Three times in the last couple of months, Deudermont's ship had chased Bloody Keel off the high seas, though Sheila wasn't even certain Sea Sprite had seen them the first time and doubted that there had been any definite identification the other two. But perhaps Bellany was right. Perhaps that was Deudermont's way of catching elusive pirates. He'd chase them until they tired of running, and when they at last turned to fight. .
A shudder coursed Sheila Kree's spine as she thought of doing battle with Sea Sprite on the open waters.
“Not any bait we're soon to be taking,” Sheila said, and the answering expression from Bellany, who had no desire to ever tangle with Sea Sprite's devastating and legendary Robillard, was surely one of relief.
“Not out there,” Sheila Kree went on, moving to the side of the chamber, to one of the few openings in the dark caverns of Golden Cove, a natural window overlooking the small bay and the reefs beyond. “But he's chasin' us from profits, and we've got to make him pay.”
“Well, perhaps one day he'll be foolish enough to chase us into Golden Cove. We'll let Chogurugga's clan rain heavy stones down on his deck,” Bellany replied.
But Sheila Kree, staring out at the cold waters, at the waves where she and Bloody Keel should now be sailing in pursuit of greater riches and fame, wasn't so certain she could maintain that kind of patience.
There were other ways to win such a personal war.
Chapter 4 THE BRAND
Now, this was the kind of council meeting Regis of Lonelywood most enjoyed. The halfling sat back in his cushioned chair, hands folded behind his head, his cherubic face a mask of contentment, as the prisoners taken from the road south of Bremen were paraded before the councilors. Two were missing, one recovering (perhaps) from a newly placed crease in his chest, and the other—the woman whom the friends had believed to be the leader of the rogue band—held in another room to be brought in separately.
“It must be wonderful having such mighty friends,” Councilor Tamaroot of Easthaven, never a fan of the Lonelywood representative, said cynically and quietly in Regis's ear.
“Those two,” the halfling replied more loudly, so that the other three councilors on his side of the room certainly heard him. The halfling paused just long enough to ensure that he had the attention of all four, and of a couple of the five from across the way, as well as the attention of Elderman Cassius, then pointed to the two thugs he'd battled—or that he'd forced to battle each other. “I took them both, without aid,” the halfling finished.
Tamaroot bristled and sat back in his seat.
Regis smoothed his curly brown locks and put his hands behind his head again. He could not contain his smile.
After the introductions, and with no disputes from any of the others, Cassius imposed the expected sentence, “As you killed no one on the road—none that we know of, at least—so your own lives are not forfeit,” he said.
“Unless the wound Bruenor's axe carved into the missing one puts him down,” the councilor from Caer-Konig, the youngest and often crudest of the group, piped in. Despite the poor taste of the remark, a bit of muffled chortling did sound about the decorated room.
Cassius cleared his throat, a call for some solemnity. “But neither are your crimes dismissed,” the elderman went on. “Thus you are indentured, for a period of ten years, to a boat of Councilor Kemp's choosing, to serve on the waters of Maer Dualdon. All of your catch shall be forfeited to the common fund of Ten-Towns, less Kemp's expenses for the boat and the guards, of course, and less only enough to see that you live in a measure of meager sustenance. That is the judgment of this council. Do you accept it?”
“And what choice are we given?” said one of the thugs, the large man Catti-brie had overwhelmed.
“More than you deserve,” Kemp interjected before Cassius could reply. “Had you been captured by the Luskan authorities, you would have been paraded before Prisoner's Carnival and tortured to death in front of a screaming crowd of gleeful onlookers. We can arrange something similar, if that is your preference.”
He looked to Cassius as he finished, and the elderman nodded his grim approval of the Targos councilor's imposing speech.
“So which shall it be?” Cassius asked the group.
The answer was rather predictable, and the grumbling group of men was paraded out of the room and out of Brynn Shander, on the way to Targos where their prison ship waited.
As soon as they had gone, Cassius called for the cheers of the council, a salute to Regis and the others for a job well done.
The halfling soaked it in.
“And I fear we may need the group, the Companions of the Hall, yet again, and soon enough,” Cassius explained a moment later, and he motioned to the chamber's door sentries. One exited and returned with Jule Pepper, who cut a regal figure indeed, despite her capture and imprisonment.
Regis looked at her with a fair amount of respect. The tall woman's black hair shone, but no more than did her intelligent eyes. She stood straight, unbroken, as if this entire episode were no more than a nuisance, as if these pitiful creatures who had captured her could not really do anything long-lasting or devastating to her.
The functional tunic and leggings she had worn on the road were gone now, replaced by a simple gray dress, sleeveless and, since it was too short for a woman of Jule's stature, worn low off the shoulder. It was a simple piece really, nearly formless, and yet, somehow, the woman beneath it managed to give it quite an alluring shape, bringing it down just enough to hint at her shapely and fairly large breasts. The dress was even torn on one side—Regis suspected that Jule had done that, and purposely— and through that slot, the woman did well to show one smooth and curvaceous leg.
“Jule Pepper,” Cassius said curiously, and with a hint of sarcasm. “Of the Pepper family of…?”
“Was I to be imprisoned in the name my parents chose for me?” the woman answered, her voice deep and resonant, and with a stiff eastern accent that seemed to shorten every word into a crisp, accentuated sound. “Am I not allowed to choose for myself the title I shall wear?”
“That would be the custom,” Cassius said dryly.
“The custom of unremarkable people,” Jule confidently replied. “The jewel sparkles, the pepper spices.” She ended with a devastating grin, one that had several of the councilors—ten males, including the elderman, and only one woman—shifting uneasily in their seats.
Regis was no less flustered, but he tried to look beyond the impressive woman's obvious physical allure, taking even greater interest in Jule's manipulative cunning. She was one to be wary of, the halfling knew, and still, he could not deny he had more than a little curiosity about exploring this interesting creature more fully.
“May I ask why I am being held here against my choice and free will?” the woman remarked a moment later, after the group had settled again, with one even tugging at his collar, as if to let some heat out of his burning body.
Cassius snorted and waved a dismissive hand her way. “For crimes against Ten-Towns, obviously,” he replied.
“List them then,” Jule demanded. “I have done nothing.”
“Your band—” Cassius started to respond.
“I have no band,” Jule interrupted, her eyes flashing and narrowing. “I was on my way to Ten-Towns when I happened to cross paths with those rogues. I knew not who they were or why they were in that place at that time, but their fire was warm and their food acceptable, and any company seemed better than the murmuring of that endless wind.”
“Ridiculous!” one of the councilors asserted. “You were speaking with them knowingly when the terrified pair returned to you—on the word of Drizzt Do'Urden himself, and I have come to trust in that dark elf!”