Treading the Storm's Edge

A dull thud echoed as the storehouse door slammed shut behind two grim-faced watchmen. Kano clenched his jaw, fists curling at his sides. He'd trailed them this far—just short of the threshold—only to be barred from entering. Inside, Brannis was kept under lock and key.

"You've no permission to loiter," one watchman growled, planting himself in Kano's path. "The council said to keep your distance."

Kano forced himself to breathe. Anger pulsed through his veins, but he could almost sense Tariq Stormrún's echo urging calm. He met the watchman's scowl with the steadiest gaze he could muster. "I only want to bring him a few supplies—some fresh bandages, a bit of food."

The watchman's lips twisted in a sneer. "He's got rations enough for now."

"It's just a courtesy," Kano insisted, holding out the small cloth bundle. Within, a handful of medicinal herbs he'd borrowed from the local midwife crinkled in their paper wrapping. "He's wounded."

A moment of tense silence passed. Behind the watchman, two more guards hauled a heavy crate into the storehouse corridor. Kano caught a brief glimpse of Brannis in the loft above—leaning weakly against a wooden beam—before they slammed the door again. Seeing Brannis like that, a once-proud master-at-arms reduced to an ailing prisoner, made Kano's stomach churn.

With a derisive snort, the watchman yanked the bundle from Kano's hands. "Fine. I'll see he gets it," he said, stuffing it under his arm without a second glance. "Now get on your way."

Kano bit back a bitter reply. There was no point provoking them further and jeopardizing what little goodwill they had. Forcing a short nod, he turned away, aware of the guard's gaze boring into his back until he reached the edge of the pier.

He paused there, letting the salty breeze wash over him. The midday sun was burning through faint cloud cover, casting an uncomfortably bright glare on the water. No wind. No sign of relief from the sweltering heat. At least it's not another storm, he thought grimly, recalling the roiling gales he'd faced during his flight from Coral Spit's outskirts not long ago. Now, the village's lethargic calm felt almost worse—like a trap waiting to snap shut.

"Any luck?" came a voice from behind him.

Reina stood at the foot of the pier, shading her eyes with one hand. Her expression hovered between hope and resignation. She'd been the one to coax those herbs from the midwife in hopes they might lessen Brannis's fever.

Kano shook his head, trudging over to meet her. "They wouldn't let me inside. Took the supplies, though. Might be something."

Reina sighed. "He's still better off than a prison cell, I suppose." She hesitated, then placed a hand on Kano's shoulder. "You did what you could."

He wished that was true. Every moment Brannis spent locked up, Coral Spit's council inched closer to a final decision. If Elder Hani turned against them, or decided Stormrún's warnings were too risky to heed, this would all have been for nothing. Kano wasn't about to let that happen—not while the echo of Tariq Stormrún pulsed with urgency in his mind.

"Where's Father?" he asked. The pier was empty aside from the gulls squawking overhead.

"Back at the hut," Reina said softly. "He's been trying to reason with a few councilors, but…they just keep telling him to wait."

Kano grimaced. Wait, that loathsome word again. He was tired of waiting. Yet he had no direct power to storm the storehouse or to force the council's hand. Worst of all, the villagers who once regarded him with mere distrust now seemed downright fearful whenever he passed. Was that because of the documents from Stormrún—or because of something deeper, something stirring in his own Name?

He let out a slow breath. "I'll go see Father. Maybe we can plan our next step." His gaze flicked back to the storehouse. "Brannis can hold on a little longer."

Reina squeezed his arm in silent agreement. They both headed down the pier, carefully avoiding curious eyes peering from half-open shutters. Wordless tension clung to Coral Spit's huts like a storm cloud—the sense that something big was unfolding, and no one knew what form it would take.

As they approached the cluster of stilts that formed the village's main pathway, Aila, the midwife, emerged from a side alley, beckoning them closer. Her face wore an anxious frown. "Hani's convening another council session soon," she whispered. "Word is, they've invited that merchant captain who arrived this morning. He claims to have news of a warlord attacking outlying islands…"

Kano's pulse spiked. "Valrakan?"

