A wooden merchant flag fluttering with salted herring emblems proved surprisingly effective at clearing naval blockades.
The patrol skiffs of the Shattered Compass Atoll drifted alongside Kaelen’s warships, scanning the iron hulls. When Deacon Vane leaned over the rail and flourished Kragg’s obsidian token, the sentry captains lowered their crossbows.
The token bore Warden Moros’s seal. Questioning that seal meant being tossed to the sharks.
“Tributary convoy from the Outer Kelp Shoals,” Vane declared, his voice dripping with honeyed deference. “We bring medicinal sea-kelp, bone marrow, and sixty barrels of whale lard for the decennial audit.”
The harbor chain groaned as it was lowered into the black brine.
Kaelen’s fleet glided into the inner caldera of the Shattered Compass Atoll.
The island was a jagged crown of volcanic rock rising from the sea like blackened teeth. Steam vents hissed from cracks in the stone, carrying sulfur mixed with roasting fish. Terraced docks wound around the cliffs, lined with pirate sloops and apothecary barges.
At the caldera’s summit stood the Star-Compass Pavilion, a three-tiered fortress of black iron.
