Hunters and Prey, Pride and Shame
Against a bloodied twilight sky, thick clouds of oily smoke scudded across the sea’s liquid horizon. Like an army of umbral shapes, ever changing, ever the wreckage of war, they swirled and danced in the last light’s dying breeze.
Young Morgrik-rak, Duke of Mor-lâc, emperor’s son and heir to the Iron Throne of the Krîll Empire, stood beside his father surveying the battle’s carnage. For a night, a day, and another night the two fleets had spread red ruin across the innermost sea of this wide-flung archipelago that was the Confederation of Southern Isles. A final, great conflagration to bring six years of war to a close. Six years of rapine, pillage, and conquest. Six years of a slow but inexorable death for thousands of islands, for thousands upon thousands of men, women and children. Such was Emperor Morgrik’s pleasure.
From high above the stained waters the two imperials watched as seven score slave ships slid past in the dying light, their many sails pushing them towards the darkened silhouette that was Tagâlor Isle, last refuge of the Confederation. Massive dromons capable of transporting half a legion or five times that number in slaves stacked like cordwood within their black holds, they would catch whatever riches the legions plundered from this final victim and carry it back to Doôm-Râl, the crown of the empire.
“It’s home for us, Morg,” the Emperor finally spoke, his voice a harsh, parched whisper. “Home and one last campaign and the empire will be House Mordôl’s to rule for as long as strength runs true in our blood.”
“House Ishdôc,” the young Duke hissed. “We’ll gut them and their allies then impale Krazûk’s head on our walls.”
The emperor frowned and gave his son a hard look. “Duke Krazûk. He’s a foe who’s earned our respect.”
Seeing the younger man’s angry flush against the unlooked for rebuke, Emperor Morgrik continued, his voice still rough and abrasive, firm. “Know the difference between your feelings and your goals. The Duke has stood squarely across my designs by dent of his skill and strength for as long as I’ve sat the Iron Throne. This I acknowledge and respect lest my emotions rule my mind. Hate him and his House, I do. But for all my hate and disdain, he stands. Only a greater skill and force of will will bring him down.”
Morgrik held his son’s gaze for several beats before turning his eyes to follow the sun’s final red sliver sink below the waves. “You’re Duke of Mor-lâc now. And heir to my throne. From today you will leave off ‘rak’. Either emperor or duke, ‘Morgrik’ will suffice as honor enough for each of us.”
“Thank you, Father.” Morgrik bowed his head, now flushed with pride, eyes alight with pleasure.
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