Aila nodded grimly. "Not sure if it's the same name, but the merchant said something about a fleet that burns and pillages whatever it touches. Could be the same force that struck Stormrún. If so, the council might decide whether to shelter Brannis or hand him over to the merchant for a bounty."

Reina's jaw tightened. "They'd just trade him off like that?"

Aila shrugged helplessly. "Our village can't defend itself if a real army lands on these shores. The council might think giving him up buys us some peace." She eyed Kano warily, as if weighing whether to add more. "If you want to be there when they make this choice…don't linger."

Kano exchanged a glance with Reina, urgency surging in his chest. "Thank you," he said, voice taut. "We'll hurry."

Nodding farewell, Aila slipped away into the winding alley. Kano turned to his mother. Fear mingled with resolve in her eyes, the same turmoil roiling in his gut. If the council gave Brannis up, any chance to warn the region—or restore Stormrún—might vanish. Not to mention the man himself would be doomed.

Without another word, mother and son headed for their hut at a brisk pace. The midday sun beat down, each moment feeling heavier than the last. No more waiting, Kano told himself. Whatever it takes, we won't let them cast Brannis aside.

Kano stepped into the cramped hut, just behind his mother. The place felt smaller than ever, especially with Marro pacing in the narrow space between the sleeping mat and the crooked table. Sweat shone on his brow, and his eyes flicked up the moment they entered.

"You heard?" Marro asked, agitation clear in his voice.

Reina offered a curt nod. "Aila just told us. The council called for a session. Something about a merchant who witnessed raids on nearby isles."

Marro raked a hand through his hair. "I couldn't get a word with them. They're meeting in private for now—likely picking at those Stormrún scrolls again."

Kano set his jaw. "We can't just wait until they've already decided. If the merchant's story aligns with Brannis's, that could mean Valrakan's pushing closer. The council might panic and try to 'pay off' the threat by sacrificing him."

His father snatched a wooden stool and eased onto it, as though the thought sapped his remaining energy. "The guards posted at the storehouse won't let us near Brannis. And if we so much as barge into the council's meeting uninvited…"

"They'll lock us up too," Reina finished grimly. Silence settled, broken only by the rattle of fishing nets hanging near the door.

Kano's heart clenched. It was the same deadlock at every turn: No direct way to defend Brannis, no voice the council would heed. He nearly gave in to despair when Tariq Stormrún's echo stirred within him—a quiet urging, an echo of strategy from a life spent in command.

He lifted his head. "What if we find the merchant first?" he said, a new edge to his voice. "Hear his account before he testifies. If he's seen Valrakan's fleet, maybe he'll confirm Brannis's warnings—or at least realize we're on the same side."

Reina frowned. "He might not care. Plenty of captains just want profit."

"True." Kano swallowed hard. "But if we don't try, the council will hear his story from a single angle. One talk with him might sway how he presents his case in session."

Marro mulled it over, tapping a calloused finger on the table. "It's a risk. But I've talked to enough traveling merchants to know they value fresh information. If we can convince him we have real insight on Valrakan's tactics—"

"He might see the benefit of working with us," Reina finished. A spark of hope touched her eyes.

"Or at least he won't see us as worthless outcasts," Kano said, pushing away the tightness in his chest. Let's move before they can outmaneuver us.

He grabbed a rough canvas satchel from a peg on the wall. "We should go now. With the council in closed talks, maybe the merchant's still waiting near the docks or in the trading stall."

Marro rose, slipping on a threadbare cloak. "I'll come with you. The boy—" he caught himself, giving Kano a rueful glance, "you know more about Stormrún than I do, but I can handle the negotiation if he's the haggling type."

Reina moved toward the door, only to pause. "Three of us at once might look like we're cornering him."

Kano took a breath. "I'll stay in the background. Listen and support where needed."

His parents exchanged a fleeting look—concern warring with the knowledge they had no better plan. At last, Reina placed a quick hand on Kano's shoulder. "Be careful, both of you."

