[m] It's a long one.

Light cracked the sky, reaching down to strike Sweetsister. From the Crab's Wrath, Vardis Sunderland watched patiently.Bandits were common enough around his islands, but they were too often of his own men, dreaming of the slavers' lives once more. No. Now, it was foreigners - not men from Andalos or the Wolf's Den but from some faraway land.

The stained men had struck quickly, and from the south. King Artys had said he'd send aid, but all his men had gone off to Gulltown. Again. What was Vardis expecting, help? No, none of the highborn cared for the Sisters. White light stuck again, and the fleet advanced.

Oars and paddles struck the thrashing brine hard and fast, both muffling and sails no good in such a storm. The barbarians would probably be drinking and raping and feasting their way about Lord Torrent's home, not expecting any ships to dare nature's fury. But the Sistermen knew the Bite, knew every rock in it as their home. Whatever Durrandon may claim, the Sunderlands were masters of this storm.

The dark men had anchored to the south east, on the small harbour. It would make sense to turn north now, but Vardis Sunderland dared not. If the northmen would strike, it would be now, with Basilisk men burning the fingers from end to end. Proper precautions had to be taken; perhaps a quarter of the Sisters' fleet had been sacrificed to watch White Harbour and Oldcastle.

Thunder announced the dock's illumination. Dead ahead. Straining over the silencing wind, Vardis called the ships onwards. "Double speed! They'll see us soon, we want to be on top of them when they do!" The oars drummed on. Soon, soon ... now. Vardis, by the prow of his father's flagship, scraped past the pier, as did three others beside. The rest, indistinguishable from the soldiers' fishing vessels, ran onto the sand in between and either side. With a clatter, oars were drawn in and thrown down and blades were unsheathed. Steel in hand, Vardis called the charge.

There were more rogues at the landing than seen from the ship, their evil nature blending their skin with shadows, but revealing them as the Lord of the Sky cast down his spears. However, they had been sailing for too long and fear of drowning rendered them practically nude. Sistermen did not fear the sea as they owned it, and met their foes clad in boiled leather, chain mail, and even scale at some joints. Moreover, the black men had been caught by surprise and quickly turned red.

Vardis turned to one who had not fled as the sailors pulled in and, in one deft swipe, opened his throat. The Son of Gogossos clattered to the ground, his bottle smashing as he sank. The Sistermen made short butchery of those before them, but they were not nearly the bulk of the barbarians. Looming above, Torrent's short keep caught ablaze.

"My lord, the signal fire. They know we're here." Ronnel's voice was hard to catch above the wind, although the island left some shelter, and denied them the relaxing rocking of the sea.

"Good, brother. Form up battle lines." Raising his voice, Vardis called out to his men. "Borrell take the left! Longthorpe the right! Sunderland men, with me in the centre!" In the town, the sellswords scrambled as the Sistermen drew up into lines. When ready, the natives marched into the town.

There were only three main streets in Sweetton. The two lords took the side ones as the Sunderland sons strode centrally.