"What's the matter, Nalt?" Grenna asked across the captain's cabin as Naltus vomited out the window. The others laughed at her question. "You're not seriously seasick, are you?"

Wiping a few acidic drops of spew from his mouth, he took in one great gulp of the sea's air to ease his nausea. In fact, it wasn't the harsh waves of the autumn storms that roiled the ocean. Rather, it was a questionable breakfast combined with downing far too much Gavcot Wine, which, in truth, wasn't wine at all. It was some dreadful conoction of fermented berries and something that Nalt couldn't put his finger on.

"That was some gross shit, you know that?" he wheezed.

"That's the idea," Grenna chuckled, swigging down another gulp of that foul brew.

Bafan and Wella gave him sympathetic looks, but ultimately joined in Grenna's mocking jabs at him. He was glad no more of the company was in Grenna's quarters at that time. Some of the others, Ovigon and Mastohlt in particular, would have doubtlessly ribbed him more. Wella, kind and reserved as always, seemed to also share his distaste for the nauseating drink. She passed him a small vial of a light blue liquid.

"Here. It should help you feel a bit better," the apothecary said, a light smile rising on her dark face.

Bafan exchanged a mocking glance with Grenna and wagged a finger at Nalt.

"You know, if you're not a match for booze, I'm not sure you have the toughness for this mission," Bafan chided him.

After swigging Wella's bitter concoction, which did indeed settle his stomach almost immediately, he laughed and dismissively swatted his hand through the air.

"I like harder stuff than that. That was too sweet. Leaves a gross knot in my gut and I'll probably have the shits for a week now," Nalt groaned, patting his abdomen.

"So, you want hard stuff?" Grenna smirked. "Iron's Tears from Karmand sound good to you?"

"Oh? You have some here in the cabin?" Nalt blurted in excitement.

"Should be the black bottle at the back of the second cabinet," Grenna motioned.

Sure enough, it was there. The liquor that was promised. Its powerful aroma, and matching bite, was what led to Iron's Tears' name. The joke in Karmand was that it could make iron cry. For Nalt, however, it was a nice pure potation that sat easily with him. He poured himself two small glasses of the potent drink and sat back at the table.

"Well, here I was wondering if your tolerance was weak," Grenna said as he swigged the first of the two glasses.

Feeling the drink burn his throat straight down to his stomach, he held back any expression of pain. He wouldn't be humiliated again. He blamed the fact he was pouring it right onto a throat already sore from vomiting.

"The only thing weak here is that shit you're all drinking," Nalt laughed.

"You'll be feeling that one soon," Grenna muttered before turning toward Wella. The lines on Grenna's dark face drooped as she did. "Wella, you were saying something earlier about what comes after this. Did you mean this job or...?"

"This war," Wella interjected. "I mean, it seems like it will be over before the end of the year the way things are going."

"Ha!" Grenna shot back, rolling her head about her neck before saying anything else. "Before Forynda blasted Zarmand right down to its foundations, I'd have told you this war would be over two weeks with Rohmhelt winning. Sure, he's had a bad run of luck, but there's something I've learned in my life. Anything that can change that quickly can change back again."

"So how we apply that here?" Bafan inquired, poking at the remaining spiced meat on his plate with his fork. His bright yellow eyes, set in his blue skin, stared intently at Grenna for guidance.

"When the ground is unsteady, you just have to be quick on your feet," Grenna smirked and winked at Bafan.

"Sounds like dancing," Nalt said through a noxious belch.

Grenna's eyes lit up.

"Why, my dear Nalt, it's exactly like dancing!" she mocked him, moving her hands in sweeping motions as though she had embraced him a vigorous Gadisian dance. "You just need to know to change partners at the right time when the tune switches."

"Metaphors might be a bit too much for Nalt here," Bafan quipped. Nalt stared back at him and silently swigged down the second glass of Iron's Tears. "Just joking, Nalt."

"I figured," Nalt grumbled and wiped a trace of the liquor that splashed onto his lip.

