Snakard flicked his foot at Palpaul’s wrist, kicking it away.

“Curse you!” Palpaul roared, punching the wooden wall whilst Snakard splashed into the seething sea.

The clapping of water and the clattering of rain clobbered his ears. Waves pushed and pulled him, but he was a skilled swimmer, so he rushed away from the ship through the pressure. Salty water added a layer of suffering to the pain that throbbed across his body by adding a sting. He screamed as he burst through the waves.

His eyes focused on the tower karst in the distance, silhouetted by the full moon. Palpaul’s yells burst over the sea’s tumult from the ship behind him. After that, arrows showered the surrounding sea. Snakard slowed his swimming to dodge, and the unpredictability of the pulsing of the sea helped him. Despite that, arrows tore more skin off the sides of his wound and scar covered torso and arms. He yelled as burning pain burst from new wounds.

He inhaled the salty sea air and dunked his head in the water. He pulled and dragged his head and entire body deep into the sea. Stretching his muscles to their limits, he rushed towards the tower karst while underwater.

Arrows plunged past him, leaving bubbles in their path as they stabbed through the water. The further he swam, the further away he was from the rushing arrows. They shot at nothing but the sandy seabed.

Snakard swam with aching legs, aching arms and little breath until he made it around a rock tower where a rock shelter was. Bursting up to the surface, gasping for air, he saw it; his ship, hiding in the shadows of a rock shelter.

The carracks’ flag flapped in the sea wind, its painting of a golden dragon head billowing. The rigging rippled across the masts that nearly scraped the rocky ceiling. Water dripped down the wooden hull and the moonlight’s pale blue lustre gleamed on the black cannons.

Silence filled the rock shelter. His crew actually following his orders for so long, to be silent, surprised Snakard.

He placed his fingers on the ridges of the hull and clambered up. As he stepped on the deck, his crewmates spun to see him. At that moment, they defied his orders; they all roared and cheered and ran at him. They hugged him, slapped his palms, and patted him on the back.

His escaping surprised some, and some others said they never doubted him. And there were those who ran below the deck to bring up kegs of ale and stacks of tankards. Everyone snatched their cups, filled them up till ale spilled down the handles, guzzled it all down and celebrated their captain’s return.

His Quartermaster, Griever, First Mate, Pilla and Second Mate, Dartine, strolled up from below the deck and approached him.

“You’re late, Snacky,” Pilla snatched an overflowing tankard from the hands of a thirsty-looking crewmate. Straight brown hair fell from her red bandana, over her white tunic, and stopped at the waist of her red breeches.

“I had fun in there,” Snakard lied before wincing at the pain that rushed through his shoulders as he tried to put his hands on his waist. He nodded at Griever as he smiled and handed him a set of clothes. “I’m actually sad I had to leave so soon.”

“I’m certainly not,” Dartine said as ale splashed on his torn and ragged frock coat, and scar-covered bare chest that lied within, as a crewman tripped and fell on him, dropping his tankard. Dartine snatched it from the air as it fell, snorted, grinned, and handed it back to the clumsy kid. “This rock shelter isn’t the nicest of places to hide. I’d like to leave as soon as possible.”

“Where to next, Captain?” Griever handed Snakard a tankard after he finished throwing on a black tunic that ravaged his nose with a musty stench, tightening a stained green bandana around his head and comforting his bare feet with leather boots, peeling at the soles.

“Shall we follow the map into the Megella Empire?” Pilla asked, smiling and spreading her sparkling green eyes wide.

“Not yet,” Snakard said.

Pilla’s smile fell to a frown.

“We’ll never make it to the Megella Empire with Palpaul hot on our tail. We need to get rid of him.”

“His crew is four times the size of ours.” Dartine stared at the floor. “I’m sorry to say it Captain, but I think we just have to hand the map back.”

Griever nodded.

“Shut up,” Pilla elbowed Dartine's ribs. “If you don’t want the treasure map, then give it to me and I’ll venture into the Megella Empire on my own.”

“Idiot, that won’t get Palpaul off our tail,” Dartine glowered at Pilla.

“Who said I cared?” She smirked, her brows bunched together.

“If you don’t care about the crew, then why are you even here?” Dartine stomped towards her.

“Stop it,” Snakard stepped in between them and placed his hands on both of their shoulders. “Don’t worry, I know of a way to get rid of Palpaul and maintain our possession of the treasure map.”

“Really?” Pilla smiled and clapped her hands. “How?”

Snakard turned and stared out at the sea. “I’ll accept my invitation to Tennivoor.”

“Extend your arms and my servants will stab each of you,” Xisanisto sliced a piece of sinelody bird breast with golden cutlery. His golden plate glimmered in the multi-coloured light that shone through towering stained glass windows. He flicked his curly purple hair behind his sharp ears and rose his hand up to the top of his head to ruffle and adjust the hair that surrounded his two gleaming white horns that curved to the wall and then to the ceiling. Blue skin peeked out from behind his embroidered black cloak and tunic, lit with golden accents. He was a dwaran. “And hold your arms in the air until my servant fills the vials with your blood. I refuse to work with anyone who will not let me collect samples.”

“That is fine with us, my Lord,” Snakard said as he shoved a sleeve of his tunic to his elbow and extended his arm whilst the King of Tennivoor's red-skinned santhrashan servant approached him with a knife and a glass vial. His large and floppy red ears flapped and wiggled against the bottom of his neck as he walked, his thin and long tail dragging across the stone tiles. His shadowy santhrashan eyes stared at him, so black, it was as if his eyelids completely covered his eyes in shadow. “However, would it be possible if you could explain why?.”

