The Corsair

Very few of the clans of Kharsoom bother with a navy. The continent of Obai is vast, but much of the settlements are in the interior. As for its shores, it does not have much in the way of beaches or bays, and much of the coastline is rocky, bordered with cliffs and mountains. Those few places where ships can make port in Kharsoom were perhaps the one place the infamously decaying culture had remained somewhat vital.

Pirates concentrated around these few ports like vultures on a fresh kill. The Shattered Reef was an infamous haven on Obai's western coast, and after my adventure at the Silken Labyrinth, I made my way there. It was not easy to find, and it was across a section of wasteland whose only watering holes were poison. Death to any who did not have a sweetwater goblet. Once again, I thanked Thalalei. Without her, I could never have survived.

I chose the Reef because, after traveling the Red Wastes for so long, I needed the ocean. I needed creaking shipboards beneath my feet and a salt wind on my face. The ocean would return to me a sense of purpose, if only because it had originally robbed me of it.

My time on Naeri's Revenge during the Turquoise Conquest had given me skills of an able seaman, and while my piracy had always been in service of a cause, I felt no great guilt at the prospect of preying on Kharsoomian shipping. I merely needed to find a ship that would take me.

A word on the Shattered Reef, for like so much in this different age, it no longer exists. It was one of the scars left by the great cataclysm that cast Kharsoom from its former glory into its then present debased state. It was a maze of islands that led out into the Beryl Ocean, that smallest of waterways between Obai and Jhobai. This maze of islands was uncharted by any official source, but I saw half a dozen maps among the pirates. No two were identical, which I suppose explains the lack of outside maps.

At the eastern edge of this almost bay was the city Repentance. I don't know what it was called originally. I don't think anyone knew even then, and now I am likely the only one who remembers it at all. Once it had been a great walled city, many leagues from the coast, and when I first saw it, it was a port town, a haven for pirates, thieves, whores, and outcasts. In my present state, I fit right in.

I rode into Repentance at midday. The guards at the gate were indifferent, not even bothering to wave me through. The flags flapping on the ramparts were black and showed no device.

As I entered, I found a city that was overwhelming in its Kharsoomianness, if you will forgive my using that word. Its scale had been grander than most. Its ruins were more ruined. The shanties were like layers of oysters and barnacles grown over the hulls of a fleet of shipwrecks. The city simply stopped at a cliff, and that was the edge of the cataclysm that had created the Shattered Reef. The city wall was sliced off, and then, a plunge into the makeshift wharf below. Repentance was at once inexorably dying and impossibly alive, that juxtaposition that made Kharsoom intoxicating.

Steep stairs, cut into the cilff facesthemselves, descended to the wharf. Smaller alcoves had been cut as well, and most of these were taverns and the like. On either side of the wharf, a narrow beach hugged the rocks. A half dozen ships were always anchored there, flying flags of piracy. I knew it was a pirate haven, but I believed it had a veneer of legitimacy. A corrupt and disinterested lord of a desperate clan.

The central avenue was lined with stalls that were little more than tents clinging to crumbling walls. I stopped at the water merchant, a reedy man with a kind, open face.

"What Prince rules this place?" I asked.

He chuckled. "You'll be wanting Lord Salt. His palace is that way." He pointed to the west and gave no further explanation.

I rode Ksenaëe through town. She uttered periodic squawks as though acknowledging the danger of the place. I could not help but agree with her assessment. I went west, not in search of Lord Salt's palace, but to find the taverns that inevitably clustered around the waterfront. Those would be the places looking for a man like me. I would find those places on the cliffs, and I dismounted my qobad, leading her down the stairs. She did not like the narrow pathways, but she was surefooted.

I saw others like me, armed men and women, some still wearing their collars, others striped with old whip scars. We gave each other wary space. Though they were the exception to the rule, there were those boldisars who looked for excuses to challenge their brethren. Whether it was a love of death or a need to test themselves, I do not know. Finding a fight had never been difficult for me. The idea of looking for them was a strange one.

I chose a tavern as close to the water as I could find. It was filled with the dead stink of the harbor. Men and women with windburned faces drank caustic liquor in the heat of the day. I tied Ksenaëe to the hitching post at the foot of the stairs. She gave me an annoyed squawk. I patted her neck. "They don't serve your kind there."

I sat at an open table, which was merely an old barrel decorated with decades if not centuries of stains and hoped they had something better than akaberry wine. While the bulk of the people in the tavern were Kharsoomians, the population was far from homogenous. I took most of them to be former slaves, as I was. Some bore the scars. One even still wore his collar, though I didn't think it still carried the weight it once had.

A barmaid, an aging but still comely Kharsoomian woman approached me and with barely disguised annoyance asked, "What do you want?"

"Anything that isn't akaberry wine."

"Rum? We have rum."

"Thank all the gods," I sighed.

She brought me rum and I sipped it. It wasn't bad all told.

"Anything else?"

"You know of any ships hiring hands?"

"You a sailor then?"

"I was." I put a pair of caira on the table. They vanished into the pouch hanging from her harness.

She nodded to a table by the lip of the tavern overlooking the wharf where an aging half-orc with a crimson tinge to his skin drank. "That's Hark. Knows every captain, every crew. If there's a ship looking, he'll know it."

The half-orc was a pleasant enough sort and after I paid for a drink, he sent me down to the docks, looking for a ship called, with some measure of fate, The Boldisar. He said it was newly arrived in port. It had gotten the wrong end of a skirmish with a pair of frigates from Clan Beldamesh and had lost several sailors.

"It's a Shattered Reaver ship," he finished.

"I don't know what that means."

"Pirate clan."

"Under this Lord Salt?"

Hark snorted. "Lord Salt. That's a joke, boldisar. Oh, I'm sure Repentance had a proper prince sometime long ago, before half of it fell into the sea. Only lord we'll take is Lord Salt, long may he reign." Hark raised his voice with this last, and patrons all around raised their glasses in mock toast.

He downed the rum and looked at me expectantly until I called the barmaid over and bought him another.

"Shattered Reavers are under Princess Arishat. I'll save you the embarrassment, she's no more princess than I am. Rules them from a galleon called The Typhoon Cross. No more cruel or vengeful bitch upon the waves, she. Every one of her sailors would die for her without hesitation."

"She sounds impressive."

"You'll see her. When she masses the Reavers, you'll see her. When she wants to make a prize of a convoy. Captain of The Boldisar, that'd be Ixalvuh. Capable but headstrong. Look for the flag with the skeletal spearman."

I thanked Hark and made my way to the harbor. I found a scarred frigate beneath a black flag with a white skeleton wielding a spear. The figurehead was a nereid, her breasts and teeth bared. On the wharf, barking orders to the men maintaining the ship was a hulking Kharsoomian man, his head shaved. He wore heavy gold earrings and had cultivated long mustaches growing from the corners of his lip.

