I put my quill aside and rose. Suddenly the stench of the hold and the proximity of this savage were unbearable. “Yes, I knew him,” I grated. “I knew him to be the best of us. I knew he would be the greatest Emperor this land has ever seen. But that’s not the reason for my hate, Northman. I hate you because I knew the Hope as my friend, and you killed him.”
I stalked away, climbing the steps to the main deck, wishing for the first time in my life that I could be a warrior, that my arms were thick with muscle and my heart hard as stone, that I could wield a sword and take bloody vengeance. But such things were beyond me. My body was trim but not strong, my wits quick but not ruthless. I was no warrior. So there would be no vengeance for me. All I could do for my friend was witness the death of his killer and write the formal end to his story for the pleasure of my Emperor and the eternal truth of our archive.
I stayed on the deck for hours, leaning on the rail, watching the green tinged waters of the north Alpiran coast deepen into the blue of the inner Erinean sea as the ship’s bosun beat the drum for the oarsmen and our journey began. Once clear of the coast the captain ordered the main sail unfurled and our speed increased, the sharp prow of the vessel cutting through the gentle swell, the figurehead, a traditional Meldenean carving of the winged serpent, one of their innumerable sea gods, dipping its many toothed head amidst a haze of spume. The oarsmen rowed for two hours before the bosun called a rest and they shipped oars, trooping off to their meal. The day watch stayed on deck, running the rigging and undertaking the never ending chores of ship life. A few favoured me with a customary glare or two, but none attempted to converse, a mercy for which I was grateful.
We were several leagues from the harbour when they came into view, black fins knifing through the swell, heralded by a cheerful shout from the crow’s nest. “Orcas!”
I couldn’t tell how many there were, they moved too fast and too fluidly through the sea, occasionally breaking the surface to spout a cloud of steam before diving below. It was only when they came closer that I fully realised their size, over twenty feet from nose to tail. I had seen dolphins before in the southern seas, silvery playful creatures that could be taught simple tricks. These were different, their size and the dark flickering shadows they traced through the water seemed ominous to me, threatening shades of nature’s indifferent cruelty. My shipmates clearly felt differently, yelling greetings from the rigging as if hailing old friends. Even the captain’s habitual scowl seemed to have softened somewhat.
One of the orcas broke the surface in a spectacular display of foam, twisting in mid-air before crashing into the sea with a boom that shook the ship. The Meldeneans roared their appreciation. Oh Seliesen, I thought. The poem you would have written to honour such a sight.
“They think of them as sacred.” I turned to find the Hope Killer had joined me at the rail. “They say when a Meldenean dies at sea the orcas will carry his spirit to the endless ocean beyond the edge of the world.”
“Superstition,” I sniffed.
“Your people have their gods do they not?”
“My people do, I do not. Gods are a myth, a comforting story for children.”
“Such words would make you welcome in my homeland.”
“We are not in your homeland, Northman. Nor would I ever wish to be.”
Another orca rose from the sea, rising fully ten feet into the air before plunging back down. “It’s strange,” Al Sorna mused. “When our ships came across this sea the orcas ignored them and made only for the Meldeneans. Perhaps they share the same belief.”
“Perhaps,” I said. “Or perhaps they appreciate a free meal.” I nodded at the prow where the captain was throwing salmon into the sea, the orcas swooping on them faster than I could follow.
“Why are you here, Lord Verniers?” Al Sorna asked. “Why did the Emperor send you? You’re no gaoler.”
“The Emperor graciously consented to my request to witness your upcoming duel. And to accompany the Lady Emeren home of course.”
“You came to see me die.”
“I came to write an account of this event for the Imperial Archive. I am the Imperial Chronicler after all.”
“So they told me. Gerish, my gaoler, was a great admirer of your history of the war with my people, considered it the finest work in Alpiran literature. He knew a lot for a man who spends his life in a dungeon. He would sit outside my cell for hours reading out page after page, especially the battles, he liked those.”
“Accurate research is the key to the historian’s art.”
“Then it’s a pity you got it so wrong.”
Once again I found myself wishing for a warrior’s strength. “Wrong?”
“Very.”
“I see. Perhaps if you work your savage’s brain you could tell me which sections were so very wrong.”
“Oh, you got the small things right, mostly. Except you said my command was the Legion of the Wolf. In fact it was the Thirty-Fifth Regiment of Foot, known amongst the Realm Guard as the Wolfrunners.”