"I have no idea how we'd get back in the good graces of those aligned with Rohmhelt after doing the job we're on now," Bafan said, pivoting effortlessly back to the more serious conversation. "Also, what's the plan for when we get to Gadisia anyway?"

Grenna folded her hands, closed her eyes, and smiled.

"Mr. Edvren furnished us with a suggested agenda, but there is no guarantee that everything falls into line as he stated once we get there. So, I've developed a flexible enough plan," she said, again opening her eyes and glancing at each of the three sitting around the table. "We've got to sell our cargo first. That's key. And I want to make sure we take some time to sell it all. We need to make it look like we're trying to get the best price and set up relations and all of that. We have to at least make a good show of being merchants."

"What's our cargo again?" Nalt asked, increasingly confused from his drink.

Bafan rolled his eyes while Grenna sighed.

"Nalt. What's this? Seven times you've asked that?" she admonished him.

"I keep forgetting," he chuckled. "Must not be memorable to me."

"Pickled fish."

He grimaced instantly.

"Disgusting," he stuck out his tongue. "What kind of fish?"

"Green and White Peguls," Bafan grinned. "As a true Caylanchan man, I eat them every week."

"So that explains your breath," Nalt jabbed Bafan.

"And Gadisia loves them, too," Grenna added. "For whatever reason. Anyway, the point is that selling this huge shipment we have will give us time to move on to the next step when we believe Kivren and the government leadership will be in the city asking parliament to continue the war."

"And that's when we...?" Nalt began asking.

"Yes," Grenna interrupted. "There will be opportunities when their guard is low. I'm also considering something less dramatic. Assuming he likes pickled fish, like a good Gadisian, well, it speaks for itself."

Wella rolled her eyes and smirked while thumbing a couple vials she had withdrawn from her robes.

"Oh, I see," Nalt said, his vision blurring a little as the drinks settled in. "That'd make it simple."

"You didn't even need to be told this time," Bafan chuckled amusedly.

"Then, there's of course the question of how long we stick around in Gadisia after the chaos sets in. On that front, I've thought about..."

Just then there were muffled shouts from the deck above the cabin.

"Did I just hear that right?" Grenna strained.

Bafan nodded.

"Gadisian patrol ship. They're far out this time," Bafan groaned. "They must be nervous."

"Or they were alerted," Grenna grimaced and checked that her daggers were fastened behind her back. "I'll take care of this. Bafan, you stay in here with your bow. Look out over the main deck in case things go wrong. If they do, I'll give the signal. Nalt, you're with me. Being that drunk is actually useful. It shows we're not expecting trouble."

Nalt belched and wiped the residue of alcohol and food from his lips to try to look a little more respectable. He had his large axe strapped to his back and began to remove it, but Grenna shook her head and he stopped. Wella stood next to him, the short stumpy thing that she was, awaiting direction.

"Sure, Wella," Grenna smiled. "You look harmless enough."

Several knocks fell upon the door along with a muffled shout that sounded distinctly like the weaselly voice of that pompous twig Ovigon.

"Fuck it all," Grenna sighed. "I'm coming!"

When she opened the cabin door, sure enough it was Ovigon, with his stooped posture, receding hairline, and wild gray eyes. He always wore what looked like a shopkeeper’s clothes, regardless of occasion. Nalt sometimes wondered if Grenna's strangest sycophant even slept like that.

"Due north," he pointed behind him where Nalt could in fact see the outline of a ship on the horizon, closing fast. "Looks like a sloop to me. Probably twenty men on it, no more than that."

"You can tell that from here?" Grenna growled, stepping forward and squinting at the vessel on the horizon.

"I know a lot about Gadisia," Ovigon assured her, his nasally voice grating on Nalt. "Standard practice is a patrol of a dozen sloops off the coast, three shifts each. Should we have to fight, our problem will be they won't all come aboard. Boarding practice is a squad of crossbowmen will watching from their deck."

"Noted," Grenna acknowledged. "How has Mastholt been coming along on that Aura nonsense?"

"He seems confident of it," Ovigon said.

