‘You are this foreigner speaking of lands to the east?’ the elder rumbled.

‘I am.’

‘I am Tulan Orbed, Master of the Lady’s Luck.’ He waved a great paw to the lad. ‘This here is my nephew, Reuth.’

‘Kyle.’

‘The black storm-cloud behind you is Storval, First Mate.’

‘We’ve met.’

‘Ha! I intuit from your tone that you certainly have. So gloomy is he we name him Black Storval.’ He urged Kyle to him. ‘Come, come. Set yourself at ease. We see so few foreigners here. Tell us of the world beyond Fist. You have seen these distant shores to the east?’

Kyle was rather taken aback to meet such a cosmopolitan attitude. He sat easily enough, but to one side, so as not to put his back to the ill-tempered mate. Tulan chuckled at this, and winked. Then, peering up sharply, he said, ‘Another horn and more ale, Storval.’

The man scowled even more but he ground out a nod. ‘Aye, captain.’ He thumped down the stairs.

Tulan extended a wood skewer to Kyle, who took it and jabbed a scrap of meat that he then held over the glowing brazier coals. ‘I have seen them.’

The captain’s gaze flicked to his nephew. ‘Indeed. And does this land have a name?’

‘It does. The southern lands are known to some as Bael. The northern some name …’ and here he paused, wondering whether to mention the damned ill-omened name at all. But he ploughed on, thinking, wind toss it, no one from Korel would know it anyway: ‘… Assail.’ The captain eyed his nephew once more. But the lad was watching Kyle. A faintly amused smile pulled at his mouth. They know this already, he realized. They just wanted to see if I’d lie about that name. ‘Anything else?’

‘Where were you there? A port? Did you land?’

Kyle nodded while he ate his sizzling cut of meat. Storval returned, set down a third drinking horn and a fat skin. Kyle used the skewer to pick his teeth. ‘A city on the east coast. Kurzan.’

Again, Tulan eyed his nephew, who nodded.

Kyle turned to the unprepossessing pale blotchy-faced lad and looked him up and down. ‘You’ve been there?’

He blushed furiously, his face almost glowing, and shook his head.

‘Reuth’s a scholar,’ Tulan explained. ‘But a particular kind of scholar. I paid a fortune to send him to poke through dusty records in Jasston and Jourilan. Isn’t that so, Reuth?’

The lad nodded vigorously.

Tulan picked up the skin and squeezed a stream of ale into the horn. He offered it to Kyle. ‘His passion is cartography. Know you this line of knowledge?’

Kyle accepted the horn, nodding. ‘Charts and maps.’