Laharynn crept along one of the weathered, shipwrecked beams supporting the collapsed ceiling of Doldrom’s Keep and peered down at Pirate King of the Black Daggers. Even thirty feet above him and hidden in the shadows, she shuddered; Drako-toa Shadowmaw was a monster, not even a man, but a scarred black-scaled lizardfolk who wore all the pilfered finery the seas could provide atop his
salt-faded leathers. His horns curved back into a cascade of scaly deadlocks, many of them rung with bands of silver that brought out the cunning, cruel gleam in his eyes.
Everyone had heard the rumors that the Black Dagger Pirates were back. The first Black Dagger had been such a fearsome pirate that he brought his entire crew into undeath with him when
they’d been cursed by the black dragon, Garrundar. The second had been a pair of bandits who most people thought had just stolen the old flag from a ruin and tried to lay claim to a piece of the Black Dagger pirate legacy. They flourished, for a time, until their ambitions outstripped their skill and they’d gotten wiped off the map. And so, years later, when it seemed someone else had taken up the mantle of Pirate King of the Black Daggers it was a joke in the taverns. “Aye, didcha hear?
The Black Daggers are back! At this rate we’ll have Black Dagger the Fourth before harvest’s in!”
Laharynn hadn’t even wanted to take this job. She’d turned down Haemir Vyshann, a powerful elven mage, the first time he’d offered it to her, not interested in the amount of time it’d take her away from the Feywilds. But then her tressym, Díriel, was abducted and
Haemir made her an offer: if Laharynn got the book he wanted, he’d make sure Díriel was returned to her.
This time, she agreed...