He stood next to a woman with deep brown skin and long, curly black hair. Gold sparkled from her wrists and ankles. She wore a Kharsoomian blade on one slender hip and a fighting hook on the other. Her breasts were heavy, with fat, conical nipples, and wide hips. Her body was covered in muscle and scars. She was fetching, though not a great beauty.

"I'm looking for Captain Ixalvuh and The Boldisar," I said.

The Kharsoomian turned. "I'm her quartermaster."

"I was told you were looking for sailors."

He looked me over. "Ever served on a ship?"

"At war."

"Doing?"

I hesitated. "Able seaman, boarding actions." He frowned, his eye going to Ur-Anu's blade. The woman's eyes were on it as well. An obsidian blade the size of a man's forearm was remarkable in itself, but it was flawless. Not a single chip marred its keen edge. Then the light would catch the veins like lightning that ran from the blade's base out to the tip. It was obviously a weapon of a hero.

She leaned over and murmured, "I have heard tales of a man like this. Who bears a spear with an obsidian blade. He cut his way out of the hippodrome in Ghanappur." Though she intended the words for the quartermaster's ears alone, my jungle-honed senses plucked them from the air.

"Are you this man?" he asked.

"I am Ashuz, sometimes called Farmer."

"Wielder of the Blackspear," said the woman.

I nodded at the weapon in my hand. "As you can see."

"We'll take you," the quartermaster said.

"My qobad," I said. "I have grown attached."

He gave Ksenaëe an unimpressed glance, then pointed. "Find the livery yonder. Walk south along the wharf and you will not miss it. Keep your qobad there. We return to Repentance often. And when you tire of paying her board, they'll give you a fair price for her."

"I'll return soon," I said.

"Good. Plenty of work for you, Blackspear."

The quartermaster was Agon, the woman with was the Master-at-Arms, Hriti. As a marine, I would be under her command. She seemed an agreeable sort, and no one who suffered as many scars as she was a coward. Until a boarding action, I would be employed at restoring The Boldisar to full battle-readiness.

As I joined the work crew, others filtered in from Repentance, eager to sign on with the Shattered Reavers. I found the crew welcoming enough, and swiftly word got around about who I was. Apparently escaping the hippodrome and butchering a few dozen of Clan El's fighting men was enough to gain a reputation.

I got my first glimpse of Ixalvuh as well. Her tattoos and coloring said she was Lixhan, but she was clad as a Kharsoomian. Her harness dripped with weaponry, from straight Kharsoomian swords, to throwing daggers, and a fighting hook. Her black hair had been shaven on the sides, and a leather patch covered her right eye. I would not call her beautiful, but there was a certain allure to her ferocity, and perhaps there was still enough of the boy from Burley Shoal that a nude woman would always be pleasing. Most remarkably, the silky fleece between her legs had been shaven into a lightning bolt.

I soon learned this was a fairly common practice among the non-Kharsoomians in not only the Shattered Reavers, but in the pirate culture of the city at large. Our body hair marked us as exotic and the Kharsoomians often attached strange attraction to it. Those who shaped their hair did so with an alchemical concoction, and though I was offered some, I declined. I was one of the only members of the crew who covered my vitals, and felt no need for any modification.

A week after I joined, The Boldisar set out from Repentance. Our helmsman, a diminutive man from Batsei, guided the vessel through the winding avenues, making for the Beryl Ocean. I grew closer with the crew, learning their songs, and teaching them the Axichan ones I had learned so long ago. There is something about life at sea. All sailors share a culture that spans the world, spans languages. I'd only served on an Axichan ship, and outside of a regular command structure, yet I fit in amongst Kharsoomian corsairs.

Perhaps had I not been a wizard I would have been a sailor. I was not born in Burley Shoal, so Rhadoviel told me, but it is small wonder that I might find an attraction to the ocean. I grew up smelling it on the air, feeling its spray on my cheeks, seeing it roiling outside my window. I find myself at home on the sea. There is something about the operation of a ship, in all its meticulous detail, that appeals to me. And most importantly, there is always another horizon.

We found our prey, a wallowing tub separated from its convoy, shortly after hitting the open water and swept down on it like a qobad on an unfortunate lizard. The convoy circled about to try to drive us off, but the wind was against them.

We flung a few broadsides at one another before pulling up alongside. Grappling hooks went over the gunwales as we hauled the ships hull-to-hull. I was one of the first to set foot on enemy boards. Clutching Ur-Anu, the threads of Fate reached into my mind and showed me my path. The men on the deck, Tabiyyan by the looks of them, were fierce fighters but they could not compare to me.

Was I arrogant? Perhaps. No, that is overly generous. I was arrogant. With Ur-Anu in my hand there was nothing they could do against me, not these merchants nor the marines they employed. I slew their captain and kicked his body to the circling sharks.

We opened the hold to find cases of salt, a collection of Kharsoomian spices, and some chests of silver. No akaberry wine, as they could never get anyone else to drink the vile stuff. The empty shackles on the floor said that this had been a slaving vessel, unloading its cargo in Deszu. On impulse, I sliced a few holes in the hull and made my way back to The Boldisar.

We were off as the first of the convoy's catapult stones splashed into the water off our stern. They had to choose between rescuing the sailors on the sinking ship and pursuing us into the teeth of the wind. They chose their men and we were lost to the sky with our hold filled with their treasure.

"You fight well," Hriti said. She had a few new stripes on her, but she had done far more to them. Her skin glistened with sweat, a few lines of crimson running over her muscles.

"They were no true challenge."

"You might find what you're looking for out here."

"When that happens, tell me. I still don't know."

Hriti laughed, leaving me to my labors.

We made our way into the maze that was the Shattered Reef, ready to empty our holds and enjoy our spoils. Nearly every island had some settlement, ranging from mere firepits to full villages. We made our way to one of the largest, a place I learned was called Urok by the locals. It featured a single stone wall, older than the island itself, and the settlement had grown up around that. Although "settlement" was overstating things.

Urok was a collection of bonfires on the shore with tents extending out into the hillier parts of the island. As with everything in Kharsoom, the terrain was barren, with only a few leafless trees and thorny brambles clinging to the soil. Ruling over the bay was the great galleon The Typhoon Cross.

The story I heard much later was that she was built by Clan Hasdrubaal, intended to protect their port at Deszu. Princess Arishat, already an accomplished corsair, had absconded with it in a daring theft, and now it was the flagship of our pirate clan. It was an impressive beast, to be sure, and as I beheld it in the comically small bay in front of Urok, I wondered if we couldn't have used her on the Turquoise.

