Elaina followed her down the corridor, paying no attention to where she was being led. Her mind was awhirl with the possibilities.
“She offer you the world?” said Henry.
Elaina shook her head. “Just a part of it.”
Chapter 2 - North Gale
T’ruck marched along the corridor with two soldiers in front of him and three behind. He towered over all five men, but he was under no illusions; should he so much as step out of line he would be skewered, and there was only so much even he could take.
His wounds had been patched up by a competent priest of the Five Kingdoms. Priests were good for tending wounds and making folk feel guilty, and little else. T’ruck had killed a few of them in his time; they infested the Five Kingdoms like ticks on a mange-ridden dog. Eight gods the Five Kingdomers worshipped, and each one needed more priests than the last.
For two days now he’d languished in a cell, alone. The brig on board Storm Herald was large, and T’ruck had heard other voices, other members of his crew, but they were kept away from him, and any attempt to raise his voice was met with the threat of beatings. T’ruck wasn’t afraid of beatings, but if he was to escape – and he intended to – he would need to be as whole as possible.
His escorts stopped and opened a heavy wooden door, standing aside and motioning him in. T’ruck ducked under the frame and walked into the room. The door shut behind him. He’d been wondering how long it would take for the cowards to start the torture.
It was a large cabin, spacious enough for a good number of folk, with two chairs and a single table. T’ruck eyed it and decided it was likely to be where the torturer would put his devices, lay them out for all to see. The anticipation of torture was said to be even worse than the ordeal itself. T’ruck plucked the table from the floor, unhindered by his manacled hands, and turned it to kindling against the far wall, grinning at the petty destruction. Whoever came for him would have to put their precious knives and clamps on the floor. He paced the room, searching for a way out. There was nothing. The cabin had no windows, and while shattering the small storm lantern would allow him to start a fire, he would no doubt be the first to die from it. It did seem strange that they would leave a lantern unguarded with him. At the very least he could use it as a weapon and bludgeon the first man through the door when they came for him.
When the door did finally open, a chill ran down T’ruck’s spine and all thoughts of assault by lantern fled. The man who entered was tall and muscular, with long brown hair and cold grey eyes. He wore bleached-bone trousers, a shirt to match, and a yellow tabard over the top, cinched at the waist with a red sash. The man wore no armour, and his only visible weapon was a longsword buckled to a belt underneath the tabard. T’ruck swallowed and backed up further into the cabin.
The Sword of the North smiled as he stepped into the room, briefly glancing around before slowly walking past T’ruck to the far corner. T’ruck was watching him so warily he didn’t notice a second man enter until he spoke.
“You appear to know Sir Derran,” said Admiral Verit, the man who had beaten T’ruck, scuttled his ship, and captured or killed his entire crew.
T’ruck glanced at the admiral before turning his attention back to the Sword of the North. “He killed my brother.”
The swordsman squatted down and stared at T’ruck with eyes like cold steel. “I’ve killed a lot of brothers and a lot of clansmen.”
“My brother was at Snake Pass,” T’ruck spat.
“Oh. Then he died well. They all died well at the pass.”
“What does it matter how some long-dead barbarian died?” the admiral said with a sigh.
“It matters,” the Sword of the North hissed.
T’ruck nodded to him, acknowledging his respect. It was the first time he’d ever met the Blademaster, but every man, woman, and child of the northern clans had heard of the knight and knew how many of their kin he’d killed. They called him a warrior without equal and, standing in front of him now, T’ruck could believe it. Here was a man who could give T’ruck a glorious end, and if he was to have one, he wanted it to be glorious.
“I would challenge you,” T’ruck rumbled, standing to his full height and rolling back his shoulders to show off his size.
The Sword of the North smiled; it was the smile of the Reaper, not one of friendship. “And I would accept, but the admiral has your death claimed already, so it cannot belong to me. Besides, I didn’t come to this shit hole to fight you. I came for someone else.”
“Enough,” said the admiral. “I didn’t bring you here to exchange pleasantries, Sir Derran.”
“Careful, Admiral. Unless you’ve inherited a golden crown recently, I don’t answer to you. I’ll keep you safe from the giant, but if you insult me again I’ll kill you myself.”
The admiral held Sir Derran's stare for a few seconds longer before turning to T’ruck. “You are T’ruck Khan from the Herasow clan of the World’s Edge mountains?”
“No,” T’ruck rumbled. “That clan is long dead. I am Captain T’ruck Khan of the North Gale.”
“Your ship is wreckage, and your crew – those who didn’t drown – are my prisoners. You are captain of nothing, Khan.” The admiral pulled a chair over and sat down. “I was going to order some refreshments brought, but I see you took offence to the table.”
“Five Kingdoms trash,” T’ruck spat, pacing behind the second chair. “It broke as easily as your men aboard the ship we took.”
Admiral Verit sighed. “I am offering you the chance at a civilised conversation, barbarian. I suggest you take it. It is the only chance you have of saving your neck.”
T’ruck stopped pacing and fixed the admiral with a stare, leaning over the back of the chair. “And my crew?”
“Will be hanged for their crimes.”
T’ruck said nothing.
“We already have the location of New Sev’relain,” the admiral continued. “Sir Derran will be leading a force to take the island soon enough. What we would like to know from you is its current defences, how many troops are stationed there, and the best method of attacking the settlement.”
T’ruck said nothing.
“In return we can offer you special consideration. Cooperate and your case will be brought to the attention of His Majesty King Jackt himself. He will personally officiate over your hearing – and the king has been known to be merciful, even to barbarians like you.”
T’ruck said nothing.
“I would advise you not to squander this opportunity. It will not be offered again. Once I leave this room, if you have provided no useful information you will be transported to Land’s End with the rest of your crew, where you will be hanged and your body displayed to warn others from the course of piracy.”
T’ruck looked over towards the Sword of the North. The Blademaster was still squatting in the corner of the cabin, watching T’ruck’s every move. No doubt the man could spring to life and gut T’ruck before he could even strike the admiral.
“You follow orders,” T’ruck said. “Go where you’re told to go. Kill who you’re told to kill. Men like him” – T’ruck pointed at the admiral – “give orders. Tell others to kill for them.”
T’ruck glared at Verit. “Men like you killed my wives, killed my children. I would see you all opened.” He pointed at his crotch and drew the finger up to his neck. “I would dance on your guts and feed your heart to my dogs.”
The admiral sighed. “Men like me will see you hanged.”
T’ruck reached into his trousers, pulled out his cock, and pissed on the deck, aiming for the admiral’s shiny boots. The man launched himself backwards, knocking over his chair and stumbling towards the doorway, all to the laughter of the Sword of the North.