In consternation, he waited while she wiped more tears on his handkerchief. “Twelve years ago,” she managed at last. “When they came to take us because we could not pay the Satrap's taxes, I fought them. They killed my husband and took me, but my little girl ran away. And I never thought to see her again, let alone my grandson.” She gestured fondly at Sorcor and little Sorcor. More tears welled up and choked her.

It took her a bit, and soon other folk chimed in to help her and tell their own stories. By the most powerful of coincidences, most of the slaves on board the Fortune had come from the same village as had the original founders of Askew. But no one there believed it a coincidence. All, even dour Sorcor, credited him with deducing it and deciding to bring them here to be re-united with their kin. He had not. But Kennit knew it was not mere coincidence, but something far more powerful.

Sheerest luck. His luck. Luck to be trusted and never questioned. Casually he smoothed a finger over the wizardwood charm at his wrist. Would he scorn such luck by disdaining this chance? Of course not. Such luck demanded he dare to be worthy of it. He decided he dared. Shyly, so humbly, he asked Tayella, “Have my men told you of the prophecy I received from the Others?”

Tayella's eyes widened. She sensed something immense to come. Like a widening ring of ripples, her silence spread. All eyes turned toward him. “I have heard something of what was said,” she said cautiously.

As if overcome, Kennit cast his eyes down. He let his voice drop deep, and said softly, “Here it begins.” Then he drew a deeper breath and brought the words up from the depths of himself, powering them with his lungs. “Here it begins!” he announced, and contrived to make it sound as if it were an honor he was bestowing on them.

It worked. All about him, eyes shone with tears. Tayella shook her head in slow disbelief. “But what have we to offer you?” she asked, almost brokenly. “We are a village with next to nothing. No fields to till, no grand houses. How does a king begin here?”

Kennit put gentleness into his voice. “I begin as you begin. With a ship, which I have taken for you. With a crew, which I have trained for you. Work the ship. I shall leave Rafo here to teach you the ways of the Raven flag. Take whatever you will from whoever passes, and make it your own. Remember how the Satrap took all from you, and do not be ashamed to reclaim your wealth from the merchants of Jamaillia that he cossets with your blood.” He glanced at the shining gaze of his first mate and was inspired. “But I warn you. Suffer no slaver to pass unchallenged. Send the crews to the serpents who will welcome them, and gather their ships here. Of all cargo that is aboard these ships, I give Askew a full half. A full half!” He repeated it loudly, to be sure they all knew of his generosity. “Keep the rest here, in safety. Sorcor and I will return, before the year is out, to take a tally, and to teach you how such things are best sold.” With a wry and confiding smile, he lifted the wooden bowl of wine. “I offer you a sour toast! To sweeter and better things to come!”

As one, they roared out their adulation. Tayella did not seem to realize he had just stolen her village's control from her. Her eyes shone as brightly as the rest, she lifted her bowl as high. Even dour Sorcor joined in when they shouted his name. Triumph sharper than any he had known cut deep and sweet into his soul. His gaze met the worshipful eyes of his first mate and he knew he once more had his leash securely. He smiled at the man and even at the baby he was doting on. A laugh almost burst from Kennit's chest as this final piece tumbled into place. Sorcor believed Kennit had honored him. That Kennit had hung his name on the baby as a sort of reward to him. He did not fight the widening of his own grin. Instead, he lifted his bowl high once more. With a pounding heart, he waited for the noise to subside around him. When it did, he spoke in a deceptively soft voice. “Do as I teach you,” he bade them gently. “Follow my. ways, and I shall lead you to peace and prosperity!”

The roar that greeted this near deafened him. He lowered his eyes modestly, to share a secret grin with the small face on his wrist. The revelry lasted long, not just the night but over into the morning. Before it was over, most of Askew was reeling with the sour wine and Kennit's gut was curdled from trying to drink it. Not only had Sorcor found a quiet moment in which he had begged Kennit to forgive him for doubting him, but he admitted to his captain that he had believed him a heartless sort of man, cold as a serpent. Kennit did not need to ask him what had changed his mind. He had already heard, from several sources, how moved they had all been when he himself- by all accounts one of the most hardened captains of the Pirate Isles - had been reduced to tears at the sight of their misery in the hold. He had rescued them, he had wept for them, and then he had restored to them not only their freedom but their lost families. He realized too late that he could have claimed this place without giving them a ship as well, but what was done was done. And half of whatever booty they managed to seize would come to him, without effort. It was not a bad beginning. Not a bad beginning at all.