“Once, the Tyrnn dominated the seas. Large masses of roving ships would sail around the world; taking plunder aboard and traversing it across great distance until it became nearly priceless. But despite the awe and power of the Worldships, there was weakness. Not in the ships; but in the people. To the Tyrnn, the Worldships were not simply vessels of war or trade or piracy — they were living artefacts of the divine. They would never allow damage to them; instead using their other ships to deny access whilst the solar cannons aboard decimated enemy vessels.” Malachai speaks, then slams the book shut, startling Roland out of a small doze.

They sit in the war tent from before… now sans one Caspian.

“I did not come here to be preached Imperial History.” Speaks the Shipmaster. Her name is now known to him; Kailuana mir Skallyn. The ’mir’ part apparently means ’daughter of the sea’, but also denotes her as ’daughter of’ Skallyn.

“No, you did not.” He says, carefully lowering the book to the side of his chair to join the book on birds that Caspian had given him. “Besides; I already know the rest of the book. My father forced me to read it until I could recite it. He simply loved to tell me how he had done it; how he had done what none had done before — forced the Tyrnn to heel. He used to laugh as he would tell the story.”

She crosses her arms, making a sound like armour scraping together on a battlefield.

“The accursed sword.” She says, grimacing, then looks at his scabbard. “How much control do you have over it? Why shouldn’t I flee as far from it as possible?”

“You misplace your anger.” Malachai chastises, and then tightens his grip on the blade. “This blade is not cursed. That implies that someone made it something it was not; that they corrupted it. No. Last Sight was grown to be a tool of fear. Living beings inherit Legend, big or small. They receive Legend from those that know them, far and wide or localised. That Legend grows dependant on the strength of emotion. But, when all is said and done, no living being lives forever, and their Legend dies with them. They only pass the scraps onto their descendants.” He says, tightening his fist in the air.

“Your point?” Kailuana asks. Malachai nods curtly.

“Apologies. This has been forced into my head so many times I tend to need to release it. It is relevant, though, to our topic at hand. Your ship is, as far as I am aware, not a living thing. Yet it can also achieve a Legend of its own. Weapons, armour, ships, cities — whatever it is, if enough people believe something about it, it will be made manifest. Even entire species have Race Legends. The difference between a living thing’s Legend and a material’s Legend is of one simple factor; death and unbelief.

If enough people know you to be strong, you become strong. Yet, if those people die — or otherwise start to doubt your Legend — it will fade. But,” he taps the hilt of Last Light, making the Shipmaster twitch. “with inanimate things, that isn’t the case. This is an executioner’s sword. It is the last thing that the damned see in their lives; the last thing they fear or hate. Strong, powerful emotion. It traps it, like a insect in amber. It hordes it; never letting it go even after the ones that believed in its Legend are dead. And thus, an artefact is made.”

“I have heard you, Son of the Akaviush. You make threat to our—“

He holds out a hand, and she stops. “No. I make no threat. I merely wish to see blame assigned in the right place. This sword did not herald the Tyrnn’s downfall — they did. They allowed weakness into their hearts. They allowed themselves to be subjugated rather than fighting for the last man. You know this to be true.”

“You would blame it all on my people? Do you have any idea how many your father killed? How many Worldships were lost?”

Malachai starts to pace back and forth. “Of course I do. He made sure to show me the estimate of death. To involve me in how soon I thought they would break. He made it a game. He will tell me of a battle; then ask of me a single question. Did they surrender yet?”

He rounds on Kailauna, and he points at her. “And do you know what pissed me off, every. Single. Time? Every time I thought they would give up, they fucking didn’t. I don’t know how many times we played this game, but it made me hate your people. And I mean truly despise them. Because how fucking dare they? How dare they not see the might of my Father.”

Her eyes narrow. “You do not make sense. Your Thanal’dol tag-along forces me here, and then you destroy him. You, through your ’Kellan’, invite me here. To what? Mock me? Threaten me? To tell me you hate our people?”

“I am to tell you that I was wrong." He declares... letting the words simmer in the air, holding his hands out with open palms. "That my father was wrong. I have a goal, but none to promise me it. None to deliver it to me. I seek to restore the empire…” he tells, then pauses, looking her up and down. “Including all of its territories; the seas included.”

For the first time, she laughs. “That will not happen for a second time. My opinion is not unfounded amongst the next generation of Tyrnn. This indentured servitude, this life of boring, peaceful trade, is hated by many at the Clansmeet. They would sooner lose the Worldships than lose our ways once more, now that we are free.”

Malachai steps down a single step. “You are not free. You are simply owned by another master. The Houses, for one. You cannot afford to take medicine; to take food — because you have only the Worldships. You require screening ships and faster vessels. So you will stay indebted to the Houses instead of raiding their very existence like the Tyrnn once did. That is truth.”

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“We will be free; even if it is only one of us. We shall take the ships as we once did. Our flotillas will grow once more.”

“In the time you were absent from the domination of the seas, naval power has grown. No longer do the Tyrnn alone have access to a cannon. Ships are faster; more armoured, more expensive — and there has been time for Legends to be born. I assume, in the same timeframe, there has yet to come about a way to repair the Worldship’s inner body?”

Her face scrunches up in anger, and she looks and Roland. “You—“

Malachai cuts her off. “No, not him. This is no secret, Shipmaster. Not to me.”

“You will die with that knowledge.” She spits. “Or I will make allegiance to your brothers instead.”

“You may try, but I know for fact that my brothers know it.” He says, staring her down. “And, more importantly, that the Houses know it. They will simply seek to damage your ships as much as possible, and your rebellion — if it ever comes — will splutter and die, achieving nothing of worth. They grow lives on the vine, Kailuana. Do not think they will not pluck the grapes.”

