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Out on the windswept rooftop, Grieve strode to the battlements, placed his massive hands on the pocked stone and gazed down the sheer wall to the narrow protected harbor, watching the three battered serpent ships pull in from the sea. The vessels looked damaged. One of the midnight-blue sails hung in tatters. The other two sails were also damaged, but had been crudely repaired with wide crisscrossed rope stitches. The extended oars guided the ships past the dangerous rocks, toward the docks.
Grieve grumbled something incomprehensible, just a noise to express his displeasure. Chalk leaned close, his naked, scarred skin brushing Grieve’s muscled arm. “Renda Bay, Renda Bay!”
“Don’t worry about Renda Bay. After this, I will destroy Renda Bay,” said Grieve, “just as I will destroy those weaklings who failed their mission.”
“Maybe,” Chalk said. “Maybe.”
Grieve sent a summons for the leaders of the three ships to be brought to him as soon as they docked. It remained to be seen whether Kor had been foolish enough to come back alive.
While the ships were gone, Chalk had experienced exciting, violent dreams. He had foreseen Norukai conquests, which he described to his king, though the murky foretellings were often difficult to comprehend. That was the problem with the shaman’s babbling. Nevertheless, Grieve had come to expect victory for his people.
Kor’s obvious defeat made the bile rise in his throat. He gripped the rough block where salt air and harsh weather had scrubbed the stone. Chalk scuttled from one overlook to the next, peering down the cliffs to the waves crashing against the rocks.
Grieve could see the hulking shadows of dozens of other islands in the distance, some of them shrouded in mist. His empire held more than a hundred islands, maybe a thousand—no Norukai king had ever counted—but even those numerous islands weren’t enough. His father, King Stern, had strengthened the Norukai, but his vision for their future had been dim and shortsighted. Grieve had no choice but to kill him, at Chalk’s insistence.
The coastal raids had increased as their fleet of serpent ships grew larger, with many Norukai warriors called upon to prove themselves to their new king. But that was only the beginning. Chalk had premonitions, and Grieve had grand dreams. Together, they knew how to implement the future.
In some of the raided towns, the Norukai had seen statues of local heroes, revered leaders, military geniuses. The raiders tore them all down, taking joy in destroying them. Someday, though, King Grieve wanted statues built of him, gigantic stone figures so that people would never forget him. He sacrificed regularly to the serpent god, and now the blood of the Norukai race was strong, just as the great sea serpents were strong.
Fifteen more warships had been completed in the ten days since Captain Kor sailed off on his raid. Other missions had returned to the islands bearing treasure, slaves, and supplies, along with information about the rest of the Old World. Grieve kept careful charts, mapping out the lands yet to conquer. Sometimes he would sit alone and relish the territories, like a starving man considering what he would eat first at a banquet.
If he was going to conquer the world, he could not allow defeats to shame him.
He watched in grim silence as the three battered ships tied up to the piers. Chalk hung over the edge of the Bastion, stretching out his long, skinny arm to grasp at gulls that circled halfway down the wall. Grieve grabbed his friend’s shoulder, steadied him. “Come Chalk, back to the throne room. I have work to do as king.”
“Yes, my Grieve. King Grieve! They’ll all grieve.”
“Kor will certainly grieve.” He turned away from the fresh, cold air and stalked into the shelter of the Bastion again.
* * *
Waiting, the king sat on his imposing throne. More logs had been thrown onto the fire to make it an inferno hot enough to incinerate living victims. Grieve was considering that as punishment. It depended on the excuses Kor made.
The glass-walled tank that held Chalk’s pet fish as well as the picked-clean skull of his father rested on a stone shelf behind the throne. Grieve could turn and look at it if he chose, but now he stared forward as Kor entered the large chamber. Preoccupied with the fish tank, Chalk paid little attention to the tension in the room. He tapped the glass with his finger and watched the little forms dart away, only to return seconds later.
Kor, along with equally sullen-looking Lars and Yorik, plodded into the throne room. They wore sharkskin vests, and their knives were thrust into the belts at their waists. They also wore iron manacles, even though the king had not commanded it. The three men entered alone, without a guard escort.
Grieve leaned forward on his blocky throne, feeling the bone spines implanted in his shoulders. He rested a hand on the iron chain wrapped around his waist. “I didn’t think you would be foolish enough to return defeated. You would have been better off to cut your own throats.”
“Maybe, but we are Norukai, and we are not afraid,” Kor said. “We could have killed ourselves rather than face your wrath, but that would be stealing from our king. Only King Grieve has the right to our lives.” He raised his hands, holding up the heavy manacles. “We placed ourselves in chains to surrender to you. I would rather have you kill me than take the coward’s way out.”
He dropped to his knees, as did the other two captains. Tattoos on Kor’s face mimicked the scales of the serpent god, and a sharp implanted tooth poked out of his shaved scalp like a tusk. Lars and Yorik also bowed their heads, letting the iron chains rattle on the floor.
King Grieve rose from his throne and stepped forward, his boots making loud sounds down the stone steps to the polished floor. He loomed over the kneeling men.
Chalk skidded over, abandoning his fish tank. He pranced a weaving path, circling Kor, then Lars and Yorik. “Grieve! You’ll all grieve!”
The three defeated captains remained submissive, their heads bowed. “You may kill us now,” Kor said. His shoulder muscles bunched, and the tendons in his neck stood out.
“I decide how and when to take your lives!” Grieve bellowed. “First, make me understand how a small village like Renda Bay could defeat the Norukai not once, but twice! Did they have another sorceress?”
“They had defenses and an army, King Grieve. Since the previous raid, they have built up fortifications in preparation for our return.”
Grieve snorted. “No one can prepare for the fury of the Norukai.”
“They were … good warriors,” Lars said, sounding ashamed.
“And you were not? The Norukai weren’t sufficient?”
“They had warships of their own,” Kor said. “Siege defenses at the mouth of the harbor, and a great many armed soldiers. They weren’t just fishermen.”
Grieve flashed a glare at Chalk. “You said we would take over the world! And one fishing village manages to stand against us?”
Chalk was oblivious to the king’s rage. “Don’t worry about one fishing village, my Grieve. It’s insignificant. Just a village.”
“If they defeated us, they are not insignificant.”
“They are, they are!” Chalk said, standing behind Kor. “Not important!”
Grieve glowered at the still-hunched captains. “We’ll launch a dozen serpent ships … no, twenty. We’ll send our might north and crush Renda Bay, punish them for the shame they brought upon the Norukai.”
“No, no!” Chalk shouted. “I dreamed it. Not Renda Bay.”
King Grieve quelled his anger, surprised at his shaman’s outburst. Kor, Lars, and Yorik continued to stare at the floor, exposing their necks and waiting for Grieve’s heavy blade to strike the heads from their shoulders.
The king glowered at Chalk. “Are you saying I’ll never take Renda Bay? That I should ignore them and let them have their victory?”
“It’s not a victory. It doesn’t matter.” The pale man rushed up to the king and stared at him. His lips sagged, lumpy with scars, but his eyes were earnest. “We need the cities. Big cities! That’s where your victories must be. Listen to me, my Grie
