Yaskin spit out blood on the floor of the hold. Some of the spittle came dangerously close to landing on Higlim’s stove, which the cook wouldn’t have been happy about. The chair that Alinyaln had commandeered from the upper decks was perfect for this type of activity; solid, heavy, with plenty of gaps in the frame to tie the ropes. Alinyaln had always disliked this type of work, usually allowing Drags to do the bulk of the torturing, not that they made it a habit. It was cowardly, he knew, but it was necessary for his own personal reasons.

  Kiara was asking the questions, or trying to at the very least as the formidable Dragonkin was unable to speak. He was the hammer. Letno, the plump Cloud Crafter who seldom left her cabin, was standing in the corner of the hold at special request from Alinyaln.

  Higlim and Timphinny, despite living in the hold, were abovedecks getting some fresh air, and Ninia was likely with Jendul up in the Gull’s Nest again. It had been a few days since Jendul had first invited the lass up there, and Alinyaln was glad to see them spending time together.

  Yaskin coughed and spit up blood again. From the way his breathing gurgled, Drags had likely broken several of the thugs ribs. Blackened patches of skin and red blisters from burns covered various parts of his body, not just from the attack. Sickeningly, he was also missing a finger from where Drags had bitten it off, the digit now in the trash by the stove.

  Remarkably, Yaskin’s body had been broken past what Alinyaln would consider reasonable, but his spirit was still holding. But the look in his eye, sclera bloody from the beating, revealed deep fear.

  “No—no more…” Yaskin wheezed, tears streaming from his eyes.

  “Are you ready to talk, then?” Kiara asked, her arms crossed, imposing.

  He was struggling to breathe, but he shook his head. “Go… Go spit…” He spat some blood at her, landing on her boots.

  Kiara sighed, nodding to Drags. The tall Dragonkin cracked his neck and stalked over to the man, slowly. One step at a time, thud, thud, thud, like a protracted heartbeat. Drags grabbed Yaskin’s leg, specifically his shin. He held Yaskin up, tilting the chair back from the motion, holding the leg in place. Then he began to flex his hands.

  Alinyaln gasped as a moment later Yaskin’s leg shattered, the gut-wrenching sound of Yaskin’s agony almost too much for Alinyaln to bear. Almost. Drags tossed Yaskin back, the chair thudding to the ground as the thug landed on his back. One leg now useless, bending in so many places. The brutality of the display was almost too much for Alinyaln, his palms growing sweaty from the fear.

  Drags waited patiently. The Dragonkin knew that there would be too much going on in Yaskin’s mind for the snapping of the other leg to work effectively. So Drags bided his time, arms crossed, smoke rising from his nostrils. Alinyaln noticed the scales on his shoulders tremble in what looked to be anticipation.

  Kiara looked down as Yaskin a few minutes later, the thug whimpering like a child. She nodded to Drags and the Dragonkin took position again, gripping Yaskin by his unbroken leg.

  “Whah—whah—wait—” He began to cough on his own blood. “Talh—talk.” He managed to get out.

  “Excellent.” Kiara said, waving her hand to Drags. “Drop him.”

  Drags looked crestfallen but did as ordered, dropping Yaskin back and he crashed into the wood again, eliciting a scream of pain.

  “Set him upright, please, Drags.” Alinyaln said, looking down at the man. “I don’t want him drowning in his own blood yet.”

  Picking the man and chair up as if they weighed nothing, Drags set Yaskin down gently and gave a flourished bow, stepping away from the thug, a noted moment of humor from the normally solemn Dragonkin. He must be enjoying himself, Alinyaln thought. He was grateful for Drags’ loyalty, earned from saving the man from the hangman’s noose. But he was also grateful for another reason; What chaos could an unhinged Dragonkin cause if left loose?

  Yaskin spat up more blood, the frothy liquid splattering down his front this time.

  “You sold slaves in Irminthin, correct?” Kiara asked. Irminthin was the name of the island that the town of Hrinili belonged to, the entire island, almost a continent to itself, was largely the same; slumlike cities catering to the slave trade.

  “Ye…” A deep breath. “Yes…”

  “Where, exactly, did you do business?” Kiara again.

  “Gre—Gresim.”

  “And you sold all of your slaves the same time Hrinili did?”

  “Coupla days before,” He squirmed in the chair against the bonds but must have aggravated his leg as he yelped in pain.

  Kiara nodded to this, then turned to Alinyaln. “So, the same people who purchased slaves in Hrinili also bought the slaves across the island as well, Gresim is on the opposite end of Irminthin.”

  Alinyaln nodded. “I’m familiar with Gresim, can’t say I liked the place much.”

  “By Rythmar law,” Kiara began, “You are required to obtain the name of the buyer in the event of a sale involving a human. Do you remember any of the names of those you sold slaves to?”

  “Kiara, honestly.” Alinyaln said, shaking his head at her. “You really think this piece of filth would abide by that law?”

  “The penalty for failing to obtain said information is typically servitude enforced by the Rythmin navy.” Kiara explained. “I know Hrinili is self-sufficient, but the entirety of Irminthin is not, they follow Rythmar law. Gresim is one of the stricter towns, being located so close to where the navy patrols.

  “So I ask again; Did you get any names?”

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  “Hows I supposed to remember them?” Yaskin growled, teeth gritted.

  “Tell us what you can remember.”

  “Bite me, whore.” Yaskin said, sneering at Kiara. He must not be able to feel the pain in his leg as strongly anymore for some reason.

  “An excellent choice of words.” Kiara said. “Drags, another finger if you will.”

  It was over in a heartbeat, Drags chewing and then swallowing the man’s finger as he screamed in pain.

