Stone Salt Town's docks looked rather deserted in the cold winds of early spring.
Veylin stood at the end of the pier, the sea breeze whipping his black hair into disarray.
Tristan and Barrett stood behind him. The former pulled the fur at his collar tighter, while the latter narrowed his lone eye and gazed across the distant gray sea.
"They're here," Barrett said.
At the boundary between sky and sea, a lopsided black speck slowly grew larger.
As the ship approached, its sorry condition became clear to everyone.
It was Sea Wolf's Sea Lion, a three-masted sailing ship.
The hull looked as though a giant beast had gnawed on it. A gash slashed diagonally from bow to stern, and beneath the curled-back planks, the interiors of the crew quarters and carpenter's cabin were plainly visible.
One of its three main masts had snapped. The remaining two had been reinforced with ropes and planks.
Its sails hung in tatters, making it look like a ghost ship.
It was hard to imagine how this vessel had made it back from the North Sea.
When the ship docked, a heavy stench of blood hit them.
Every crewman on deck was wounded. Some had bandaged arms, while others had gaping cuts on their faces.
Yet every face wore an expression of exhaustion mingled with exhilaration.
At the sight of Veylin and his companions on the pier, they began waving their arms vigorously and shouting.
Sea Wolf was the first to rush down the gangplank. His leather armor had several large holes, and a new scar marked his face, but his laughter rang louder than the harbor gulls.
"Baron, you owe me one hell of a favor!" Sea Wolf strode up to Veylin and clapped a huge palm heavily on his shoulder.
"That damned