Though the coast was still many leagues off, the ancient dwarven edifice was clearly visible now, standing taller than anything Hadrian had ever seen. He smiled at the irony, knowing dwarves had built it. The massive towers were close to eight hundred feet from the raw rocky base, where waves crashed, to the top of the dome. It appeared to be equal parts fortification and monument. In some respects, it resembled two massive gears laid on their sides, huge cylinders with teeth jutting seaward. From the top of each tower, smoke rose. Midway up were fins—arced openings like gigantic teapot spouts that pointed toward the ocean. Between the twin towers was a single-span stone bridge connecting them like a lintel over the entrance of the harbor.
“Can’t even miss her at night, the way she lights up. You should see her during a full moon when they blow the vents. It puts on quite a show. She’s built on a volcano, and the venting prevents too much pressure from building up. Ships in the area often arrange to pass the point at the full moon just for the entertainment. But they also keep their distance. The dwarves that built that fortress sure knew what they were doing. No ship can enter Terlando Bay if the masters of Drumindor don’t want them to. They can spew molten rock for hundreds of feet and burn a fleet of ships to drifting ash in minutes.”
“We’re familiar with how that works,” Royce said coldly.
Wyatt cocked an eyebrow. “Bad experience?”
“We had a job there once,” Hadrian replied. “A dwarf named Gravis was angry about humans desecrating what he considered a dwarven masterpiece. We had to get in to stop him from sabotaging it.”
“You broke into Drumindor?” Wyatt looked impressed. “I thought that was impossible.”
“Just about,” Royce answered, “and we didn’t get paid enough for the trouble it gave me.”
Hadrian snorted. “You? I was the one who nearly died making that leap. You just hung there and laughed.”
“How’d you get in? I heard that place is kept tighter than Cornelius DeLur’s purse,” Wyatt pressed.
“It wasn’t easy,” Royce grumbled. “I learned to hate dwarves on that job. Well, there and …” He trailed off, rubbing his left shoulder absently.
“It will be the harvest moon in a few weeks. Maybe we’ll catch the show on the way back,” Wyatt said.
The lookout announced the sighting of sails. Several ships clustered under the safety of the fort, but they were so far out that only their topsails showed.
“I would have expected the captain to have ordered a course change by now. He’s letting us get awfully close.”
“Drumindor can’t shoot this far, can she?” Hadrian asked.
“No, but the fortress isn’t the only danger,” Wyatt pointed out. “It isn’t safe for an imperial vessel to linger in these waters. Delgos isn’t officially at war with us, but everyone knows the DeLurs support the Nationalists and—well—accidents can happen.”
They continued sailing due south. Not until the point was well astern and nearly out of sight did the captain appear on the quarterdeck. Now they would discover which direction the Emerald Storm would go.
“Heave to, Mr. Bishop!” he ordered.
“Back the mains’l!” the lieutenant shouted, and the men sprang into action.
This was the first time Hadrian had heard these particular orders and he was glad that, as ship’s cook, he was not required to carry them out. It did not take long for him to see what was happening. Backing the mainsail caused it to catch the wind on its forward side. If the foremast and mizzenmast were also backed, the ship would sail in reverse. Since they remained trimmed as they were, the force of the wind lay balanced between them, leaving the ship stationary on the water.
Once the ship was heaved to, the captain ordered a reading on the ship’s position, then disappeared once more into his cabin, leaving Lieutenant Bishop on the quarterdeck.
“So much for picking a direction,” Hadrian muttered to himself.
They remained stationary for the rest of that day. At sunset, Captain Seward ordered lights hauled aloft, but nothing further slipped his lips.
Hadrian served supper, boiled salt pork stew again. Even he was tired of his menu, but the only complaints came from the recently pressed, who were not yet hardened to the conformities of life at sea. Hadrian suspected most of the veterans on board would demand salt pork and biscuits even on land, rather than break the routine.
“He is a murderer, that’s why!”
Hadrian heard Staul shout as he entered the below deck with the last of the evening meals. The Tenkin was standing slightly crouched in the center of the crew’s quarters. His dark tattooed body and rippling muscles were revealed as he removed his shirt. In his right hand he held a knife. A cloth wrapped his left fist. His chest heaved with excitement, a mad grin on his face and a sinister glare in his eyes.
In front of Staul stood Royce.
“He killed Edgar Drew. Everyone knows it. Now he’ll be the one to die, eh?”