  “Tell us what you remember.” Kiara ordered again.

  Then Yaskin began to rattle off a dozen names. Alinyaln wasn’t sure which names were legitimate or not, but the speed of the recitation told Alinyaln it was genuine.

  “And Yamadeon?” Kiara asked, prompting the man. Alinyaln wasn’t sure that was a wise choice, as now Yaskin will be more likely to tell them something they want to hear.

  “Yes, an’ him,” Yaskin said, clenching his teeth in pain. “Fake name though, Yamadeon the old pirate comin’ back to life as a young man? Even I’m not stupid enough to believe that.”

  “But you still took his coin?” Kiara said with a smile. “That’s a pretty big crime, slaver.”

  Alinyaln knew what to say next. “Almost bad enough to be sent to one of the Dead Prisons.” He crossed his arms and looked down at Yaskin, the man having gone pale.

  “No, no no please I can’t go there I can’t!” Yaskin began to stammer, but the words were so unintelligible that Alinyaln didn’t bother trying to understand, just waiting for the man to slow down.

  “Answer me this, Yaskin, and we’ll keep you from the Prisons.” Alinyaln said firmly over the man’s babbling. “What did this ‘Yamadeon’s’ crew look like? Not the nobles, the actual sailors.”

  “Sh—Sharp teeth, like sharks—”

  “Tarnation!” Alinyaln snapped, throwing his arms in the air. His blood began to boil, face growing hot. Tyrnarm was still working with the Orsinum. Despite what he had once said to Alinyaln, Tyrnarm was actively working for them at this point. The scar on his cheek began to prickle as he remembered that day, the snap hiss of the pistol as it fired.

  Shaking his head, Alinyaln growled to Kiara. “Have Higlim see to his wounds. We’ll keep him around until he heals.” Then he stormed off, stomping on each step.

  He didn’t make it very far before he heard the wheezing of Letno behind him, following after him. He took a deep breath, stopping in place. Exhaling, Alinyaln turned to face the Cloud Crafter, her black robes dragging on the ground behind her. “Yes?”

  “You asked for me to join you, Captain?” Letno said, her high-pitched voice seeming meek compared to his internal fury. She was a plump woman, with smooth skin and white teeth. Due to her always being locked in her quarters, her skin was almost sickly pale, even more than that of peoples living against the Ice Wall.

  He thought on her question, then remembered. “Yes, I did.” He said, hands behind his back to stop them from trembling. “How are the skies from here to Loshbor? We don’t have enough moscin to go very far by engine but if the winds favor us we could be there in a week.”

  “Clear skies, Captain, but not much for wind. We might be better off tacking back and forth across wind currents.”

  Alinyaln groaned. The winds of Wrinthim circled the world, every few hundred feet or so changing direction to flow the opposite way. He preferred to stay along one channel as it was typically faster than maneuvering the ship back and forth catching multiple wind currents, but if the winds weren’t blowing strong enough then that might not be an option. Letno, as a Cloud Crafter, was able to determine more easily the way the currents were blowing at any given point. He was sure it had to do with the necklace she wore, hidden away in her robes. He had never seen it fully, but once he had caught of glimpse of the intricate Cloud Crafting Sigil engraved into it.

  “Do you think he’ll be there?” Letno asked, unsure. “In Loshbor?”

  Sighing, Alinyaln leaned back against a stacked box of cargo. “Probably not…. You still can’t track him, can you?”

  Letno shook her head. “I’m sorry, no. Even with him being able to Cloud Craft, I can’t see him by myself.”

  “Then we get help.” Alinyaln said with a nod. “There’s someone we can bring on in Tusana, on the outskirts of the Loshbor region.”

  “And being closer to the home of the Orsinum should make it easier to track Tyrnarm,” Letno pointed out, “Assuming he’s there with them.”

  A question came to his mind, one that he had never considered before. “Do we know for a fact that the Orsinum are based out of Loshbor? I know of the stories, of the Isle of Skulls and the King of Bones rattling his staff as he calls for more food, but how much of that is actually true?”

  Letno shrugged. “I—I don’t know, sir.” She said with a small frown. “Where else would they be, though? Loshbor is mostly unsupervised, most other regions have far stricter regulations on their outer islands.”

  “The Dead Hills?” Alinyaln suggested, half serious. Letno looked at him, incredulous. “Just a joke, Letno. Nothing can survive the Hills, I know this.”

  “Ah, yes, I’m sorry that I missed the joke, Captain.”

  “It’s fine, Letno. Dismissed.” The woman bowed to Alinyaln instead of giving him a salute, a short bow that bobbed her head down only a few inches, and then she was off.

  *

  At daybreak, when the sun began to shine out from behind Midin, the larger moon, Alinyaln took the helm of the Mercy of Dradinoor again. Despite being the Captain, he wasn’t often in charge of controlling the ship, leaving that responsibility to Drags and Kiara.

  But, today, it felt right for him to take charge. He gripped the wheel. “Weigh anchor!”

  Yishks pulled the crank that brought up the anchor, which had been keeping them in place the last few days.

  “Full sails!” He called to the others, Ninia amongst them. She saluted alongside the Yishsk and pulled the ropes holding the sails together loose. Then, at an unspoken command, she pulled a lever on the side of the mast and the sail slowly lowered into place on the track.

  This was far more efficient than the old system of hundreds of ropes splayed across the ship, but he did miss the sounds of the sails unfurling from gravity, catching the wind in one big burst.

  Slowly, as the sails caught the wind, the Mercy of Dradinoor began to accelerate at the speed of the wind, onward to Loshbor.