It was the first time in a long time that the war intruded into my thoughts. Inevitably, the memory of the final battle came upon me, but this time the pitching waves and the screams of my hetairoi were far off. They had died protecting me. Not out of some great love, though I do not doubt that they came to love me, but for Axichis. The Dreadstorm had been the best weapon against the Heacharid. Though it hurt, it was no longer an anguish that threatened to swallow me.

To find that this agony from the war had scabbed over in my soul was something of a comfort. I did not feel peace exactly, but I could accept what happened. Einoë and Kallea had died heroes, and I had given them a final wish. I held them close in my mind. I would look to them as inspirations and treasure their memories.

"Ashuz," Hriti said, clapping me on the shoulder. "You will come with me to the fights."

"Will I?" I looked her over, my gaze lingering on her belly, where her muscles crawled beneath her glistening skin.

"You like the fights, don't you?"

"If they have food and drink, yes." I thought about it. "What will be fighting?"

"Half the fun is finding out."

As it happened, the battle was between a pair of pirates and the biggest ripper lizard I had ever seen. Hriti gambled some of her share of loot, and collected a bit when the lizard only managed to kill one of the men before the other slew it. Immediately, the beast's carcass was taken from the ring to be butchered. The scent of its roasting filled the air over the next bout, a pair of heavily-armed pirates fighting with spear and shield.

"What do you think of them?"

"The one there," I said, nodding to the woman. "An amazon taught her. She'll win."

"Care to make a wager?"

"If you've a mind to lose your money."

She did, and I collected it when the amazon-trained woman knocked the other off his feet and made him yield. I nearly asked her name. Then I knew I would have to say my own. My real name. And I knew I couldn't. It was still stuck within me. I was unworthy of it.

We watched a few more fights, the last of them with a haunch of ripper lizard to share. The rum flowed too, and Hriti drank like no one I had ever seen. I had some myself, and by the time the fights were finishing, I was thinking of finding a quiet place to sleep.

Hriti threw her arm about me. Her flesh was warm, her breath heavy with rum. She smelled of smoke and sweat and blood. "Fancy a tumble, Ashuz?"

I squinted at the bawdy house. It was little more than a tent. "It's the end of the night. The women are likely tired. Not much fun."

She laughed. "Not with them. With me."

"Oh, in that case, yes."

"Wise man." She dragged me quickly through the chilly Kharsoomian night, pulling me to the place where the crew had pitched their tents not far from the harbor. She pulled me into hers, and her mouth was on mine. Her tongue was clumsy with drink, but it didn't matter. It had been some months since my adventure in the Silken Labyrinth, and I could use a bout of love.

She reached beneath my kilt, finding me hardening, and chuckled. "I had a feeling you had another impressive spear," she said as I swelled in her hand. I removed the loincloth, pushing her down on the pile of furs and roughly spreading her legs.

Hriti had shaven her fleece in an unusual pattern. Her lips were bald, the hair forming an archway on either side and above her sex, as though welcoming me. I admit, I would not prefer this with a woman, but it was an interesting novelty, and I had no illusions about the romance or longevity of our dalliance. I spread her open, her dark innerfolds giving way to bright pink inside. She moaned as I swiftly sampled her nectar. It was already flowing, and with a heavy, musky taste cut with liquor and sweat. I teased only a bit, before sheathing my fingers in her. When I brushed over her pearl, she hissed in pleasure.

She pushed me over, her warrior's body powerful. She grinned at the sight of my staff turgid between us. "More like a purplespear, hmm?" She gave me a lick, then her hot mouth closed over me for a few quick sucks, her hand pumping me from root to crown.

When she judged me ready, she released me, throwing her leg over my pelvis and guiding me to her orchid. She impaled herself without much ceremony, and I sat up, burying my face in her breasts as she bounced upon me. This was artless, mere fucking, but we were having fun. Her grunts grew deeper, more intense. She sounded like a warrior in the midst of a duel.

Impulsively, I picked her off of me and turned her about. She knew what I wanted, and was of like mind, getting onto all fours. Her buttocks shone in the diffuse light.

She laughed, "Good. Deep and hard, Ashuz."

I slapped one brown hemisphere. "That was my plan."

"I should clap you in irons for that disrespect." She yelped as I slammed into her, then sighed, "but you fuck like a beast."

I gripped her hips, hauling her onto me. She grunted each time I hit her inner wall. I felt the bliss in me, ready to fall, and I fought it, holding it back to get another deep thrust into her. I looked down and dimly, I could see the winking rosebud between her muscular buttocks. On impulse, I spat into it, then pressed a thumb into the dark ring. She yelped as I penetrated her, a yelp that turned into a long and throaty moan as the bliss took her.

Her back glistened, and she moved against me, her body returning to her controll. She must have felt me inside her, ready to explode, for she looked over her shoulder, her dark eyes meeting mine. "Paint my back, Ashuz," she said.

I obeyed. As the bliss tore its way out of me, I pulled from her sex, my seed splashing over her back, pearly ropes against chocolatl skin.

We fell into the furs, huddled close, keeping the warmth of our coupling inside. "I thought you and Agon..." I said.

"And still you fucked me."

"You asked, and I am no fool."

She chuckled. "Agon and I are together. He is also fucking that little bosun's mate."

"And you?"

"I like variety. Agon is my man, but sometimes I need someone else." She looked at me. "Does that trouble you?"

"No." I hauled her into my arms. "But until sunrise, you are mine."

"Well," she purred. "I suppose I can't argue with that."

I took her once more, that time more gently, and we slept, satisfied. When we awoke, it was like we had not lain together at all. Merely a sweet rendezvous that, for either of us, bore no special significance.

The morning after Hriti and I lay together was the first time I saw Princess Arishat. Hriti and I awoke, gathering our possessions without ceremony, and quit the tent, heading back to the ship. A runner found us.

"Princess Arishat's meeting with the captain," was the message, and that was enough to push Hriti into a jog. I kept pace with her. As for the runner, he sprinted into the settlement, no doubt hunting for the rest of the crew.

"What does this mean?"

"Means Arishat wants The Boldisar." She broke into a wide smile, the pace doing nothing to disrupt the even rhythm of her words. "Means a prize."

We climbed onto the deck of our ship and I got my first look at Arishat's entourage. Her Master-at-Arms was Gurek, a cyclops from the wastes. Twice as tall as one of us, and bearing a harpoon to match, he was a terrifying sight.

Her Quartermaster was Jegu, a doughty man from Zuunkhorun, and the first of those I had ever met. He wore breeches and a vest, already marking him as exotic, and carried one of Zuunkhorun's famous bows. Arched and cruel, it was deadly from a shocking distance. I once saw Dajirai kill an enemy captain with a single arrow at three hundred yards in rough seas. He never regarded the shot as especially remarkable. Meeting him taught me respect for his people. I would grow to love them later.

