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“What if I enjoy it?” Grieve asked, partly meaning it, but mostly to intimidate them. “One gets tired of fish. I like other kinds of meat.”
“I’ll have the kitchen prepare fish,” said the older slave. Emmett, yes, that was his name. The man always seemed to be here, though Grieve paid little attention to him. He wondered how adept the slave must be. Emmett was a survivor. Grieve didn’t normally like survivors, since that type often caused trouble. Maybe he would execute the man and roast him after all, though seeing Emmett’s gnarled hands and wrinkled face, the king suspected his flesh would be stringy and bitter. No, it was not worth the effort. He’d let the old man continue in service.
Chalk scuttled back to the hearth to warm himself. He jabbered about different kinds of fish, the small ones he kept in his tank as well as some of the large ones, poisonous creatures with spines, even one that could release a jolt like lightning. The tank was an indulgence Grieve allowed his shaman and friend.
By the time food was prepared and brought in on stone trays, three burly Norukai men marched through the smoke-stained wooden doors and into the throne room. Grieve recognized Captain Kor by the pointed shark’s tooth implanted in his shaved scalp. Each of the Norukai had their mouths slashed, their lips and faces altered to honor the serpent god.
Grieve leaned forward on his blocky throne, his chest broad, his arms bunched, the bone spines poking several inches above his shoulders. King Grieve never required simpering bows of obeisance from his bravest warriors or raiding captains. He preferred to earn their honor, loyalty, and respect through actions, not empty gestures. The remaining Norukai were Yorik and Lars, captains of the other two ships on the slave-trading mission.
“I told you it was Kor,” Chalk said. “He came back from his expedition. Kor, Kor, there will be war!”
The three new arrivals kept their attention on the intimidating king on his high throne. The scarred shaman made them nervous.
“Tell me what you found, Captain Kor,” Grieve said. “Your report may make us launch our newest conquest. It’s about time.”
Kor looked determined. “With three serpent ships we sailed far south to where the river spills into the sea, then we made our way up the estuary as before, like trading ships, carrying a load of nearly two hundred slaves. We picked up more along the way.”
“Good,” Grieve said. “I thought the coastal towns down south were picked clean, just like their forests. Our raids will concentrate on the northern coast from now on.”
Kor bowed. “Or maybe we have a better target for conquest. We’ve traded with Ildakar over the years, although the city appears and disappears. The wizards hide behind some magical shroud, but they are growing lax and I know there is unrest in their streets. Somehow, one of our own went missing the last night, and we never found his body.”
“Dar,” Lars and Yorik both grumbled.
Grieve stiffened. “Those perfumed fops killed one of our Norukai?”
Yorik spoke up. “We can’t be sure, my king. Dar frequented the whorehouses in Ildakar, and then one day he was gone. He could have been drunk and gotten himself robbed and killed in an alley.”
“We could use it as an excuse for Norukai retaliation on the city, if that is what you wish,” Kor said. “We could avenge Dar.”
“I don’t want excuses. I loathe excuses.” Grieve clacked his iron-studded knuckles together. “If we mean to declare war, then we’ll simply attack.”
“Ildakar is our destiny,” Chalk said. “My Grieve. King Grieve. They’ll all grieve!”
The king shushed the shaman. Chalk continued his antics, but placed a hand over his own mouth as if to hold the words in.
“Captain Kor, what do you think about conquering Ildakar?”
“It is a wise idea,” the Norukai captain said. “Our ship is filled with kegs of their bloodwine and crates of preserved meat from a creature called a yaxen. The Ildakarans produce fine silks and lavish furs extracted from laboratories and businesses right inside the city. The city welcomed us. They are open to more trade.” Kor smiled with his gashed mouth. “We just need to get inside when their shroud is down, and we can surprise them. From what I have seen, they require days of preparation and the shedding of much blood before they can make themselves disappear again. We would have plenty of opportunity to attack and plunder. The city is a treasure chest of jewels and potential slaves.”
“And wine,” Lars interjected.
Kor continued, “The people are weak, although many of their wizards are greatly gifted.”
“Wizards?” Chalk cried. “Magic can be defeated. The serpent god knows how. Chalk knows how.”
Grieve turned to him. “How can magic be defeated?”
“I don’t know yet. But I will.” Chalk retreated to the warmth of the fire where he hunched, rubbing his hands in front of the flames, staring into the embers as if looking for the answer. “I will know when it’s time to know.”
When the platters of food arrived, Kor, Yorik, and Lars took seats at the long table and King Grieve sat before the largest platter at the head of the table. He tore into the roasted fish with his bare fingers, peeling the flaky meat from the curved bones.
“First, send that yaxen meat to the Bastion. I’m weary of fish, and I don’t like goat. Meanwhile, I will plan for war. I have a hundred new serpent ships being built across our islands, and I won’t depart until at least fifty of them are finished. Ildakar has been there for thousands of years. It’ll wait another few months. They will fall to us, regardless.”
Kor sucked on fish bones, tossed a roasted head aside. “I don’t want to wait for months, my king. That trade mission taxed my patience, and I ache for the feel of fresh spilled blood. Give me something else to do.”
Since Kor had just finished a calm journey, perhaps a good battle would satisfy him. “I’ve been considering a raid anyway. I’ll dispatch you north. Take your ships and attack the town called Renda Bay. They somehow defeated our ships the last time we raided, and they must learn their lesson.”
“A lesson!” Chalk said. “Gut them, burn them.”
Grieve said, “Leave the town empty, with nothing but ghosts.”
“Ghosts!” the shaman said, touching his pockmarked skin. “Like me.” Alone among Norukai adults, Chalk did not have a slashed mouth. His lips extended only to the normal reaches of his cheeks, except for where the fish had torn shreds away.
Kor nodded so deeply it was almost a bow. “I accept this raid with gratitude, King Grieve.”
The king had punished the previous captain who was defeated by the small fishing town. That man had been chained to the cliffs and fed to the serpent god, so his blood could strengthen the sea serpent, and the serpent in turn would protect and strengthen the Norukai race.
“Don’t fail,” Grieve warned.
“Don’t doubt me,” Kor replied.
The king found the answer satisfying, and he finished his platter of fish, already imagining the taste of the promised yaxen meat.
CHAPTER 9
“I am a wizard of Ildakar,” Renn said, puffing himself up as he faced Prelate Verna in the grand foyer of the Cliffwall archive. The stranger’s face was florid, his cheeks a little jowly, but sagging from weeks of hard travel. He swirled maroon robes around him.
Verna remained unruffled as she crossed her arms over her chest and stepped forward to meet the stranger. Despite his bluster, the self-proclaimed wizard flicked his eyes nervously from her to General Zimmer, intimidated by the grandeur of the portico, the columns, the marble floors inside the enormous cliff overhang. She could sense the gift in him, but she also thought that if she challenged him, his bravado would deflate like a wineskin that had sprung a leak.
“And I am the prelate of the Sisters of the Light,” Verna said. “This Cliffwall archive is a priceless library of profound magical lore, available to gifted scholars who come seeking knowledge, with certain restrictions.”
“It is not available to those who demand,?