Obnoxiously handsome, Mastholt seemed confident of just about anything. Definitely the best dressed in the company and with wavy blue green hair, typical of a Nimorosian, basically everyone in the Red Blade mercenaries acknowledged he was the best looking of the lot. He also seemed to be the only one, besides Wella to a limited extent, who had developed any mastery over the Auras. Grenna never even commanded him to do it. It was his own initiative.

He strutted over to Grenna and the others while they waited. His red and gold coat was luxurious and poufy while also heavy enough that the sea's winds didn't cause it to flap wildly.

"Quite the committee gathered here!" he cheerfully announced. His bright blue eyes scanned across everyone. "It looks like we're going to have some company soon. Should I set up some kind of party for them?"

"Just keep yourself ready to respond in case they get aggressive. Wait for my signal if things go wrong," Grenna said sternly. "I'm relying on you."

"And, as always, your confidence is well-placed," he said with a wink.

He pranced off to the ship's bow and rounded up a small group of men to stand with him. Nalt doubted Mastholt could be relied upon in a true fight. He never actually would be part of the company's dirty work. Instead, he would handle logistical and other softer matters. However, Nalt's doubts were irrelevant as the Gadisian sloop closed quickly.

When it was only a few ship's lengths away, the sloop started veering for the starboard side of Grenna's rented ship, whose name Nalt never even bothered to learn. The Gadisian ship was an elegant vessel with three pristine white sails and a polished dark wood hull. True enough to what Ovigon had said, it appeared that there were maybe twenty men on it. When it came closer, Nalt saw that the sloop's captain was a plump middle-aged man wearing a flashy blue and red coat with a short sword at his side.

"Hey there!" the captain yelled once sufficiently near. His voice was loud enough to be heard clearly over the wind and waves. "Mind if I come aboard?"

Grenna grimaced and then formed a forced smile.

"Fine by me!" she shouted back. "Drop the anchor. Extend the bridge."

Both orders were carried out quickly. With a great splash, the anchor plunged through the water while the narrow bridge extended to the Gadisian sloop's deck. A group of about a dozen lightly armed men trotted across from the Gadisian ship, followed by the captain. As Ovigon had predicted a group of eight crossbowmen stood on the sloop's deck, monitoring the situation.

The captain, who had a scruffy beard and a droopy right eye, extended his hand to Grenna, who reciprocated. He grabbed his plumed blue hat and readjusted it as the wind had knocked it askew.

"I'm Captain Cidren of the Sweet Wind there. And you are?" he asked.

"Hanys Nelroc, from Kalion," Grenna said, using one of her periodic false names. She had around a dozen she cycled through and periodically modified in small ways.

"I assume you're in charge?" Cidren asked, licking the front of his teeth while scanning the ship.

"That's right."

"So, you have the look of a cargo ship. What's the cargo?"

"Thirty crates of pickled fish and a few barrels of booze. Would've picked up more booze, but I wanted to make this shipment as quickly as I could," Grenna said. "And what's your business out this far?"

Cidren scratched his nose and pointed in a circular motion.

"We've had reports of some ill-designing types on the seas lately. Smugglers. Pirates. And mercenaries, who sometimes fit into the other two," he said with a suspicious lilt.

Nalt felt a twinge from Ovigon, who stood just behind Nalt.

"Oh, I understand. That's why we're quite heavily armed," Grenna said with a strange emphasis. "It's a dangerous world."

Cidren looked at Nalt, who did his best to maintain an expressionless face.

"You have your papers from Kalion, I assume? Dock fee receipts and the like?" Cidren inquired, pointing his finger at Grenna. "And can my men have a look below?"

"Certainly," she said, withdrawing from a pouch the various documents. "Wella, take them below. Let them see anything they want."

While Wella led the men below decks, Cidren examined the papers Grenna gave him. He took far longer to read over them than would seem to be warranted given that there wasn't that much on them. He then glanced around the deck, counting aloud as he assessed Grenna's crew.

"Is there something I can help you with, captain?" Grenna asked, her voice betraying the barest hint of anxiety.

"It's a strange thing I noticed," Cidren mumbled. He then noticed his men coming back up and giving an affirmative gesture that the cargo below matched what Grenna said. They all then filed alongside him. Wella took up alongside Grenna's right.