Sitting with them were Jagga and Kagga, Arishat's twin jagkru. Kharsoomians love the beasts, but I could never manage much affection for them. Their scaly hides were unpleasant to touch, their manner unpredictable and deadly, and their appetites bottomless. Arishat had the two of them trained, meaning they wouldn't attack her, a favor they sometimes granted to her allies. Best trained jagkru I'd ever encountered and I kept my distance.

"Hriti, there you are," said Agon. He looked from her to me. I stared back. I could tell he knew she and I had lain together, and I wondered if he would take exception and if that would mean violence. He merely grunted to himself.

"I have not missed anything," Hriti said.

"Nothing yet," Daijirai said. He looked at me. "Who is this?"

"New marine," Hriti said, and introduced us.

Daijirai made a strange gesture, and I later learned that this was a Zuunese salute, a motion that was originally meant to signify the returning of an unshot arrow into the quiver. "Got a blooded look to you. An' that spear's something. I'd stake my life on it."

"Blackspear," rumbled Gurek. "That's the Blackspear."

"Is it now," Daijirai said thoughtfully. "Where did Ixalvuh find the likes of him?"

"He found us. Rode out of the wastes at Repentance, looking for a crew."

"Hiding from bounty hunters, I expect. No shame in that. Everyone here's got a price on their heads. Well met, Ashuz."

A moment later, the doorway into the captain's quarters opened, and Ixalvuh stepped out. Arishat followed and abruptly I could look at nothing else.

She was magnificent. There were stories of her at the time, of course. The Princess of the Shattered Reef they called her. Stories told of her ferocity, of her skill, of her beauty. I do not want to linger too long upon her reputation, for this is a more intimate tale, and I was largely ignorant of her when we met. There is a lovely history, Red Sands, Red Sails by my daughter Abilyth. Forgive me for that, but she is long in her grave and will not be cross with an overly proud father. In that history, Abilyth created a rather extensive biography of Arishat, and I am pleased to say I could assist in some small ways.

Allow me to begin with the obvious. Arishat was Kharsoomian of course, and thus possessed the incredible beauty of her people. She was nearly as tall as I, broad shouldered, narrow waisted, and powerfully hipped. Her muscles were defined, though not so much as my two acrobats who I still often dreamt of. Her crimson flesh was crisscrossed with innumerable scars. No one of them impressive on its own, but marks of a life spent in violence and the skill to avoid a fatal wound.

Her breasts were a bit more than handfuls, her burgundy nipples wide. Her sex was lovely, a bit of lacy innerfold peeking from her smooth lips. Her jaw was square, her chin strong, her eyes wide with an alluring slant. They were a shade of turquoise I had never seen in a Kharsoomian and never saw again.

She wore a slave collar about her neck, marked with the sigils of Clan Hasdrubaal. Some pirates wore them as a sign of pride and bravery, for an escaped slave could be tortured and executed by any free Kharsoomian with a mind to. Her harness was simple, with a single pauldron at her right shoulder. She carried two straight Kharsoomian blades, a long and short. Other than that bare raiment, she wore jewelry that spoke of wealth. A pair of heavy gold earrings, jade pins through her nipples, bracelets and anklets encrusted with jewels. A simple diadem sat on her brow, marking her as the Princess.

I wanted her. Of course I did. I do not believe any who set eyes on her could not. It was a physical need, a sight of paradise that could not keep me at bay.

This was not even at the height of her power. She still had time to rise, and what we were doing would help that come to pass. Yet I could see her greatness even then. For her beauty wasn't mere physical perfection. She had the sense of being more present, more solid, than anyone else there. All were drawn to her, and she commanded us without effort.

"You will tell them," Arishat said. She nodded to Agon and Hriti. Her gaze snagged on me for a moment and my heart kicked in my chest. She said nothing, leaving our ship and returning to The Typhoon Cross.

"Agon, gather the crew. I'll tell them all at the same time," Ixalvuh said.

"Immediately," he said. He dispatched runners to fetch the crew. "Tell us, captain. What are we after?"

A grin spread over her face. "A prize like you've never seen."

Arishat assembled the fleet to attack not one ship that could be peeled from a convoy, but the entire thing. Not merely any convoy either. Three Xuanese junks fat with Kharsoomian silver, and twice as many escorts. A daring prize, not only for the number of catapults we'd be sailing into, but this could prompt the Topaz Emperor to send a fleet into Kharsoomian waters.

I would not stand in the way of such hubris. Arishat's magnificence was such that any attempt to leash her would have been a crime. I would only battle for her glory. In this, I found a purpose. I was not the only one. We were fanatical in our desire to make her wishes reality. She would not have risen to be Princess of the Shattered Reef had she been anything less.

We found the convoy on the open water, the wind in our favor. We swept in, The Boldisar the first vessel to slip past the interceptors and board. I was the first over the gunwale. The Xuanese sailors were good in a fight. They made a better accounting of themselves than I expected. Brave souls, but that wouldn't help them against me.

I cut my way across the deck, leaving some of my own blood upon the wood with the rivers of the rest. We seized that junk, but it would be the only one of the three we took. The others wheeled off, the interceptors covering their flight.

Still, one treasure ship was an impressive haul. We offered the slaves aboard a place on our crews, plundered the hold of its silver, and scuttled the ship. We were safe in the Reef before any could find us. But that is not the important part of the tale.

The important part came later, when we returned, as a fleet, to Repentance. The caira we had seized from the Xuanese would spend there and we were all eager to get about it. The tradition, though, was for a great celebration down on the beach at the place they called Saltown. This was at the southern edge of the beach where ruins from when the city was first cast down still poked from the sand. An old amphitheater had become the site of so many bonfires, the stones were as black as obsidian from generations of smoke. That night, Ixya, the one wizard of the fleet, lit the fire with a simple incantation.

A word on Ixya. The two of us stayed away from one another. For my part, I found a wizard to be uncanny, and uncomfortable reminder of what I had lost. Worse, a reminder of what I could possibly regain, but would need to give this place up. I do not know why he avoided me, but from time to time I caught him watching me with a look of superstitious dread, as though he knew, and saw in me a dark fate.

Silver purchased barrels of wine and rum, and all manner of smoked meats and bread. While the pirates ate and drank and sang, I stayed apart. I ate sparingly and drank little. I had made a home with these people, but I was still not quite at ease. Too much time in the jungle, I believe. Hriti was at Agon's side, leaning against him, so I did not think I would be laying with her that night.

I lingred at the edge of the great fire, when Geb, a friendly Kharsoomian bosun's mate, called to me. "Ashuz. You have tales, don't you?" His group looked to me with expectant eyes, all glittering with drink.

"Tales?"

"A mariner's tale," another one clarified.

