The message was from Naraal, he knew that by the style of writing, the tone, and the symbol on the top left hand side. Sailing orders for the Shakilgimil, and with Balkumagan still in Gondor apparently, that meant he was acting Captain.
Tazakr folded the message in half and stuck it in his tunic pocket. Not that it mattered greatly if any other read it. There was nothing much secret about it. Nothing much…except the code for ‘I go with our true King.’ He snorted. There had been several claiming to be an heir of Castamir. But Naraal was wise. He would not follow anyone making such a claim unless he was very sure.
He raised his left arm in a gesture oft undertaken, and launched the message bearer into the sky. She circled a few times before settling atop the mast and preening herself with her black bill. The ship had three Sea Hawks, one always onboard. The others at various waypoints if the Captain or his officers travelled any distance. Bawab was that one’s name, for she was swift as any wind. He believed she had been placed at the town of Bree, not near the sea, so not to her liking. Rabbits were not fish. But as Naraal spoke of being further north by far, there must have been one or more exchange of carriers. That meant they still had loyal folk in Eriador.
‘They’? He grinned, bearing bright white teeth. He had no argument with any true King. Not at all, he would be happy to serve the right Man. But he didn’t think of himself as part of Umbari society exactly. He was the dark shadow that stalked and slew their weakest, their disloyal, their shame. He would purify his people of all dross. Perhaps this ‘King’ would be worthy of his service, he momentarily mused.
Then he turned to those of the crew who had gathered round him. “Yes, it is from the Captain. We are wanted. Prepare to sail. Check we have enough water and provisions for a trip of several weeks. Check you are fully armed.”
He stood straight. “Well what are you waiting for? Set to it.”
He wasn’t exactly abrupt (though all the crew knew he could be), for he could see and feel their eagerness to be away. They had loitered in the port for overlong, it would be enlivening to be out on the waves again.
It was a fair enough day, bright and warm, but not too hot. There was quite a strong breeze from the south, and a slight swell. “We sail on the next tide. We do not have long.” He strode over to the quay, to start his own check, when he caught sight of a man climbing the mast.
“Stop, Sirwal! Come back down, supervise the provisions.”
The man halted, looked at him, then obeyed. With a click of his fingers another sailor took the first man’s place.
“You are grown too heavy for that, Sirwal, and I will not have you loose your grip and fall.” He still conveyed a harsh tone, not a kindly one. It wasn’t hard to do, for it was truth that he did not want the sailor falling to his death. He wanted to slay the poisoner himself.
Not one of the crew asked him their destination. They all knew that was to be kept secret. A Corsair never gave their plans away. But Tazakr was more thoughtful than usual. Naraal had written that the Shakilgimil was to bear the hope of their people? That it was wanted in the Northern reaches of the coast, which meant passing Gondorian ports, and the Elven haven of Mithlond. They were swifter, more maneuverable than most ships of Gondor, though not all. They were not likely to be swifter than the Elven ships. He recalled some of Naraal’s tales of his encounters with the Uinenlinde, and the most hated of Captains, Gaerion, who had thrice taken a ship from him. He and a very few others were lucky to escape with their lives.
Tazakr would give Mithlond a wide berth. But all the same, the crew would need unusual provisions.
He called over two of his most trusted crew, who were just about to go ashore.
“Keep this to yourselves, on pain of death. Resource for us a dozen thick cloaks, and any furs you may find.”
“We go North, to the Ice bay?” one whispered, his eyes showing some concern.
“Not that far. But due North, yes.”
They went about their task without further ado. They were not the type to blabber, either of them. They knew the cost.