They slipped outside. The late afternoon sun hung low, painting the boardwalk in slanted beams. Deep shadows pooled under the stilts, and small knots of villagers milled about, heads bent in hushed conversation. Word had spread fast about the merchant's arrival. A sense of anticipation hung in the humid air.

Kano and Marro cut across the uneven planks toward a row of market stalls sheltered by palm fronds. Fishmongers and shell traders had mostly packed up for the day, leaving the space unusually quiet. A single tall-masted sloop rocked at the pier, its hull scuffed by long voyages. Near its gangplank, a rotund man in a sun-faded tricorn hat barked orders at a pair of sailors offloading crates.

"That'll be him," Marro murmured, nodding toward the man. "Captain, I'd guess."

Kano kept his steps soft. He saw the captain wipe sweat from his brow, cursing about the heat. A battered coat hung from his shoulders, and he carried himself with the swagger of someone used to profitable deals. A frayed belt bore a small pistol-like weapon—probably more intimidation piece than anything else.

They approached at a respectful distance. One of the sailors caught sight of them, nudging the captain. He turned, scowling, but curiosity flickered in his eyes. "You folks got business?" His accent was hard to place, a blend of distant ports.

Marro spread his hands in a gesture of peace. "We heard you brought news of raids on nearby islands. Word is the council wants your testimony."

The captain eyed them warily. "And who's askin'? The council can speak to me themselves."

Kano straightened, reminding himself to keep calm. "We're, uh, friends with the wounded man—Brannis—who's told a similar tale." He let the name hang in the air. "He says the warlord leading these raids is named Valrakan, enslaving dragons, crushing cities in his path."

At that, the captain's brow creased. He fiddled with a ring on his thumb, as though weighing how much to reveal. "Aye, I've heard that name. Docked at a small atoll a few days back. Locals claimed a swarm of those poor, chained beasts nearly leveled their huts."

Kano swallowed the lump in his throat. So it is Valrakan. The mention of chained dragons brought an unwelcome surge of memory from Tariq's final battle.

Marro spoke gently, "We fear the council might misunderstand your news. They're jumpy about anything that could bring trouble to Coral Spit. If you stand before them and talk of burning fleets…"

The captain's lips twitched. "They'll balk and run for cover. Typical cozy-little-village mindset." With a sigh, he jerked his chin toward the watchtowers. "I'm only telling the truth, mate. If they want to blame the messenger, not much I can do. I aim to sell my wares, get paid, and sail on."

"Maybe not," Kano ventured, glancing around to ensure no eavesdroppers lingered. "What if we give you a reason to…temper your report? Not lie, but emphasize that the threat is real—and that Brannis's warnings match yours. The council might think twice about just handing him over like a token sacrifice."

A spark of calculation lit the captain's eyes. "You want me to say your friend's legit. And in exchange?" He shrugged. "I'm not the charitable sort, if that's what you're hopin'."

Marro reached into his satchel and produced a small, folded sheaf of notes—scripts for fish and shell trades, plus a few coins. "It's not much, but it's all we've got. We're not asking for charity, Captain. Just…some consideration. A fair angle on the story."

The captain eyed the meager sum with a half-smile, then stuffed it into his coat. "Could be I'll mention that your man Brannis speaks truth. That handing him to raiders might gain the village naught but a moment's reprieve, if that." He shrugged again. "But I can't promise the council'll listen."

"It's all we ask," Kano said, relief mingling with unease. "Thank you."

The captain waved them off, returning to his sailors with a parting remark: "Time's short—council'll call me soon. Let's hope they're not as thick-headed as other folk I've met on these islands."

As Kano and Marro headed back from the pier, they exchanged a tight-lipped glance. Their coin pouch was laughably light now, and any number of misfortunes could thwart this gamble. But at least the merchant captain wouldn't stand against Brannis. That might tilt the balance, however slightly, in their favor.