“I am done with this.” She declares. “You are no different than any human.”

She looks at Kellan. “You are wrong about his nature.”

As she turns, Malachai nods slowly. “The question is, of course, how would this rebellion go if you already have a flotilla — or at least the makings of such? Not of any damaged, captured, outdated vessels, but near brand new. How do you think it would go then?”

She stops, then locks eyes once more. “Has it gone from hassling and chiding to teasing, now? You mean to dangle a promise over my head, make me an obedient dog waiting for a bone that will never come?”

Malachai steps down from the stairs, looking up at the Tyrnn’s face. “Of course not. I’m going to give the bone right away.” He speaks, pauses, then chuckles. “Apologies — a poor choice of words. But you must have seen the ships in the harbour. Decent vessels, to be sure, but not the greatest number of them. Of the war-vessels you saw there, I have a number ten times greater.”

Her brow furls. “You mean to offer me an entire fleet?”

“Why not?” he asks, then waits for an answer. When he doesn’t receive one, he nods. “I want to show you — not just tell you — when I say that I am not interested in my father’s ways. I need a powerful ally; you need ships. Our interests are aligned — the only question is if you are willing to trust me.”

She looks down at Last Sight. “And if I’m not?”

“I will offer you the same thing I gave you on the ship, only reversed. You will leave, we will go our separate ways.” He says. “Highly, highly unfortunate — but I have no interest in making ’Unuikai’ with the Tyrnn.”

“What do you seek in return? I cannot imagine this will be any less than a steep cost.”

“I ask that you bond yourself to me. Become as they are—“ he says, sweeping his arm around the room. “My allies. Let me make an oath to grant you whatever it is you desire. You want the true Tyrnn back, sure, but you want more than that. You want to be the leader of all Tyrnn. You want to be the one that leads them back to their glories abound. Accepting my deal is the largest leap towards that you will ever, ever hope to achieve.”

She looks at Kellan, then sighs and holds out a scaled hand. “I accept your offer, Malachai mor Supremious. I want the Tyrnn under my leadership — under my banner. I want the seas to tremble with fear.”

“Then I will give you the tools to do so. On that matter—“ he speaks, then turns to Kellan. “I require your troops. Have them seize any merchant vessels, fishing vessels, it matters not. All of it goes to the Tyrnn.” He commands, and Kellan nods.

The Arallai shakes her head. “You mean to give me more than you offered?”

“No. I intend to give far more than I offered. An entire forest of wood, potentially, and the labour to use it. My plan is simple. Their forest is protected from normal flame by their mages. You, with your Arallai, will burn it.”

Lysandra shakes her head. “I am sorry, my liege, but that will not work. They will not be able to extinguish it, but they will stop its spread.”

Malachai smiles. “I do not intend to burn it down. After all, then I could not use the wood to build ships for my new ally.“ he says, almost cheerfully, and Kailuana snaps her head to him. “Tell me, Lysandra, do you know the cost of Natural Rituals?”

“No, my—“ she speaks, but she is cut off by a large, angry shout.

“Then do not speak out of turn.” He demands, before taking a deep breath, closing his eyes, and returning his voice to normal cadence

“It is mundane, it is energy, it is sustenance. Those ’green-men’ already rely heavily on fishing, which the Tyrnn will deny, raiding the coastline and destroying any fishing equipment — not that there will be much. When they are distracted, our forces shall cross the river and put to torch the livestock and farms they do own, then bar the river.”

A flash of comprehensions forces it way into Kellan’s mind like flour through a sieve. “A siege?” Kellan asks. “You meant to siege a sixth of the entire continent?”

Malachai doesn’t answer him, but he begins to seethe and pace.

“If they wish to stop the Solarfire from the Arallai, then they must use their own sustenance to do so.” He says, then turns to address Kellan. “This is my wrath. I will offer them the same treatment that my Father offered the Tyrnn. Eradication or subjugation. They will burn or they will starve. Either they surrender, or I deny my brothers the prize.”

Malachai walks back over to his chair, rests his elbow on his leg, and his head on his hands.

“That’s tens of thousands of people. That’s—“ Kellan baulks.

“What, Kellan? It is what? Mass-murder? Genocide? Or perhaps horrific is the word you seek? Inhuman?” he says, then pauses, holding Kellan’s gaze until Kellan looks away.

“Necessary. The word you are looking for is necessary. Or did you believe you could achieve these dreams of yours — that of conquering a city larger than some continents — of usurping a deity — through random chance? Or, perhaps, good will and poetry? A little begging, here and there?”

He slams his hand on the table. “Or will you have to take what you need?”

“I will take.” Says Kailuana, then looks at Kellan. “No matter the cost. If you do not seize opportunities, then others will. My people will not be on the receiving end this time.”

She looks back at Malachai. “It will be done. The forest will surrender, or it will burn. You have my word as Shipmaster. If it surrenders, I will take the wood and create an armada.”

Kellan’s heart hangs low, but Malachai’s words are right — Kailuana’s words are right. He doesn’t like it… but they are right.

“Understand this, Kellan. Those who stand against me will be suffered no mercy. Those who stand with me will be granted everything I can give. That is my creed — my oath. This… desolation will grow my Legend faster than anything else. Than anyone else. Damned be the morals; damned be the consequences. I cannot fall behind my brothers — not because of a gods-damned troll!” He declares, then leans back on his throne and begins to tap the wood.

Kellan steps out from the tent, and looks up at the moon. Kathari — the southern moon — stares back at him.

What does he have in his eyes? What does the corpse of a god see?

Stars? Awe? Love?

Fear?

The moon does not divulge its information.