Grieve learned later of a tremendous storm that had swamped the raiding expedition. Three of the ships were sunk outright, and the last one attempted to limp home, only to be set upon by vicious selka. The undersea creatures tore the vessel apart, and only three survivors were found in the wreckage. If Grieve had gone along on the raid, he would have died.
From that point on, he always listened to Chalk, even if he didn’t understand his mysterious predictions.
Now, in the harbor below, iron bells rang out, the clangor ricocheting along the cliffs louder than the roar of the ocean and the whistle of the wind. The six serpent ships set their dark sails and engaged their weather spells to catch the wind. Muscular Norukai manned the oars to drive the vessels like knives out of the narrow, protected harbor. The iron bells continued to ring.
“Renda Bay, Renda Bay!” Chalk scuttled up to him again. “Plan for Ildakar, and the whole world, my Grieve, King Grieve! They’ll all grieve.”
“I’m building my fleet,” he said. “We won’t invade until our fighters are ready. Our navy will be like a school of sharks.”
As Kor’s raiding vessels sailed away from the main island, Grieve shaded his eyes and gazed across the water to the misty hummocks of other islands dotting the sea, with barely navigable passageways through the reefs. On the leeward side of the islands, long docks had been built where more ships were being constructed, in addition to all the serpent ships that already existed. Grieve had ordered the nearest mainland stripped of lumber, the tallest trees seized for masts, with other logs to be sawn into hull planks. Ribs curved along the keels, growing into fearsome serpent ships, dozens and dozens of them.
Each island had its own master wood carver, and skilled artisans used knives and chisels to fashion a distinctive figurehead, a unique representation of the serpent god for the bow of each ship, one great vessel for every main island. Thirty new warships had already been completed in the past two weeks, with fifty more under construction and dozens more planned. From the top of the Bastion, Grieve heard the distant hum of activity as Norukai shipbuilders took advantage of the good weather to make swift progress.
King Stern had taken far too long to launch his war against the mainland, and young Grieve had lost patience. When Chalk told him it was time, Grieve hadn’t hesitated. He had challenged and killed his father. Stern hadn’t led the Norukai to the glory they deserved, but Grieve would.
Now, as he surveyed his extensive, growing navy across the water, he knew it was only a matter of time.
“They’ll all grieve,” he muttered to himself, and Chalk grinned.
CHAPTER 15
Inside his headquarters structure, General Utros brooded in darkness, wrestling with disbelief and dread certainty. The sun fell behind the western hills in the direction of Kol Adair, but even before darkness gathered, Utros pulled the shutters closed. Inside the dim, stuffy building, Ava and Ruva built up the hot coals in the braziers, filling the shadows with orange fire, and then acrid herbs. The smoke that swirled around the enclosed room had a bitter smell, but not as bitter as what Utros had learned.
With so many small kingdoms and principalities in turmoil after his armies smashed them, news would have taken a long time to travel across the Old World. Could it be that Utros had conquered the continent, crossed over the mountain passes and placed Ildakar under siege, in the name of an empire that had already crumbled? How could history be so cruel? How could time have abandoned him after so many unparalleled triumphs?
And yet, in his heart, he believed what Nathan and Nicci had told him. He could not deny the evidence.
For now, with the door and windows closed, with guards stationed outside so that no subcommander would enter with a report, Utros kept only the sorceresses with him, but even their powerful magic could not drive away his doubts.
Iron Fang was truly gone, his empire crumbled into dust by the march of time. Empress Majel, beautiful Majel, was also dead in the most horrible way imaginable. Utros would have mourned his beloved in any case, but to know that her own husband had flayed the skin from her creamy shoulders, her rounded breasts, her flat stomach, her smooth thighs …
Utros squeezed his eyes shut, picturing Majel’s classically beautiful face, and those shimmering dark eyes that had gazed on him with so much love and forbidden passion. When they were together, she had felt such joy to be held in the arms of someone who wanted to love her, rather than possess her.
And then she’d been killed by the man she married, killed by the man to whom Utros had sworn his loyalty.
He was also the man Utros and Majel had both betrayed.
“Can it be true?” he asked aloud, looking at Ava and Ruva. He seemed to be pleading with the sorceresses to tell him otherwise.
The sisters had freshly painted faces, their cheeks swirled with scarlet and yellow, their necks adorned with a smear of indigo, outlined in crimson. “How can it be false?” Ava said. “You feel it, beloved Utros. You know you do.”
Ruva added, “I could not cast a spell to verify the truth when the emissaries were here, but I saw no doubt or deceit in their eyes.”
Ava took a step closer. “Emperor Kurgan is certainly gone, but our loyalty is not. You are, and have always been, our leader. Those hundreds of thousands of soldiers follow your commands, no matter who is emperor.”
“As I follow my emperor’s commands,” Utros said, struggling with his own loyalty. “When we departed from Orogang, I swore to complete my mission, and I did not need to receive any further instructions from Iron Fang. Even with this damnable stone spell, how is anything changed, just because more time has passed? I still have to conquer Ildakar.”
“The city must fall, if that is what you need,” Ava added. “Your soldiers will do what they swore to do. For you.”
Ruva’s voice picked up so swiftly that the twins seemed to speak the same thoughts. “And after Ildakar falls, you can set yourself up as its military leader, a new ruler for a modern empire.”
Utros was troubled by the thought. “No, that would make me feel an even greater traitor.” The image of Majel flashed before his eyes, and he set it gently aside in a different part of his mind. “I am a military man, not a power-hungry despot. I don’t do this for me.”
“But your army needs a leader,” Ruva said. “Command them. Do what you know you must.”
“Perhaps you’re right.” He wrestled with his fists, knotted his fingers, twisted his arms, trying to limber up his stiffened skin. “I am a hunter, and I have my eyes on the game I intend to kill. Before I worry about how I’ll preserve the meat for winter and distribute it among the storehouses, first I must kill the prey.”
“Ildakar,” said the women in unison.
Utros closed his eyes, blocking them out, setting aside all distractions. Ava and Ruva likely thought he was making military plans in his well-ordered mind, mentally positioning groups of soldiers, dispatching huge companies in different directions to overwhelm the surrounding lands. His forces could bottle up Ildakar and press upon the walls, which would perpetuate the terror inside the city, even if Ildakar’s magic-enhanced barriers held against the attack.
But Utros couldn’t stop thinking about Majel. His stony expression masked his disgust at how she had died, so much blood and pain. He should have been there with her. He should have saved her, but he couldn’t imagine how their love had been exposed. What had he and Majel done wrong? They had been so careful! What was their mistake?