"I encountered a sea monster," I said.

"A serpent," sneered one.

"No mere serpent," I said, suddenly offended. "This was Mu-Baoth."

"Mu-Baoth? Impossible. Mu-Baoth is a myth."

"He is real. I've seen him."

"Where?"

"On the Lapis. I was leaving the war..."

"War?"

I shook my head. "That is a different story." I told them of the encounter with Mu-Baoth, though I did not mention the death of my familiar, nor any part of Storm's Rest. That too, I judged, was another tale.

Geb shook his head. "No such thing as a beast that vast."

"No, the barbarian speaks true," said a Kharsoomian woman. "Mu-Baoth haunts the Lapis."

"You've seen him?"

"I have. Back when I served on a merchant vessel. Beast came from the deep and ate an entire ship in a single bite. He was like Ashuz said he was, only... only, there was something else. He was rotten. His skin was swollen or rotted away. Missing eyes too. And when surfaced, the clouds boomed overhead and it smelled like rain. She said lightning ran over the surface of the beast."

I found myself leaning forward. "It did not... I saw no lighting. Are you certain?"

She nodded. "Oh yes. I saw it. Like spiders made of fire, crawling over the surface of it and through its wounds. It was like a storm made manifest." She cocked her head. "Your face, Ashuz. You're pale."

"No," I said, "shaking my head. "It's nothing."

"He's always pale!" laughed Geb.

The others laughed, but I could not find mirth. My mind was locked in the awful revelation in that story. I could only hope that she was wrong. She had to be. I looked at the ring that wrapped about the index finger of my left hand. It was a skeletal serpent, its tail clamped in its mouth. It had power, power that I could not access, although if Kushan-Hegal was correct...

"There was another thing," said the woman. "On the beast's head was the wreckage of ships."

"Shipwrecks?"

"A whole fleet, shattered, like a graveyard. Its rotting flesh had healed over them or they had stuck into it. And I could swear..."

"What?"

"A shape. A person. Riding the ship atop the monster, like a captain."

One of the others laughed. "That's a good tale."

"Tell another!" said Geb. "Who can top that one?"

Except it was no tale. I walked from that gathering to one of the barrels of rum, now half empty, and dunked my mug. I drank deeply, needing something to dull the horror now slithering through my belly.

"You." The voice was strong but sweet, like a sword dripping with honey. I knew who it was before I turned, for it could be none other. My only doubt was that she meant me. When I turned, it was to the weighty attention of Arishat's turquoise eyes. "Come here."

I approached, my mind reeling first with the horror of Mu-Baoth and now my infatuation with the Shattered Princess. She sat with her other captains, all seven of them, including my own, Ixalvuh. "Who are you?"

"They call him the Blackspear," Ixalvuh said.

"Do they? What do you call yourself?"

"Ashuz," I said. "Sometimes Ashuz the Farmer. Blackspear has been used from time to time."

"I have heard of you," she said. "Of what you did at the hippodrome in Ghanappur. I've been wondering, why are you called Farmer?"

"Because I plant a crop of the dead."

"Really?"

"No."

She laughed. "That's what I will tell anyone who asks. You fought well today. What is your position?"

"Marine on The Boldisar."

She nodded. "Well, now you're a marine on The Typhoon Cross."

I glanced to Ixalvuh, but she looked away, unwilling to gainsay the command of her princess. "I will be there."

That was how I became part of the crew of the Shattered Princess's flagship.

I woke with a pounding in my head from the rum and staggered down to the waterfront. I must have looked mad, dipping my sweetwater goblet into the foul water of the bay and guzzling it like it was good Nayarak rum, but it banished the ill feeling of previous revelry. I found Gurek by the ship, kneeling, a scrap of cloth between his great hands, his lumpen features deep in concentration.

I recognized devotions when I saw them and waited until his eye opened. It was amber, the color of a jaguar's eye, and the pupil was the shape of an hourglass. Perhaps that was where the legends came from.

"Blackspear," he rumbled.

"I've been given to your crew."

He nodded. "Asked for you meself after I saw what you done to them Xuanese dogs."

And thus was I accepted as one of Gurek's marines. He was a good commander, demanding valor from us but never foolhardiness. He asked for no risk he would not take himself. Yes, I liked Gurek. For a pirate, he was a noble man.

We went out, singularly and in fleets, several times. Our practice was to remain at sea until we found prey, and we always found prey. Then it was back to one of the settlements in the Reef, or else to Repentance. I lay with Hriti once more, when the two of us found ourselves together in the city. Though she was as passionate as before, I could only think of Arishat.

I suddenly came upon a realization. Cyclopes are another unfortunate casualty of the passing of ages. With a single exception that I know of, they exist only in legend, and thus modern readers would know nothing of them. I am no expert on this ancient race. They were nearly unknown in Chassudor, and thus my knowledge comes from my journeys and the work of Chai Khaab. One of the finest ethnographers of his age, he wrote the definitive text on the cyclopes race, the Sai Cho. A copy exists in my library, and I am partway through a translation into Abbih. I am old now and I have hobbies.

The most common misconception about cyclopes, Chai maintained, was the belief that the race once had two eyes like the majority of other peoples, but gave one up to see in time as well as space. While oracles were more common among the cyclopes, this was due to the devotion of their tri-formed god, Unias. Gurek was one of the faithful, but he boasted no special powers from his faith beyond a serene manner.

Because of his bulk, he slept on the deck, his hammock strung between the fore and mid masts and his stores could rattle the sails. He was a terror when boarding a ship. His harpoon could punch holes in all but the thickest hulls, and unlike mine, his weapon was entirely mundane powered only by his incredible strength.

We were out for a few months, hunting our next prize, when my curiosity got the better of me. "Gurek. Every morning, you hold that cloth during your prayers. What is it?"

He removed it from his pouch and held it up. "This is a Iaialas. Given to my by my bother when I was a babe. My life in hand."

"Not all of it. Your life isn't finished."

"All of it," he said mildly. "When one is born, one's fate's already decided. The Iaialas just describes it. Gives us a place to focus our devotion."

"Who are you praying to?"

"Unias. God of my people."

"For more life? A different destiny?"

Gurek laughed. "Those are thoughts for the small races. No, I am thanking Unias for what I was given. None else could give it to me, none else would've done it."

"Gratitude."

"Important thing, gratitude. Think it's forgotten."

"To the gods."

"To them, to Princess Arishat, to everyone on the ships."

"To me?"

"Of course. You're the finest killer in this fleet, other than me. Makes boarding easier."

I laughed. "Thanks, Gurek."

"See? You're learning gratitude already."

