by Rosie Scott
Small fishing boats floated patiently in the shadowed waters near the coasts farther out in the inlet. Dwarven fishers cast their lines in the darkest waters, staring toward the docks as they waited for bites. Perhaps the fish here were more likely to dwell in the shade. Sailing toward the harbor from the open sea was a speedy vessel larger than the other fishing boats, a large net overflowing with various catches on board.
Mountains hugged the entire inlet, and the ocean wasn't visible from here. Nonetheless, the view from Narangar's harbor was absolutely stunning. It had been breathtaking years ago when attacking it, but to stand so low on its docks and look up at the surrounding majesty was an entirely new experience.
I pointed at the far end of the inlet where a mountainside rose in a natural barrier opposite us on the docks. Chunks of stone were missing many stories up from the water level, and black streaks marred some of the rock. “Those are the scars from the cannonballs that missed my ship as I summoned the tsunami.”
“There are many scars,” Azazel commented.
“There were many cannonballs,” I replied promptly.
Cerin chuckled, his silver eyes gazing over the view. “You said the ones that missed? How many hit?”
“Quite a few,” I reminisced. “The shrill noise of those cannonballs hitting the iron-sides and the resulting jolt through my bones isn't something I'll soon forget. They collapsed the center of the main deck by breaking a mast. I remember feeling flippant about the whole thing.”
“Because it wasn't one of our ships being destroyed?” Cerin questioned.
“No, because I was halfway convinced I would die anyway, and I found it amusing that the battleship was so large that the center of it could collapse while I was safe near the edge of the deck.” The two men chuckled, and I pointed up to the left, where the closest mountain hid the ocean from our view. “The tsunami wave conquered this mountain. This entire inlet was in a shadow like the night. At the time, it terrified me. Now, I look back and find it wondrous.”
Azazel smiled, his eyes peering up at the mountain as he tried to imagine it. “I will draw it.”
“Good idea. You will do it justice,” I agreed. Feeling contemplative, I went on, “There's something so beautiful about chaos, battle, and destruction. Most art revolves around things that are attractive due to their brightness or the jubilation such a sight gives to the viewer. Personally, I find more beauty in the things that provoke more ambiguous emotion. If one draws a flower because it is universally considered beautiful, the sketch may be attractive, but what does it really say? What can it teach the person who ponders it other than the obvious fact that appealing things are appealing? Little to nothing.”
“What about darker art?” Azazel inquired out of honest curiosity. “What do you believe ambiguity can teach you?”
“At the very least, it opens the mind to inquisition,” I replied. “If you were to draw my attack on this harbor, it would be a sketch much like the sketch of a flower. But its focus on a battle raises so many questions. Why is the harbor being attacked? What are the mage's goals in this war? Why is she alone on such a massive ship? Why do the dwarves fight against her? Why choose a tsunami? What kind of power does this woman wield that can conquer nature and is she using it wisely? Each of these questions has different answers depending on who you ask. It's part of the reason I am so obsessed with war. There are no rights, no wrongs, no winning, no losing. Everything—everything about war is so morally ambiguous and open to interpretation. It exposes the flaws in societal systems, beliefs, mindsets, and actions, and yet no one person is better than another. To right a wrong, you must realistically be prepared to do wrong. Then, even if you succeed, your decisions and actions will only breed your opposition. And around and around it goes, throughout generations and history. This is the definition of war: flawed people committing great and horrid acts for flawed reasons, all in the name of a biased version of justice. It exposes the ugly underside of all who partake, and that makes it so alluring and fascinating.”
Silence fell over us for a moment until I wondered if my philosophical musings went unappreciated. Finally, Azazel spoke up. “Do you remember the story I told you about Azmaveth and Fraco, Kai?”
“The twin brothers who shared a cell on your floor of the brothel,” I replied in affirmation. I leaned over, trailing my finger over their faces on his memorial longbow. “Azmaveth tried to escape multiple times and was beaten to death. Fraco committed suicide in his resulting depression.”