Yet a flutter of dread remained in Kano's gut. If the council decided peace was easier bought with betrayal, no amount of "fair testimony" would save Brannis. All they'd done was nudge a single piece on an ever-shifting board. Still, it was better than doing nothing.

Pausing at the end of the dock, Kano cast a final look at the storehouse's distant silhouette. "Hold on, Brannis," he muttered under his breath. "We won't let them feed you to the storm."

By the time Kano and Marro reached the council grounds—an open square near the village's raised platform—the late-afternoon sun glowed harsh and heavy. Small clusters of villagers formed a loose ring around the hastily assembled benches. At the center stood Elder Hani, flanked by two councilors. Opposite them, the merchant captain loitered with one hand on his hip, sun-faded tricorn tilted against the glare.

Kano spotted Reina near the edges of the gathering. She gave a tiny nod, indicating she'd found a vantage point in case things turned sour. He and Marro eased into the crowd, trying to appear unassuming. Everywhere, eyes shifted warily—some flicked to Kano with the same guarded fear he'd come to recognize. He ignored it, focusing instead on the exchange unfolding in the center.

"I don't doubt you saw devastation," Elder Hani said, cane in hand. Her voice resonated over the muted murmurs. "But Coral Spit is a small settlement. We have little wealth and fewer defenses. Why would this warlord Valrakan waste time on us?"

The merchant shrugged expansively. "From what I've witnessed, ma'am, he takes no chances. Big or small, any island that resists or harbors enemies becomes a target. His fleet's made of lean, fast ships—good for skirmishing. The enslaved dragons do the heavy lifting."

Some of the councilors winced at that mention—chained dragons were too nightmarish for most islanders to picture. Hani's expression stayed pinned between skepticism and worry. She gestured to a battered parchment on the table. Kano recognized it at once: one of Brannis's Stormrún scrolls.

"So you agree with these records," Hani pressed. "You confirm there is a fleet enslaving dragons—destroying whoever won't submit?"

The captain tipped his tricorn. "Aye, though I can't say I've seen it firsthand—only the aftermath. Burned huts, terrified survivors… But yes, it matches what's written there."

A stir ran through the crowd, a wave of uncertain whispers. Marro inched closer to Kano, relief flickering in his eyes. The merchant was at least corroborating parts of Brannis's story. But what next?

"Then the question remains," one of the councilors said, addressing Elder Hani, "do we truly gain anything by sheltering this wounded stranger? If a grand war is brewing, how can we—a fishing village—survive?"

At that, the merchant scratched his beard. "I'm no strategist, but if the fellow in the storehouse speaks any truth, he's got info that might warn other islands. Maybe even rally help. Handin' him over—" He paused for effect, eyeing the ring of villagers. "—seems to me like throwing away your only chance to know what Valrakan's up to."

Hani's knuckles whitened against her cane. She glanced at the parchments, then at the councilors on either side. One shook his head reluctantly, while another muttered something about "risks we cannot afford." The whole scene had the charged hush of a fuse burning toward a powder keg.

At the far edge of the crowd, Kano could feel his heart thrumming. Don't hand him over. Don't hand him over. More than once, he caught glimpses of a watchman pacing the perimeter, checking for any sign of trouble—perhaps waiting for an order to drag Brannis out. The tension raked on his nerves.

"Bring the traveler," Elder Hani finally commanded, lifting her cane. "We shall hear from him directly."

A new pulse of murmurs rippled through the onlookers. Two watchmen hurried off toward the storehouse, likely to retrieve Brannis under guard. Kano gripped Marro's forearm, heart pounding. They're going to make him speak in front of everyone—even in his condition.

Minutes slipped by like hours. Finally, the watchmen returned with Brannis in tow. He leaned heavily on one guard's shoulder, face drawn from pain, yet his eyes—shadowed though they were—blazed with defiance. The crowd parted, letting them pass into the circle.

Elder Hani took a measured breath. "You claim to be a master-at-arms of House Stormrún, witness to its fall. You brought documents describing a warlord's atrocities. Now that an outsider's report corroborates parts of your story, we wish to know: what do you expect from Coral Spit?"

