122 Off the Coast of Ishalem

It was nearly dusk by the time the fleet of Nunghal ships returned to Ishalem's western harbor. A victory light shone from the spire of what had once been Aiden's Lighthouse. Their cannon bombardment had utterly destroyed the Tierran attackers. By now, sea breezes had cleared most of the smoke on the water, but flames still burned from some of the wreckage and floating oil.

Two muscular Uraban men rowed Soldan-Shah Omra out to meet Shipkhan Ruad, where he asked to be taken aboard the large ship. “I would like to see what remains of those foolhardy warships. The 'Hooks came to Ishalem with hatred in their hearts, and received destruction in return.” He drew a deep breath, smelling the lingering acrid firepowder from the Nunghal cannons. “Ondun is stern, but He is just.”

Now that the reality had set in, Asaddan and Ruad were shaken by what they had seen and done. They had never witnessed, much less taken part in, such violence and bloodshed. When the sun was swallowed by the sea, the water turned orange, enhancing the angry fires that still fed on the shattered Tierran fleet. As dusk deepened to purple, Ruad guided his ship, taking the soldan-shah out to where the enemy vessels had sunk.

Omra stood at the bow, his face dark and grim. The catapults rigged to the foreign decks and the barrels of flammable oil made the Aidenist scheme all too plain. From the shore, the moment he'd seen them loose their first volleys of flaming oil-filled kegs, Omra had understood that the evil Aidenist captain meant to burn Ishalem again! And this after they had committed the barbaric atrocity of beheading a thousand innocent Urecari prisoners of war!

The rage felt like firepowder ready to explode within him; he no longer held any resentment toward Kel Unwar for what he had done to young Prince Tomas. These Aidenists were like mad dogs that needed to be struck down, and Omra could find no mercy in his heart. “Take me there. Let me gaze upon what remains of their ships and crews.” His sense of justice demanded that he witness it with his own eyes.

Ruad's vessel approached the flickering flames that lingered on pools of spilled whale oil. All of the Aidenist attack ships had sunk, leaving only a widening archipelago of smoldering flotsam and jetsam that dispersed into the waves and currents.

Asaddan shook his shaggy head. “Listen, you can hear some of them screaming. Men are still alive and clinging to the wreckage.”

Omra stared ahead, lost in his hatred. “I hear nothing. My ears were made deaf by the screams of the Uraban prisoners they murdered.”

Asaddan looked unsettled, nauseated, but not from any seasickness. He stepped away from the soldan-shah, as if afraid of him.

As Ruad's ship picked its way forward, Nunghal crewmen saw floating spars, tattered and charred sails, large splintered hull boards, and mangled bodies. Pale-skinned Aidenists drifted facedown, while several survivors clung to broken barrels or crates, or draped themselves over splintered yardarms. A few of the pathetic men waved and begged for rescue, but Omra glowered at them, unmoved.

Shipkhan Ruad closed his eyes and shook his head. “What destruction we have wrought. Nunghal cannons are to defend our ships from sea serpents. They have never been used for such things before.”

“What you have wrought is God's vengeance,” Omra said. “You saw what they intended to do to Ishalem. They received what they deserved. You have never seen actual war before, or its cost.”

In the water, a man with a shaved head and squarish beard clung to a broken spar. Omra could see that one of his arms had been blown off, but the man still lived. He lifted his bloody stump and stared with glazed eyes up at the gray-sailed vessel. His tattered coat held the marks of a sea captain. Omra wondered if this had been the leader of the entire ruthless attack.

If so, he felt a steely thrill of pleasure to know that the enemy commander had lived long enough to see his utter defeat. Before he died out here, alone, the man would understand how Ondun Himself had turned against the Aidenists and their evil ways.

The Tierran captain lifted his head and stared blearily. From high up on the passing Nunghal ship, Omra gazed down upon him with no empathy.

“Soldan-Shah, shall we pick up the survivors?” Ruad asked in an anxious voice. “There are many men floating here. We should take them back, tend to their injuries—even if you keep them as prisoners.”

By the light of the scattered fires in the deepening night, Omra saw triangular dorsal fins slicing through the water, circling the wreckage. The sharks had scented the blood of the dead and injured, and once full darkness fell they would have a generous and brutal feast.

Omra hardened his heart. “No. Turn the ship and sail back. I have seen enough.”

Asaddan was aghast. “You mean just to abandon them? They're still human beings.”

The comment earned him a glare from Omra. “I dispute your claim that they are human. If your ships had not stopped them, all of Ishalem would be ablaze right now. We will leave these men to the fates they chose for themselves.”

Shipkhan Ruad gave the order, and the Nunghal ship sailed away from the fading fires. Behind them, they heard the sudden splashing of sharks, and the screams of hopeless men.

“That is the price they must pay.”