In my time on The Typhoon Cross, I observed Arishat to take lovers only rarely. Usually a fellow captain, and only once one of her own. She was not an overly lusty woman, and I wondered if it was due to a lack of desire on her part or concern over eroding her authority. I had resolved to seduce her, and was wondering what my challenge would be.

I would not to approach her at sea. She was our captain, and I would not undermine her with my lusts. I had to wait until we had returned to Repentance to resupply. Half of the crew went for the bawdy house immediately. I had a powerful thirst. I thought I would comb the fires on the beach later, but first, I went to a place that had been a temple a thousand years ago, and now was a crumbling edifice on the cliff's edge.

I stood in the same tavern that I had visited on my first day in Repentance, drinking as I gazed out over the black waters of the Shattered Reef. Arishat consumed my thoughts. I had not been nervous over the prospect of approaching a woman in some time. I felt like the lad who had adventured across Chassudor, a man in body but still a boy in many ways. It was such an unfamiliar sensation, sweetly nostalgic in its way. My blood leapt in my veins, my heart stuttered its beats. I relished this feeling, and it made the woman who provoked it only more alluring.

"What do you see that amuses you so, Blackspear?" My heart leapt into my throat. It was Arishat. It could be none other.

"Princess," I said, fighting to keep my voice even. "It was a passing fancy."

She came up next to me, holding her own mug. She had a taste for akaberry wine, and she always drank from a jeweled goblet she claimed to have stolen from a Kharsoomian Prince. "On land, you don't need to stand on ceremony."

"Don't I?"

"The Kharsoomians love their status and rank. Fuck them. I was a slave, now I am the Princess of the Shattered Reef. What has changed? I am the same woman."

"There are times I feel like a different man."

"What do you mean?"

"When I was a boy, I was an adventurer. Then, a young man, I was a soldier. Then a boldisar. Now, a pirate. I lose track of who I am."

"You are none of these things."

"You think me a poor pirate?"

"You are an excellent pirate. With that spear of yours, you're a terror. But I can see it in you. You are not truly a pirate. You are with us. None would doubt your courage, your loyalty, but this is not you forever."

"Sometimes I think I could be." She was right. Her words cut to the core of me and I longed to prove them false, as much to myself as to her.

"You know seacraft, that is for certain. I was told you spent time on a ship before."

"Yes."

"Don't want to talk about it? I can understand that."

Arishat had a perfume about, a combination of weapon oil, rum, and sweat. A hint of her womanly musk lurked underneath, subtly permeating my senses and driving me mad. "We were closer to privateers. Irregular navy. Something like that. It was during a war."

"I am not surprised to hear you have been to war."

"You would not have recognized me at war."

She looked at me. Her gaze was like the breath of a lover across my neck. I stood strong, though everything in me wanted to demur. "You have depths, Ashuz. No doubt about that."

"What are you doing?"

"Drinking? Talking to one of my crew?"

"No. You built a fleet. No one builds a fleet without a goal."

She smiled. "I am Princess of the Shattered Reef."

"So you are."

"Shouldn't you be looking for Hriti?" she said, and I recognized the evasion in her words the same as had been in mine.

"She's with Agon tonight." I looked to her and almost made an offer, but she spoke first.

"Then that would mean Panna is free," she said, referring to his other frequent partner. "She might be seeking company." Then she walked away, swinging her hips like a pendulum, and I could only focus on her buttocks, worthy of song.

I didn't seek Panna out that night. I drank and wondered what I would next do. I could not leave it forever. Every day my need grew.

I watched her through the voyage. Every movement of her body, every shift. I watched the way the scars crawled over her supple flesh as her muscles flexed. I smelled her even when she was far away. As far away as one could be on a ship anyway. I believe in that time, my heart learned to beat in time with hers.

She maddened me.

I was not blind to her faults, for she had the same one all of those who seek to shape history do. Hubris causes tragedy, tragedy ignites desire. Though I have experienced it many times in my long life, this chain of cause and effect never ceases to surprise me. The incredible thing is that though Arishat made a mistake that should have brought her low, she recovered. I believe this is the true nature of her greatness. The ability to fail, and return stronger. That was an ability she kept unto her death.

The Xuanese lured us into a trap. They dangled the bait of a convoy fat with silver and as soon as we committed, a fleet materialized from the evil fog that hung on the horizon. Wind did not banish this foul smoke, and soon I learned why. I glimpsed its author on the deck of the Xuanese flagship, a comely woman, her hands wreathed in magic, a spark wraith about her shoulders.

Wizards, rare in Kharsoom, were far more common in the Topaz Empire. "Wizard!" I called in warning.

Arishat paid the wizard no mind. She bore down on the flagship without hesitation. I believe she reasoned that if it fell, so would all of the others and I am certain she trusted Ixya to deal with the wizard. I don't think there was anything she could have done differently. The trap had been sprung, and under her guidance, we were spared the worst of it.

A frigate materialized from the thick fog, speeding for our starboard side with a ram that would no doubt do hideous damage to the hull. We wheeled about, and the blow was a glancing one, still hurling us to the deck. I clambered to my feet, clutching Ur-Anu. The pitch of the sea momentarily took me to the Turquoise, and I was filled with battle lust, thinking it was Heacharids on the other vessel.

"Gurek!" I called. "Throw me!"

The cyclops grinned, picking me off the ground in his massively strong hands. He hurled me up onto the deck of the ship as it scraped along our hull. Time seemed to slow down as I sailed through the air. I could make out every detail on the enemy ship, even droplets of sea spray hurled upward from where our vessels clashed. I had the time to wonder if I had made a grievous error.

I caught the rigging of the Xuanese ship and nearly had my arm ripped from its socket. It would be sore in the days after, worse than the wounds the crew would give me. They had not been prepared for a boarder, and I took my surprise for all it was worth, whirling death as Ur-Anu sliced into the crew. I was gratified to see that my brother and sister pirates had not abandoned me, as boarding grapples from The Typhoon Cross gripped the enemy gunwales.

I briefly considered getting belowdecks, allowing Fate's enchanted blade to make hash of the belly of the vessel, but I didn't want to confine myself. I was vulnerable down there the way I wasn't on the deck, and there was still work to be done.

The battle was chaos. The deck was slick with blood and salt. I slew every enemy sailor I found, but it was Gurek who killed the captain, pinning him to the deck with that massive harpoon. Other ships had turned on us, ready to sink us while we were still linked to the enemy ship. I fought my way back to The Typhoon Cross along with the others, leaping onto our decks, slicing ropes on the grapples, and fleeing.

When we were finally able to tally the butcher's bill, we found we made a fair accounting of ourselves. We had lost two ships, The Shark and Lovely Lady, but the Shattered Reavers survived in a slightly diminished state. The trap had been built to crush us, and it had only inflicted a wound.