Cerin's face contorted in sadness and distaste as he heard the story for the first time. Azazel nodded and said, “Azmaveth and Fraco were twins, as you said, but their mindsets were completely different. Azmaveth not only tried to escape multiple times, but he left Fraco behind to do so. Azmaveth knew that to obtain freedom, he would have to kill. He not only accepted the trade-off, he looked forward to it. All of us were raped, beaten, and humiliated repeatedly, and Azmaveth's way of dealing with the resulting trauma was seeking vengeance. Fraco didn't agree. He'd seen our sisters damage and kill so many men, but he believed in not sinking to their level, as he used to say. Fraco refused to kill, and because killing was a necessity for escaping, he stayed at the brothel.”
“And then they both died,” Cerin murmured.
“Yes, but I found their story telling nonetheless,” Azazel replied. “Azmaveth didn't escape, but he tried. He risked it all to gain his freedom. He killed a few in his last attempt. Azmaveth's resistance pissed off our sisters so badly they beat him like it was an entertainment event in the market square and invited others to watch. I couldn't see it from my enclosed cell, of course, but I heard his screams. Until he was eventually silenced, his words spread dissent. Azmaveth died because he wanted freedom badly enough to kill for it, but at least he died spreading a message. Fraco, on the other hand, refused to commit the same actions as his sisters, but that also meant he was never heard or recognized. He never escaped because even when the opportunity arose, he wouldn't take it. Fraco not only died feeling silenced and alone, but he killed himself due to the atrocities committed against him from the same people he refused to kill.
“Which is better: to sink to the lows of your enemy to defeat them, or to have a misguided sense of moral superiority and refuse to fight until they defeat you?” Azazel went quiet a moment. “The legends of history are never virtuous, for such people never succeed at anything noteworthy enough to talk about due to their inhibiting moral compasses. Those like Fraco who refuse to dirty their name with questionable actions are not only forgotten, but they are also partial to failure. I will sketch your attack of this harbor, Kai, and the scene will be one of much debate. Your supporters will love it. Your dissenters may loathe it. But the fact of the matter is that your deeds are so impactful that they are talked about and debated at all. Books will be written supporting you, and books will be written arguing against you. At the end of the day, if you weren't willing to kill and fight and devastate to get this far, few would know your name.”
“And this is your lengthy way of saying you agree that war is fascinating due to its moral ambiguity,” Cerin mused with a half-smile.
“Oh, absolutely,” Azazel replied. “I don't claim to be a pillar of righteousness any more than Kai does. I slaughter through foes like they are merely inconveniences, but the only reason I am well-known at all is because so far, I do it better. I kill first and am victorious. The moment the enemy kills me, their name is the one gaining notoriety. They'll be talked about and their message will spread, but they will have to murder to get there like everyone else. I don't follow Kai because she is perfect. She is perfectly imperfect, so she is one hell of a woman who doesn't shy away from doing the ugly things necessary to make progress. War is messy and brutal. I wouldn't follow someone who ignorantly thinks they can conquer it with pacifism. There is no beauty in submission.”
“I don't think I caught a word of that,” I mused. “Please repeat.”
Azazel chuckled and reached
down to wipe a smudge of dirt off the side of his bow. In the days since taking Narangar, he'd insisted on keeping it prepared. Civilian unrest was far worse here than it had been in Comercio due to my infamous attack. “I don't say this to grow your ego, Kai, because I can't possibly add to it. But while dissenters surround us, I want to reiterate my support of your most controversial decisions. Never allow your critics to change your ways unless you also come to believe in their arguments. I don't want any resistance you come across in Chairel to negatively influence you as badly as Nyx's abandonment did in Eteri.”
My heart warmed with his concern. “No resistance could hurt me as badly as Nyx's did,” I replied honestly. “In a way, she did me a favor. Her abandonment crushed my heart so badly it's now nothing but scar tissue that no longer tears as easily. Comparatively, criticisms from dissenters and the ignorant mean nothing. Regardless, your support of me means the world, Azazel. It always has. I was as brittle as glass after the tragedies in Eteri until you opened up to me on our way to Glacia.”