“No, it will not be possible.” Xisanisto bit down on sinelody bird meat and chewed. Some kind of green sauce native to Megella covered his bird breast and dripped down his chin from the corner of his mouth. His santhrashan wife, Drackyssa, sat beside him, and the four Dukes and Duchessess of Tennivoor sat on either side of them on their mahogany table, towering over Snakard’s crew from the top of a dais. Drackyssa’s red skin wrinkled as she cringed at her husband’s plate, clenching her brown mantle that poured on the floor over her white kirtle.

“May I at least ask if it has anything to do with the magic many speculate you to possess in legends and rumours, my Lord?” Snakard winced as the servant sliced another wound across his arm, to add to the pile he acquired the earlier night. The servant pressed a glass vial against it, letting blood dribble into it.

“No you may not,” Xisanisto smiled up at a servant who placed a plate of food in front of Drackyssa. Golden medallions rattled against her red collarbone as she lurched at the sight of what the servant served her and scowled at the sinelody bird meat on her plate. When Xisanisto narrowed his eyes at her, she bristled and her scowl vanished as if it never existed; replaced with a smile. When she sunk her fork into the meat and popped it into her mouth, Xisanisto looked back at Snakard, put his cutlery down, and cleared his throat. “I invited you here today to offer you a job.”

Snakard paused, waiting for him to continue. But he didn’t. “What is the job, my Lord?” Snakard grabbed a handkerchief from the servant as he walked past him and approached Griever. Snakard rubbed the blood that smeared his arm and pushed his sleeve over it.

“I need to know that you will do it before I tell you what it is.”

“What’ll I get in return?” Snakard crossed his arms, questioning whether he should’ve given Xisanisto his blood in the first place. They’d probably use it in the same way that the Templaga did, but he didn’t know enough about Xisanisto to be sure.

“This,” Xisanisto pointed at one of the Lords, who sat at his table. All the Lords were blue skinned dwarans or red-skinned santhrashans. They all wore shadowy black earrings, each uniquely shaped. However, the Lord he pointed at stood out; he was a human. “The man I’m pointing at is an ex-pirate captain. After completing a few jobs of mine, I made him the Lord of Nietzscharth Village. After completing several dozen jobs, I made him the Count of Friedrance.”

Snakard stared at the dozens of black earrings that hung from his ears. His embroidered brown tunic with white accents and silver medallions that swung over it made Snakard smile. What if he could go back to wearing clothes like that?

“Snakard?”

What if he could go back to drinking glimmering blue gurite wine? Just like he did in the past when he was the leader of the Golden Dragon Knights.

“Snakard!”

His past beckoned him, brushing his fingertips, nearly in his grasp.

The slamming of a table and the rattling of wood, glass, and silverware echoed throughout the throne room. “You’ll be out of here if you make me repeat myself one more time!”

The roaring of the King of Tennivoor pulled Snakard back to the present, where he saw the Count of Friedrance cocking his head and grimacing at him. “I apologize to my King, the Count of Friedrance and all the Lords of Tennivoor,” He bowed. “I spaced out and will refrain from doing so again.”

“Was that enough to convince you, or what?” He sighed and shook his head. “Don’t waste my time.”

“It was more than enough, my Lord,” Snakard glanced across his crew, who stood in a line beside him. They all nodded. Xisanisto’s servant walked away from the last pirate, carrying a tray that held one vial of blood for each member of his crew. He left the throne room.

“The job is the kidnapping of twenty humans from the Kingdom of Galladria. And no, you cannot know the reason.”

“Alive or dead, my Lord? Kidnapping them alive would be quite troublesome.

Xisanisto grinned. “I like your thinking, sailor. But no, the Shadow Smith likes to see them scream and squirm and beg for mercy. It will not accept them any other way.”

“Who or what is this Shadow Smith?”

“Give up and be patient,” Xisansisto rubbed his forehead. “You’ll learn everything you wish and more after you’ve become a Lord of my Kingdom.”

The servant who collected the blood of Snakard’s crew came back through the door he left in, but this time holding a glass of red reddance wine. Xisanisto smiled and nodded at him as he placed the wineglass on his table.

“The one thing that I will tell you, however, is that the rumours you have heard relating to my Kingdom’s magic is the truth,” He guzzled his wine with one flick of the head. As he placed it back down on his mahogany table; the glass was empty. “The Lords of this Kingdom are more powerful than you can possibly imagine. And I, more powerful than them.”

Xisanisto stood from his table and stomped around it. He puffed his chest at the head of the dais. Snakard couldn’t help but smirk at how hard the pompous brat was trying to intimidate them.

But he kept going, glaring down at him and his pirates. “If any of you tell anyone about what was discussed today, then I will know. And if I know, I will kill you and everyone you know and love. No matter what you do, I will find them and you. Even if you were to protect yourself with an army, I will conjure a bigger army of bloodthirsty monsters that will destroy them. If you defy me, I will render you helpless cretins who I will capture and send to the Shadow Smith to be tortured for an eternity.”

Snakard heard Pilla snicker by his side. He wished she didn’t, but he couldn’t blame her. It took everything in his power to stop himself. He understood Xisanisto needed to appear intimidating, but his long and pretentious monologue just sounded like the fantasies of grandeur he’d whisper to himself before he’d go to sleep at night. The narcissist should just keep it to himself.

Despite that, Snakard’s heart hammered his sternum and sweat stampeded down his face to drench the top of his tunic when Xisanisto’s skin wrinkled in a feral scowl, flicked his hand and two of the dozens of black earrings that hung from his ears glowed white, blinding and straining Snakard’s eyes till they squinted and blinked.