"Well, Captain DeClarion, tomorrow you sail, eh? West to Huy Braseal. Goblins. Elves, maybe. You ready?"
"Yes, Admiral. Everything's packed. Weapons, food, books and clothes."
"In that order, eh? You're an eccentric one, DeClarion, but you know your priorities. Have anything for your private trade?"
"I was considering that, sir. What would you suggest?"
"Blades and muskets, if you're not trading them where they'll be used on us! Steel bar and silver. Coal. Cloth. My man can guide you on a few things."
"Thank you, sir."
"Remember, captain. Your duty is to your self, your ships, and your service, but the service comes first. That port must not fall into the enemy's hands. Must not. A few warships are not important, compared to that. Priorities, captain! Farewell, and good hunting."
DeClarion saluted and left. So far he'd been given contradictory instructions: he was not to take any risk at all with his warships, lest they be scratched; and he was to hazard them like game chips at need.
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