"Strange? They didn't fuck up the paperwork in Kalion, did they?" Grenna groaned.

"Oh no. No, the paperwork is all fine," Cidren sighed, handing it back to her. "It's just that I count twenty-six crew up here and I imagine there are some below?"

"Four more, captain," a man with a high voice behind Cidren added.

"Thank you. So, thirty of you, selling a mere thirty crates of fish and some barrels of liquor. I'm well aware of the going rates in Gadisia for pickled fish and liquor," he pompously intoned. "That's not enough to cover their pay. How else are you planning to make this work?"

Grenna sighed in such a strange way that it caused her to whistle, which at first simply struck Nalt as odd. Then he realized what it meant. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the tip of a drawn arrow poking out the crack of the window from the captain's cabin. Mastholt, too, moved lightly forward and began reaching for pouches of reagents.

"You know, Captain Cidren," Grenna mumbled as she put her hands on her hips, "you serve Gadisia well with a mind this sharp."

She then quickly drew her daggers from her back and sliced open his belly with one while impaling his neck with the other.

"It'll be hard to replace you," she said with a mocking sympathetic voice. Cidren's eyes bulged and then rolled backward.

The men behind him drew their swords, but one of them took an arrow to the head before they could steady themselves. Bafan reloaded quickly from the cabin and loosed another one that hit a soldier in his arm, causing him to scream. Nalt kicked the man directly in front of him, pushing the opponent away while he grasped his heavy axe and swung it in a single motion across two of the soldiers. They couldn't withstand the raw power of Nalt's swing even as they blocked it from hitting them with their swords. The blow staggered them backwards. One fell into the water.

Mastholt, meanwhile, summoned three great bolts of flame that crashed into the crossbowmen before they had a chance to respond. A few died instantly, their bodies exploding in molten flame. The others screamed and rolled around on the burning wood of the deck. Nalt gasped as the Auras were displayed in such a fashion. He almost neglected to address another charging opponent in his distracted state.

That soldier came forward with his sword high in the air, seemingly unsure what to do with it. Nalt shifted his hands and swung up the handle of his long axe to strike the man's hand, causing him to drop his sword. Nalt then swung the axe above his head and brought it down on the poor young man's skull. It sickeningly splattered all over the deck.

Elsewhere, Grenna had grappled with a soldier. She quickly resolved the issued by stabbing the man through his eye and kicking him into the water. Ovigon, meanwhile, took out two men on his own with a nimble and light short sword. For being a frail looking man, Ovigon surprised Nalt with his speed.

Wella had her concoctions to rely upon, but those proved more than enough. She opened a vial of caustic white liquid and loosed it upon an opponent's face. He screamed in abject agony, clawing at his own eyes and nose. Wella finished the man off with a heavy blow from a small hammer she carried with her.

The remaining men were dispatched quickly. Nalt had scarcely gotten his pulse racing. The Red Blade hadn't even suffered meaningful injuries in their encounter with the Gadisian patrol.

"I'll never know why they pick fights like this," Grenna growled, sheething her daggers. "Mastholt, sink that ship at once. We don't need the smoke drawing others to our trail."

"Already on it, Grenna," Mastholt lyrically replied.

While Mastholt saw to the immediate scuttling of the sloop, Grenna looked northward toward Gadisia, which was still at least sixty miles off.

"Good work back there, Nalt," she said, facing away from him. "You did what I wanted you to do and you did it stone cold drunk."

Nalt belched and leaned on his axe as he pressed it against the deck.

"I'm always happy to help," he said with a smile.

She turned around at him and grinned.

"The hard part of our voyage is ahead of us," she declared with a strange cheerful tone, which Nalt assumed was her thrill at the challenge awaiting them. "When we get to Gadisia, that's when things get interesting. It occurs to me that one of the other companies might have tipped them off. That captain seemed to know more than he let on."

"You think so?" Nalt queried in concern.

"Oh yes," she nodded. "It doesn't matter, though. We're too good for them."