Blood Song

In the twenty years since its destruction the Meldeneans had made strenuous efforts to rebuild their capital on a grander and more ornate scale, perhaps seeking defiance in architectural achievement. The city clustered around the wide natural harbour on the southern shore of Ildera, the largest island in the archipelago, a vista of gleaming marble walls and red tiled rooftops interspersed with tall columns honouring the islanders’ myriad sea gods. I had read how Al Sorna’s equally formidable father had overseen the toppling of the columns when his army stormed ashore bringing fire and destruction. Survivors spoke of Realm Guard urinating on the fallen statues that sat atop the columns, drunk on blood and victory, chanting “A god is lie!” as the city burned around them.

If Al Sorna felt any remorse at the destruction his father had wrought he failed to show it, gazing at the fast approaching city with only the faintest interest, hateful sword in hand, ignored by the sailors as he rested against the rail. It was a bright, cloudless day and the ship ploughed easily through the still waters with sails furled, the sailors hauling on their oars under the bosun’s harsh exhortations.

We exchanged no greeting when I joined him at the rail. My head still buzzed with questions but my heart was chilled by the certain knowledge that he would provide no answers. Whatever purpose he had pursued in telling me his tale was now fulfilled. He would tell me nothing more. I had lain awake most of the night, my mind pouring over his story, seeking answers and finding only more questions. I wondered if his intention had been to take some cruel revenge for the harsh condemnation of him and his people that had coloured nearly every line of my history of the war, but, despite the fact that I could never feel any warmth for him, I knew he was not truly vindictive. A deadly enemy certainly, but rarely a vengeful one.

“Can you still use that?” I asked eventually, tiring of the silence.

He glanced at the sword in his hand. “We’ll soon see.”

“Apparently, The Sheild is insisting on a fair contest. I expect they’ll give you a few days to practice. So many years of inactivity would hardly make you the most fearsome opponent.”

His black eyes played over my face, faintly amused. “What makes you think I’ve been inactive?”

I shrugged. “What is there to do in a cell for five years?”

He turned back to the city, his reply a vague whisper nearly lost to the wind. “Sing.”