You’re right. But it was to take your measure, nothing more.”
“Well, then: Do I pass muster?”
“You have courage and intelligence, qualities I hold in esteem, and ambition, one I regard with a degree of ambivalence.”
“You must have been ambitious yourself to become the most powerful man in the Pirate Isles.”
“But I’ve never tried to eliminate the other factions here in the Hold. Well, except for when some fool attempted to murder me. I’ve never proclaimed myself ‘pirate lord.’ I’ve never endeavored to bring the corsairs on the other islands under my sway and forge us all into one great brotherhood, a fleet to rival that of Impiltur, Sembia, or any kingdom on the Sea of Fallen Stars.
“I could do it even now, and some days I still feel the temptation. But I remember what happened to Urdo-gen the Red and his ilk. Provoke the lands we plunder, or other proud, ambitious reavers, beyond a certain point, and they’ll go to any lengths to butcher you and all who follow you. Whereas I’ve lived a lengthy, prosperous life.”
Anton spread his hands. “I just want to be a captain like any other.”
“The average captain avoids annoying Red Wizards. It was a splendid accomplishment, and I admire you for it, but we of Dragon Isle may yet pay a toll in blood and misery because of it.”
“I don’t see how. We came under cover of night, aboard one of the Thayans’ own vessels, wearing their own clothes, and killed nearly everyone we found. It would be a good trick to trace us back here.” He paused a beat. “May I speak frankly?”
Teldar chuckled. “I thought you were already.”
“Maybe I am ambitious. I see opportunities. Of late, the gods have blessed the Pirate Isles. Dragon flights have attacked the coastal realms but left us alone. They’ve weakened our prey while we remain strong. Of course I want a ship, now, not months or years hence, to make my fortune while the pickings are easy. More than that, I want to follow a leader with the boldness and vision to commit all his strength to raid whole cities or any target a lone ship couldn’t overwhelm.”
Now Teldar laughed outright. “Are you saying you wouldn’t condescend to accept a ship from me even if I offered?”