The Silver Shard (Callis and Toll Book 1) by Nick Horth

Author:Nick Horth [Horth, Nick]
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Published: 2018-07-06T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Three

‘That’s the Thrice Lucky?’ Captain Kaskin snorted, dabbing at his great, sweaty mass of a forehead with a silk handkerchief. ‘The Wolf of Excelsis? The ship that broke the Tenth Kerran Blockade? That half-wrecked piece of flotsam is the flagship of the famed Fleet­master Arika Zenthe?’

He giggled, a childlike, nasal sound.

‘They’ve seen hard fighting,’ said Captain Lorse. Where Kaskin was a painted walrus of a man, dressed in garish greens and golds, Lorse was wiry and weathered, with the scars and burns of a life spent fighting and killing on the open seas. ‘They’ve masked it well enough, but that’s a vicious wound in the lower hull. They’re lucky they made it to port.’

‘Not so lucky,’ said Captain Azrekh. The duardin leaned against the far wall, his muscled arms folded, stubby fingers covered almost entirely with gleaming rings.

Ortam Vermyre moved to the balcony of the High Captains’ Lodge, leaning against the rail and looking out over the harbour. He could see the tiny figures upon the deck of the Thrice Lucky, to-ing and fro-ing as they hauled crates of cargo onto the pier. He had arrived here a half day before Toll and his band. The witch hunter had made better progress than Vermyre had expected, though it seemed they had suffered for their haste.

‘They’ve lost half their crew,’ he said. ‘They’re weak and exhausted. You’ll never have a better chance to end Captain Arika Zenthe. And with her dead, her crew slaughtered, that leaves the Excelsis harbour without an overlord. And you three gentlemen with an intriguing opportunity.’

‘To control the docks of the City of Secrets,’ muttered Lorse. ‘That’s real power. Real coin.’

Vermyre smiled beneath his mask. He had considered passing by Bilgeport and heading straight for the Fatescars. His tzaangor allies had their own, unique methods of transport, and so there was no need to buy passage upon an air-vessel. But Vermyre had known that Toll would travel here eventually, and had sensed a chance to spring a trap upon his pursuer, and retrieve something of value in the process.

Vermyre could feel Azrekh’s eyes boring into him, and turned to meet the duardin’s gaze.

‘What do you get out of this, masked one?’ Azrekh said, narrowing his slate-grey eyes. A vicious, skull-shaped brand covered the left side of the duardin’s face, turning his frown into an ugly leer. A former slave, this one, so the stories said. Of course, that painful history hadn’t stopped the good captain dabbling in the trade himself. In fact, he was an infamously cruel and ruthless master.

Vermyre had dealt with the High Captains many times before, though always through intermediaries. It was amusing to think that these three men were standing next to one of their greatest benefactors, completely oblivious as to his true identity. They had been useful privateers, allowing him to direct Bilgeport’s raider fleets to targets that would most benefit Ortam Vermyre; the trade convoys of his rivals, for instance.

They were the perfect tools for his current needs. A simple

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