Singer Sailor Merchant Mage

“To stay ahead, you must have your next idea waiting in the wings.”

Rosabeth Moss Kanter

Lord Larimar’s envoy Sir Roland Ravenswood stood on the cliff. Topped with silver hair and piercing blue eyes, the towering man stood watching and waiting for the wayward Lord Silversea to return. Lady Silversea may have felt herself clever in attempting to block by using the child’s name. However, using the child this way was a double-edged sword, especially if he could get to the boy alone or at least unattended by his political advisors. There was little common sailors could do to stop him from getting a word or two in with the boy when he returned. All it would take would be an agreement or two, and he could work upward from that.

Besides, it was not their only iron in the fire. Baron Corus should have started making inroads into curtailing the Silversea family's expansion further afield. It had been surprisingly swift considering their relatively recent ennoblement. The question was where the money was coming from. It would be a small favour to help fix the situation with Baron Corus. Naturally, the boy would have to accompany him to do so, with a retinue, of course. He was pulled from his thoughts by the sail on the horizon. Today may be the lucky day that he could leave these far-flung shores. It was far past the time he should have returned, and that was not including how long the return journey would take.

. . . .

When the ship finally arrived, the sailors toiled to bring a vast array of goods to the top of the cliff. They represented far more than could have been bought or bartered for from the local islands. Another source of income perhaps would explain the surprising amount of wealth the Silversea family seemed to command. But who, how and where they were being supplied from remained a mystery. Still as enlightening as this information was, the sole reason he had stood vigil for never arrived. All manner of goods, sailors and men may have departed the ship in the hidden harbour. But the little lord he was waiting for never left it.

Dispirited and somewhat perplexed by the little Lord’s seeming disappearance, Roland left a servant to watch the slowly multiplying ships in the harbour. There was not enough room for any more. The two ships of the envoys stood still alongside the Ponentian merchant and the Libeccian pirate’s vessels. With the return of the former slaver’s ship, the space was positively crowded. It was costing the captain’s a fortune in lost time, but at least they had managed to pick up a substantial amount of goods to profit from on the way home. He had failed to get ahead of his counterpart, but there was no reason not to rub his face in it anyway, and he knew that fine food awaited him back in the Compass Edge Tavern. It was time to return.

As he descended into the Town of Wester, he wondered where they had hidden the little lord this time. Had he been left on Wester Levante or Little Wester if he was not on the ship? He did not have enough resources to deploy to all three islands in the benightedly named cluster of islands. Had the pioneers or planners had no better inspiration for what to name them? It was pathetic. As well as illuminating foolish aspirations of grandeur for their future. This was no Ponente westerly or not.

Lord Carnelian’s envoy Sir Reynard Blackthorn POV

After a month here on the island, he had come to realise that neutrality would be a win for the Eastern Lords. Or at least that is how he would frame it to Lord Carnelian on his return. Keeping House Silversea out of the Western Lords camp would qualify as a win when House Silversea was so naturally aligned with the Western Coastal Lords. That and the fact that the house offered an unrivalled opportunity for their trade relationships. If they supported the young fledging house with goods from the continent, they could expand out of the domestic market to supply the coast of Ponente, Libeccio and possibly even further afield, Maestro and Ostro.

Sir Roland had yet to arrive, which was disconcerting in and of itself. Moreover, it was frustrating to both mind and body. His mind, because having set his bearing, he was ready to forge forward in the course and convince the opposing envoy that a neutrality compromise would be the best outcome for both sides of the House of Lords and the quickest way for them to get off the island. His body, simply because he was bloody hungry.

Finally, his tardy twin traveller deigned to grace him with his presence.

“Your late.” Sir Reynard began. Time had accustomed them to one another, and frustration with their situation dulled their manners.

“I was engaged in an evening stroll.” Sir Roland rebutted, unruffled by the hostility. What was a little sniping between acquaintances? Besides, he knew something his opponent did not.

“See something more interesting than arriving punctually to your dining engagements.” Sir Reynard rejoined, not quite ready to relent.

“You might say that. More to the point, we are hardly in the capital. I offend no one of notice by my lateness.” Sir Roland shrugged, implying that something was worth more time than his opposing envoy could be considered an insult if it were not true. His skills told him he had seen something of interest.

“Well?” He questioned as he conceded the point in their pissing match. Sir Reynard doubted Sir Roland would pass the point of no return and actually delve into public critical comments against himself. Whatever he had seen must have been worth the delay.

