[Folwren]

“Very well. We will have to hope that there are few ships and plan for a swift, heavy strike,” Menelcar said, as though summing up the plans. “If not - hopefully we will know sooner than later.”

“Depending on your outlook on time,” Hereric said, “we will know sooner than later. But for now, perhaps it would be well for you to go and tell the king what you’ve decided.” He bowed slightly and withdrew a couple paces, turning his back and walking to the rail. Menelcar seemed to pause half a second before Hereric heard him walk slowly from the deck. He watched him silently from above as he paced the distance to the cabin door and disappear inside.

He shook his head slightly and looked up. He considered for a moment to hail the tops man, but then decided it would be just as well for him to look and see for himself. He mounted the foremast and stood at the highest cross tree and swaying slightly in the wind he looked out again towards the Pelargir. The cloud of smoke had almost disappeared, but he could see in his mind’s eye the city still reeking in the fumes of recent fire with thin but constant wisps of the smoke still rising to heaven like a burnt offering.

And the Corsair’s ships would still be in the bay as the men ravaged the streets, killing and raping at will. He felt his blood grow hot and he turned his eyes away and he looked back at the ships behind him, and then down at his own deck below.

They would be ready for battle, when the time came. And perhaps, just maybe, they would catch these enemies on unawares, drunk with the spoils of war, and unprepared for Gondorian avengers so soon.

The thought assuaged his fury and he let himself down onto deck. He called the officers to him and began to give orders in preparation for the upcoming battle.