The true danger was not in what Arishat lost. It was what she could lose. Two ships and all hands aboard, was a tragedy, but if she showed weakness, callousness, or any other of a litany of responses, she could lose far more. Pirates will only follow those they believe in, and a skilled captain nurtures that belief above everything. She sent the signals to the rest of the fleet to make for the Reef. I waited, watching her, wondering how she would be the equal of this test.

That night, she had barrels of grog brought up on deck. She stood before them, the blazing light of our lanterns drenching the deck in amber. We all went silent, waiting for her to speak, the only sound the whisper of the wind through the rigging and the creak of the ship.

"Brothers and sisters. We got beaten today," she said, sweeping us with her gaze. "But this does not mean we are beaten forever. Tonight, we mourn those we lost. Tomorrow, we're back on the hunt. We're still the Shattered Reavers, the scourge of the Beryl. Tonight, celebrate our fallen, for we are lesser without them. Tomorrow, we hold them in our hearts, to give us power, inspiration. We will make them proud." She broke open a barrel. "Drink deeply. And sing."

"Sing what?" demanded a voice.

"Start with The Maiden of Deszu. That was Chisai's favorite, and wherever he is, he'll hear us and know he's not forgotten." She dipped her jeweled goblet into the dark liquor of the barrel, drawing it out. "To all of you, and to our fallen friends." And she drank deeply.

We went in, singularly and in groups, dipping our cups in. My sweetwater goblet made short work of the grog, transforming it into replenishing water. I had no wish to addle my senses that night. I found the edge of courage, and I relished the nerves that walked over my skin like spiders.

We began our songs and reminisces. I was quiet, as I had not yet been with the crew for a year. I felt as though I did not quite know them, and perhaps my words would be taken as hasty or insincere. Arishat spoke when anyone approached her, and she always had a fond memory or an admiring story of the dead. She suggested songs, knowing the favorite shanty of every one of us. Otherwise, she receded to the edge of the light. As one barrel emptied and the next dwindled, I saw her slip into her cabin.

I tucked the sweetwater goblet into the folds of my loincloth and followed, knocking softly at her door.

"Who is it?" her voice was gentle.

"Ashuz."

A moment of hesitation. I nearly fell into it. "Come in."

I found her standing at the porthole, her back to me. A single lantern shown liquid gold, dancing over her curves. The fine hatching of scars on her body only made her more alluring. She had taken off her harness, and it was strange to think of that as nudity, but I had been in Kharsoom for some time. My insistence on even my meager raiment was considered a strange affectation.

Jagga and Kagga, her two jugkru, looked up from the corner of her cabin, where they rested in a pile. The vicious beasts uttered disinterested snarls and settled back down. I noted that they were not chained, and if they were to take exception to my presence, there was little I could do save cut them down. I have always enjoyed a spike of danger in my love, and I set Ur-Anu aside.

"Why have you come?" she asked without turning.

"I want you," I said simply.

She chuckled. "I thought you would dissemble. Pretend that I don't notice the way you look at me."

"Everyone looks at you that way."

"Your gaze has weight."

I approached, her scent calling me in, wrapping me in its delicious miasma. I was sober, and yet that scent crawled into me like the finest wine, liberating me of my will, of my senses. She stiffened, ever so slightly. It was only the past months of mirroring her body that allowed me to notice so tiny a movement. She sucked in a breath, a slight quiver on the edge of it. Chill salt air through the porthole washed over me, while the heat of her body reached for me. I took another step.

"You have not told me to leave."

"Not yet."

I reached out, my hands a hair from her body. She shivered, at the near kiss of my touch. The heat of her flesh wreathed my hands, a tiny storm between our skins. I could not quite bridge that final gap, for she was too beautiful, the focus of my fantasies for so long.

I forced myself that final step, and my body was against her, my chest against her back, my hands at her waist. I kissed the arch of her neck, for the first time tasting the salt of her. I found an old scar, my tongue running along its ridge.

"Oh Ashuz," she sighed, leaning back into me. "Am I your dream?"

"You are my dream," I murmured, nibbling the place where her neck and shoulder met. My palms ran up her flesh, inexorably approaching her breasts. "You are my princess."

"Tonight, you are my prince."

I pressed my hips into her, only my loincloth between us. The globes of her buttocks enfolded me. I was already hard, jutting up between them. "I would be whatever you want."

She chuckled. "Then take off that ridiculous kilt. I'll never understand why you insist on it."

I dropped it, and then I was between her, nothing between us. Her sweat slicked me as I made my home in that gap. She moved her hips, flexing her buttocks, massaging my length. I had said she was my dream in the honeyed promises of love, but it was a dream. I was light, I was warmth.

My hands found her breasts, caressing her nipples. I found the jade pins through them, toying idly. She gasped. "Yes. That, do that and I'll be your slave."

"I don't want a slave," I said. "I want the Shattered Princess."

"You'll have a princess shattered if you keep it up," she moaned, tipping her head back. Her mouth found mine, her tongue sour with grog. I continued to massage, to caress, to tweak and toy. She was undulating now, her buttocks gripping me as she worked me up and down. Her hips were agile, her skill undeniable even when she was addled.

I had not yet found my way inside her and yet my pleasure was already growing. I was not close, but I could already imagine painting her as I had once painted Hriti.

"Cease your infernal teasing," she growled, "and fuck me."

She widened her stance, and I dipped down, freeing my staff. I felt her hand on me, guiding me up as she bent over, revealing her glistening sex.

"You are perfection," I sighed as I slipped inside her. She was hot about me, her grip tight. Her nectar covered me, igniting the bliss first along my length and then in my belly and loins. She grabbed my hands, pulling them forward to her breasts.

"Do not stop that, not for a moment," she said.

I did as she asked, and bent over the way we were, I couldn't merely hammer away. Instead, I took her in great, slow strokes, burying myself to the hilt again and again. She matched me, pushing back with each one, as though to drive me deeper. Our breathing joined in an identical rhythm. Each stroke pulled a cry from her, though perhaps that was the twist I gave the pins through her nipples.

The bliss grew in me, spreading through my body from staff to loins to spine to crown. My sweat fell upon her back, running in rivulets over her crimson skin. Each stroke brought shivers to her, deepening to tremors. Then, with a single touch of her nipples, tremors became a quake, and she let out one final, broken cry.

The sheer beauty of her bliss drove me over the cliff of my own. With the ragged strips of my willpower, I pulled from her heavenly orchid. Threads of my pearly seed splashed over her back.

I caught the table next to us as she steadied herself against the porthole. Then she turned, fire in her eyes, kissing me. "Oh, you are a cruel one, aren't you?"

I held her, chuckling, the final tremors of my own bliss still working through me. "I thought I was kind."

She pulled me to her hammock, and the two of us crashed into it. She fitted herself into the crook of my arm. She looked over me, her hands running over my muscles. "It is strange how the feel of someone changes the instant you take them," she said.