“The Silversea’s ship returned.” He kept his bombshell as short and sweet as possible.

“I’m surprised you are not rubbing your hands in glee at getting to him first.” They both knew the most expedient path forwards would be through the boy.

“He wasn’t on it.” Sir Roland shrugged, losing nothing in letting the man know.

“He wasn’t? Then where . . .” He wondered.

“Your guess is as good as mine. Wester Levante or Little Wester? There is little elsewhere he could be this far out along the Ponentian Archipelago. There is nothing else out here.” Sir Roland added, resigned to waiting further in the game Lady Aleera was playing. “It’s intolerable when I consider what I could be achieving and levelling back in the capital. There is nought out here but pirates, slavers and fish.”

“If you wish to return sooner rather than later, there is a solution that doesn’t even require the boy.” He suggested.

“And that is?” It seemed like boredom and the lack of levelling opportunities drew the two envoys closer than their respective Lords, and disagreements kept them apart.

“A compromise.” He suggested.

“A compromise?” he queried.

“Yes, a compromise of neutrality in terms of the Silverseas, their alignment, trade and . . .” He paused before adding, “Their expansion,”

“Ah, you were aware of that.” He smiled unoffended at having been caught. It was, after all, only a game and this far out from the capital, these were low stakes that they were playing for—more a matter of pride than anything else and not theirs but their lords.

“Baron Corus is hardly the most subtle of individuals. There were days we were behind you and days we were ahead. But I did notice his movement as soon as you had left his isle. As far as I know, he followed behind shortly after us. As the closest significant landholder, it is no surprise that you have suggested he expand his holdings. If the Eastern block of the House of Lords had any assets of note in the archipelago, I would have probably deployed them similarly.” He did not know for sure, but he knew enough to infer the truth or at least a close enough approximation of it.

“Neutrality? That seems a greater win for you than it does for me. After all, the Silverseas naturally fall within our aligned houses. There is nothing to benefit me in this proposal other than a swift return to the capital.”

“Is that not what you are after?” He asked, resigned to the request that would soon be following. Give them a drop, and they’ll take the whole bucket.

“Of course, but not enough to concede the game and call it a draw.” Sir Roland demurred, having taken advantage of their conversation.

“What would it take?” he asked stoically.

“A loan.” Sir Roland shrugged casually.

“How much?” He asked, already apprehensive of the cost.

“Not of money but of your vessel.” As if that somehow made his request any more palatable.

“Such a small advantage is not worth a vessel. Besides, I would have no way back should you default on the loan.” He was keen to return and gain the promise of neutrality but not at the cost of his return trip.

“You wouldn’t even have to loan it to me specifically. Simply allow me to assign it a short task to complete.” Sir Roland remonstrated.

“A task?” he questioned, still less than keen.

“To sail my man to Little Wester for me while I head to Wester Levante.” Sir Roland attempted to make it seem of little import. But both knew trivialities would not move him despite his boredom.

“You would leave me all alone without civilised company?” He embellished as if lack of educated company for an evening meal or two was reason alone to refuse.

“Only for a day, two at the utmost. If the matter is not resolved by then, I will bow to the compromise of neutrality.” Sir Roland started before he was interrupted.

“On the light of the lodestone?” He interrupted.

“On the light of the lodestone, if you really need such reassurance, I will return within 48 hours of departure and accept the compromise of neutrality.”

“Very well then, to your swift return.” He accepted Sir Roland’s proposal. “I’ll send word to my vessel first light to accommodate your man.”

The matter was resolved, and the two men moved on to lighter topics of conversation while they enjoyed their evening meal.

. . .

Kai’s POV

I wondered what my family would think when the ship returned without me. But the chance to find the former entrance to Zavaria while avoiding the two envoys seemed too good a chance to pass up.

We had split from our newly repurposed slaver’s galley on our barely seaworthy wreck and headed to the southernmost point of the island under the cover of darkness. Arawn appreciated the dagger and cloak nature of our return. While Namir was simply happy he could run home across the waves should the ship sink beneath his feet. He was far happier now the looming cliffs of Wester Levante were within sight.

We would explore the depths in the morning. To stay ahead of the machinations of the House of Lords, I would have to make my own moves and come up with new ideas and innovations rather than hope that the shroud of obscurity and irrelevance would be enough to protect us from them. We were quickly growing in both power and importance. Our fame would only swell with the envoys' return to the capital.

We needed to stay ahead of it all.

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