Damien sat with Velco in his surprisingly spacious cabin. A little glass-fronted cabinet filled with pieces of bone carved into elaborate shapes or with detailed seascapes inlaid into them sat against the back wall. Damien perched on the edge of the captain’s bed while Velco reclined in the room’s sole chair. A small fold-up table occupied one corner. Beside it rested a two-shelf bookcase filled with charts and logbooks. On a small table rested a tray covered with dried meat, biscuits, and some sort of withered fruit. Damien found no poison, but still had no particular desire to eat any of it. Even the red wine in his battered tin cup smelled sour.

Damien took a nibble of dried meat just to be polite. “Why did you risk a fight with my master just to avoid telling her your intentions?”

Velco tore a chunk out of his meat. “I wanted to see what she was made of. I have to admit I was impressed. Would she have sunk us if I continued on without answering her?”

“No, she would have had me do it.”

Velco laughed and almost choked on his half-chewed food. When the captain could breathe again he said, “You don’t mince words do you?”

“I’m a warrior, not a politician. If I have something to say, I say it.”

“Ha! You and I are going to get along. How far to this island of yours?”

“I could fly there in half an hour, but sailing, maybe a day or two. I admit I have little experience with ships. Do you really think you can kill the Leviathan?”

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

“The sorcerers I’ve spoken with assure me their plan will work. No guarantees of course, but they seemed confident.”

“I don’t suppose you’d care to share?” Damien took another nibble of meat. If it took two days to reach the island he’d have to stomach the food for a little while.

Velco devoured a biscuit, mold and all. “Your master tell you to ask?”

Damien smiled. “Not in so many words, but she’d be disappointed in me if I didn’t try.”

“I hate to dash your hopes, but I don’t exactly understand the process myself. Something about suppression and negation. I can pilot a ship, plot a course, or kill a whale, but sorcery is beyond me. When the time comes I’ll do what they tell me and hope for the best.”

Damien shook his head. The captain had taken too big a risk to pin it all on hoping for the best. He either knew more than he let on or was desperate. Looking at the man Damien thought it might be a combination of both.

“Why risk it? This trip, hunting a dragon, my master’s wrath. What’s so awful in the Old Empire that you would make such a gigantic gamble?”

“Awful? On the contrary, things couldn’t be better. The guild’s business is doubling every five years. We’re rolling in gold.”

Damien just stared, not understanding. “And?”

“And what we’re not rolling in is whales. We’ve nearly hunted the safe areas clean. If we want to continue working we need to hunt out in the deep water where the big pods live.”

“And the whales aren’t the only big thing that lives in the deep ocean.”

“Yes, and the dragon doesn’t take kindly to us hunting in its territory. We’ve sent three flotillas out and only one came back with oil. The others vanished without a trace. The guild lost five hundred men combined on those ships. We can’t convince new crews to sign up unless we guarantee only shallow water hunting.”

“Right. You eliminate the Leviathan and a whole ocean opens up to you.”

“Exactly. This is our way of life. If we can’t find new hunting grounds we lose everything. I’ve staked it all on keeping our lifestyle going.”

“Including your life?”

“Including my life.”