"Indeed."

Her fingers found the scar at the bottom of my abdomen. Its size and shape made it impossible to miss and easy to identify. "You nearly died," she said.

"I would have, if not for an iasos. A healer."

"Would you tell me the story?"

I did not hesitate. I told her the story of the wound.

"You were a wizard," she said.

"I was."

"You are not here forever, Ashuz. You will leave me and the fleet behind."

"That is not true."

"It is," she said without malice. "But I intend to enjoy you for as long as I can." She looked down where I was playing with the jade pins. "If you keep that up, we will go again."

"Then I suppose I should make my intent clear," I said, dipping my head down and taking her nipple in my mouth, my tongue tracing the path of the pin.

She gripped the back of my head, uttering a happy groan. "Oh, yes. Never stop."

I didn't. Not for awhile.

After that, I was Arishat's companion aboard ship. I was still a mere marine, and I led boardings. She ordered me. Our relationship outside her quarters was identical. Inside, the two of us surrendered to our passions. I worshiped her and she me. The true irony was that our time together was so short.

Because she had no night tea on the ship, we could not explore the full range of loveplay. She wanted it as much as I. That was truly the strangest part. It was as though she had been waiting for me, and all that had stopped us from being together had been my fear. It would have been so easy to remain with her, but every time I made that vow, Arishat laughed.

"You will leave me behind soon," she would say. "And I will wish you well. Now give me your spear."

At our first return to Repentance, she went to buy night tea. We were giddy at the prospect. We were fools. I said before that gods laugh at the plans of mortals.

They were laughing then.

Staying with Arishat, as her fist and her lover was a life. A life I could have been quite happy leading. Knowing what I know now, what I still had left to do, there is a part that wonders if some deity had set the following events in motion. A god that ensured that I traveled my road. Whenever I was tempted to stay, in Pelesamatu, on The Typhoon Cross, I was moved along, to my next horizon.

Arishat was at the market, and my mind was dancing with thoughts of her. I walked down on the northern edge of the city, where the beaches petered out into the wastes. It was a quiet place to collect one's thoughts. I was allowing myself to dream once again of a place far away from home, the ache of my brides' absence lessening. I had all but made my decision as I dipped my sweetwater goblet into the waves. I sat back on my heels, watching the water. That was when an amused god gave me my push.

A shape bobbed among the waves. At first, I thought a bit of seaweed, perhaps a stone poking up from the sea floor. The color was wrong for either, a vibrant pink that reminded me of an anemone. In it was something so familiar, reaching to one of those men I had been, but had left behind. Something that spoke to the base of me, when I had still been at Thunderhead. A sweet pain that I could not quite identify.

And then, just below the pink, a pair of eyes looked back at me. They were wide, blue, flecked with pink. I knew those eyes. Though I had not seen them in many years, I could never have forgotten them. And yet, they could not possibly be here, across the world, watching me from the surf.

I stood, staring in amazement. The eyes drew closer, as though we were tethered together. My steps were slowed by my sheer wonder. The other, perhaps, held by trepidation. Then, when the water was shallow, a shape stood amongst the breakers. Facing me was a woman. No, not a woman. Still a girl, but on the cusp of womanhood.

I knew her.

Her skin was striped aqua and yellow, the color paling over her chest and belly. Her hands and feet were webbed, fins sprouted on her forearms and calves. Black claws tipped her fingers. Instead of hair, a pinkish mass of tentacles grew from her head, writhing sluggishly. As she approached, her wide mouth spread in a smile, lighting her pretty face. I was pinioned to the spot, my heart straining against my chest, my blood thundering in my ears.

She stepped out onto the beach, standing not two yards distant. She pointed at the sweetwater goblet in my hand, which I had forgotten in the face of this impossible sight.

She said something in the language of the nereids, out of my hearing save for a few bladelike noises. Her expression changed to one of annoyance, then concentration. She spoke again, this time lower and slower than perhaps she ever had in her life. She looked into my eyes and said a single word.

"Belazar?"

Softly, I whispered, "Thalalei?"

She cocked her head, her smile amused. She up a finger. "Belazar." Another finger. "Thalalei." Then she pointed to herself. "Belazei."

"Belazei?" I whispered, indescribable joy roaring through my body. "Belazei?"

She nodded, proudly. "Belazei."

"Belazei!" I cried. Without thinking, I swept her up in my arms and crushed her to my chest. She squeaked, barely at the edge of my hearing. I set her down in the surf. "I am sorry, I just... Belazei."

She smiled, I thought warily. "Belazar."

"How did you find me across the world?" I asked, then realized it was foolish. Her mother had not spoken any language I knew. I looked at the goblet. "This. It was this, wasn't it? Water magic, water being?"

"Belazar," she said, stepping closer to me. The love bloomed inside me, and I could not move. I had only just met her, and I wanted to do everything for her. Yet I was a wanderer, living a violent life. There was a place she could be safe, safe until I could be with her again. I found I wanted that place. The feeling that came with the love, that gave it power was hope.

I showed her where she could go, drawing in the sand of the beach. I could only hope she understood. At that moment, I had never hoped for anything so much as that. I held it to me, and knew that if it wasn't mine, I would gutter like a candleflame. But I also knew that if I rejected it, protected myself, I would be forever rendered lesser. I would become what I believed I had when I held Oddrin's broken body.

"Ashuz? She seems a little young."

I turned to find Arishat coming up the beach. She was magnificent. That morning, I would have said I wanted nothing else than to be in her arms, but I had met Belazei. Everything was different.

"Arishat, this is Belazei." The words caught in my throat, but I forced them out. "My daughter."

"Your daughter?" She was incredulous, looking from me to the nereid next to me.

"Yes. There are some things I must tell you."

In her face, I saw sadness, but also wistful pride. "You are leaving me. You're going on your journey. I knew it would happen."

"You were right."

"Of course I was. I am the Shattered Princess. Farewell, Ashuz. Do not forget me."

I took her in my arms, looking deep into her turquoise eyes. "I could never forget you, Arishat."

She kissed me, and as I felt the jade pins of her nipples caressing my chest, I momentarily forgot my journey.

Arishat gently pushed me away. "I will not keep you from your destiny."

"Thank you." I turned, not wanting my short time with Belazei to be over. Then I paused, turning back to Arishat. "There is one more thing I want you to know."

Arishat cocked her head. "Tell me."

The words stuck in my throat. It had been so long since I had spoken them, so long since I meant them. Finally I spoke, taking possession of each word as it left my lips. "My name is Belromanazar of Thunderhead. I am going to reclaim my power. I will be a wizard again."

"I am honored to meet you, Belromanazar. Now go, before I take you back to sea."