The Gallant Il-Am-Hakim stood upon the breast of his ship, a new covenant in one hand and his spyglass in another. The sea spat saltspray, but he only smiled in return. "Shall we beat to quarters, sir?" He nodded, and stepped down from his vantage point. His prize would not escape him this time. Allowing a moment of weakness, he slipped into his cabin to confront his prisoner. Though she seemed nothing but a delicate flower, he knew her words to be poison. He cleared his throat. "Madam, do you hear the drums? We have found your brother, and he will soon pay for his crimes."