Brannis shifted his weight. The guard gripped his arm tighter, but he offered no complaint—only an uneven breath. "Stormrún valued every ally it had. We never… sought to force the small isles into war, but now the threat is real. If you drive me away," he said, voice ragged, "you lose a chance to warn others. And you make it all too easy for Valrakan."

A hush stilled the onlookers. Brannis locked eyes with Elder Hani. "The council must decide if Coral Spit will stand alone, hoping to be overlooked—or try to unify with those who yet resist. You could send me onward, free, so that I might gather allies." His gaze flicked to the merchant. "Or, if you fear reprisal, at least let me depart unharmed to find help."

The merchant gave a faint nod, as if to confirm he'd take Brannis away peacefully if needed. Meanwhile, Kano held his breath. This was the moment that would decide whether Brannis ended up ransomed, abandoned—or if he might gain the village's reluctant support.

Elder Hani's cane wavered, betraying the deep uncertainty she wrestled with. "One more question," she said quietly, meeting Brannis's gaze. "Stormrún was a mighty name once. Is there truly no heir? No leader to rally its old banners?"

Brannis inhaled, glancing around. For a heartbeat, his eyes drifted over the crowd—and briefly met Kano's. Something unspoken passed between them: the knowledge that Kano carried Tariq Stormrún's echo, unacknowledged and hidden. Brannis bowed his head. "As far as I know, my lady…that lineage is gone. But Stormrún's spirit remains. Those who served it still hold true to its cause."

Kano's stomach twisted. The lie was necessary—no one here could guess the truth. But hearing it aloud drove home just how precarious their plan was. He willed Brannis to stand strong.

Elder Hani's frown deepened. She turned to the councilors at her side. A tense whispered exchange ensued, too low for Kano to catch. The onlookers shifted restlessly. Even the merchant seemed impatient.

Then Hani straightened, tapping her cane thrice on the ground. "This is our decree," she pronounced. "Brannis—of Stormrún or not—shall not be surrendered to any rumored fleet or warlord. For now, you remain under Coral Spit's watch. We will grant you safe passage, on condition you leave the village by next moonrise." She paused, scanning the anxious crowd. "Until that time, we expect no further trouble or alarm. You'll depart quietly—and swiftly."

An undercurrent of relieved chatter rose. Some villagers nodded as if that was a fair compromise; others looked uncertain. The merchant arched a brow at Brannis, a half-smile hinting he'd be willing to ferry him away—for a price, presumably.

Kano exhaled, a tide of relief tempered by a swirl of new questions. Brannis wasn't free yet—he remained under watch, and the council wanted him gone soon. But at least they hadn't sold him out or locked him away indefinitely. It's something, Kano told himself. A small victory.

Brannis managed a weary nod. "I accept those terms. And…I thank you." He managed no more before the guards stepped in, guiding him away from the circle. Elder Hani's gaze followed them, her face unreadable but still laced with worry.

As the crowd began to disperse, the merchant ambled over to Marro and Kano, a cunning glint in his eye. "So, your man lives to see another day. Careful not to waste that," he said, tapping the brim of his tricorn. "I'll be in port till the next tide. After that, my ship sails on, with or without him."

Marro nodded, though his jaw tensed. "Thank you for speaking truth. We'll see to the rest."

Kano barely heard the exchange; his thoughts churned over the meaning of the council's verdict. Brannis would be forced to leave in mere days. If they wanted him to help rebuild Stormrún, or to rally broader support against Valrakan, time was perilously short.

He glanced again at Brannis, now being led back toward the storehouse. Their gazes met. In that fleeting moment, Kano swore he saw hope burning in Brannis's eyes—an unspoken vow that he would hold on until they could truly act.

With the hush of the meeting breaking into scattered chatter, Kano slipped away from the bustling square, mind brimming with possibilities. We have until moonrise, he thought, chest tightening. One last chance to plan—before Brannis is cast back to sea.