It was the end of the blackfin season, when the trawlers and fishing vessels were bound at port and all of Dronnar was a buzz with the forthcoming spectacle of the Great Swim. Rawl, then only a lad of 12, knew that his father, the retired pirate, Warnum the Black Blade, was a contender for the title of champion. Warnum was a fair swimmer, but he was a very strong man, and brave, and it was always the bravest and strongest of swimmers who made it safely to Arvach's Rock, the goal of all participants in the Great Swim.

With his sister, Shaerla, and friend Doss in tow, Rawl hurried to the docks where the swimmers were gathered to be blessed by the sea gods: Halsumer Stormwarden and Mujorrum Sea-King. The priests looked resplendant in their sea-blue cloaks and light grey tunics as they stood on a newly-erected platform overlooking the gathered swimmers. Mostly sailors, fishermen and mariners, men and women used to the rough and tumble life on sea, the swimmers waited silently while the priests called on the blessings of the sea gods and prayed for a renewal of the blackfin in the coming year.

Pushing their way through the throng of bodies, Rawl and his companions made it to the front of the crowd. He thought of his mother, who would have been a participant this year, but for the baby, Kes. Still, he had promised to regale her with tales of the event that evening. He could see his father at the edge of the jetty, broad, deep and not too tall. He called out but the wind took his voice and sent it over the sea. Like the other swimmers, Warnum wore only his breech clout and nothing else. He seemed ready for the event, flexing his hard, tough muscles and glaring at his main rival and friend, Jubelo of the Black Wing. They had wagered on this event: if Warnum beat Jubelo, then the old sea-dog would take Rawl (when he was of age) as a corsair on board his galley, The Black Wing. If Jubelo won, well, the consequences did not bear thinking.

The prayers were completed and at the sounding of the sea-conch, the swimmers plunged into the warm waves and splashed towards the south-east where Arvach's Rock was only a dark blur on the horizon. Following the crowd, Rawl moved to the edge of the jetty and stared at the slowly diminishing form of his father. He kept his fingers fisted and prayed to the gods that Warnum would triumph.

The morning passed and the swimmers disappeared from sight. A few vessels, loaded with spectators began to move outwards in their wake. Suddenly, a cry rang out amongst those still at the docks and fingers were pointed towards the east. Two sails, black as midnight and flying the colours of peril, crested the waves, making their way towards port. In all his 12 years, Rawl had seen nothing like it, though he knew well the tales of the dreaded Black Sails, scourge of the seas and spawn of Shadraech, goddess of ill-omen. There were only two ships, but Dronnar was at best undefended. It would take time for the swimmers to be informed and transported back, time which those still remaining at port did not have. Rawl's thoughts went at once to his mother, Lysslinth who was nursing baby Kes, and terror struck him at the realisation that unless something was done, most of Dronnar was doomed.

Already, the few hardy sailors and corsairs still remaining in port had boarded the vessels and were making good progress towards the Black Sails. But they were not enough to stall the sea-savages, the ocean-faring orks, who captained those dreaded vessels. He turned and hurried both sister and friend towards home when Shaerla, in all her 7 years, broke away and ran into town, heading for Ordlun's tavern. While Doss scampered away, Rawl decided to follow his sister into the dark and smoky confines of the taproom. He made it to the door when it flung wide open and an imposing figure stepped out with Shaerla at his heels. Rawl almost fell over backwards with shock and surprise. The man was tall and thin and most certainly not of the Jolstran Isles. His wispy beard billowed in the wind and his face darkened when he saw the ships on the horizon. He gestured Shaerla aside and with a quick word and a wave of his hand, he leapt up and _flew_ eastwards, in the direction of the black sails.

What happened over the next hour was a marvel to behold. Standing with Shaerla on the docks, Rawl saw splendid sorcery worked against the raiders. Sails exploded into flame and plumes of smoke coiled up to the heavens. More flames struck the vessels and soon, they limped away. A cheer rose among those standing at the docks, but Rawl could only suppress a shudder. Certainly, the magic had been beautiful, but terrifying. But what sent a sliver of cold down his spine was when Shaerla turned to grin up at him and in her young, child's voice, said: "I want to do that."