“What a world of difference that conversation made,” Cerin added in happy agreement.
Azazel was contemplative a moment. “I appreciate you telling me. Why did you hold my opinion in such high regard even back then?”
“Because you joined me of your own volition,” I replied. “We started off as allies of circumstance, not friends. We owed each other nothing, yet you saw something in me that spoke to you and got you to stay. If I ever messed up badly enough in those early days, you could have simply left with no further ties to me. I respected you before we were friends because of your intelligence, your skill, and your willingness to work with people you didn't like in an environment you hated because you believed the cause was just. When a person I respect so greatly voices his support of my controversial decisions, that can mean the difference between moving on to succeed or giving up. Much of our success in Glacia was due to you. The only reason I fought as hard as I did and with any motivation after everything we'd been through was because you took the time to say you supported me when others didn't.”
“Then I'm glad I said it,” Azazel said with a warm smile.
“Please continue to,” I requested. “This whole city could be against me, but as long as you back me up, I can do anything.”
Clunk. Clunk. Clunk.
The three of us turned toward the approaching footsteps which alternated between metal and boot. Maggie attracted a heap of attention from nearby dwarves as she walked with her uneven gait through the tunneled exit of Narangar and to its gigantic harbor. Years ago, my assault had ruined many of the stone buildings on the harbor that were a mix of fisher huts, trade hubs, taverns, and inns. The docks had been Chairel's first concern in repairing Narangar due to their economic and naval importance, for they'd rebuilt most of the architecture here. Maggie noticed this as she hobbled toward us, her face beaded with light sweat. A smudge of black dust marred the tip of her nose and a few of her blonde dreadlocks.
The engineer wrinkled her nose and crossed her muscular arms, studying the surrounding architecture. “Aww, this ain't no big deal, love. Good as new, looks like.” She peered apologetically over at me and added, “Sorry I'm late.”
“We appreciated the break,” Azazel replied.
Maggie reached over and ruffled Azazel's hair lovingly. “Yer always so polite.”
Azazel huffed and went about fixing his hair. “I try.”
“The buildings here are in great condition and they upgraded the defenses,” I told Maggie, pointing to the newly installed long-range cannons along the edges of the docks. “I tried asking around about civilian requests, but none of them are talking to me yet, and I want to avoid resorting to magic.”
“Aye,” Maggie agreed with a nod. “I think our best bet is gonna be startin' a new renovation project for the lower district of the city itself. This harbor is already pretty, and Marcus fixed the south gate this mornin'.” She glanced toward Azazel, noticing his hair was back to normal. Reaching out in a dramatic fashion, she promptly ruffled it again.
I tried to avoid laughing as Azazel went about fixing it once more without a word. I replied, “Truly? Then Marcus didn't do a good enough job destroying it.”
Maggie laughed. “That's what I told 'im, believe it or not! Marcus gave me a side eye before he told me to get lost. Kinda like what this one's doin'.” She motioned to Azazel, who only smirked. Maggie went on, “Metal and stone reserves ain't gonna be issues here. Ever,” she added with emphasis, glancing around at the surrounding mountains.
“What's your assessment of the lower district?” I inquired. As we glanced through the shadowed tunnel leading to the city, Maggie took the distraction to mess Azazel's hair up again. He sighed heavily and took a step out of her reach to avoid continued abuse.
Maggie grinned at her own pranks as she answered, “Ain't too bad structure and stability-wise. The floodin' swept out furniture and other belongings, but the water pressure wasn't high enough once it was through the tunnel to destroy the buildings. Thankfully, or else the whole place could'a come down considerin' its high-rises. The main concern isn't repairin' the low district, it's aidin' the people who live or have businesses there. They're strugglin' from their losses and received no aid from the government since the harbor was the priority.”
“How are the dwarves treating you?” I asked her.
“With confusion,” Maggie replied with a chuckle. “But they're talkin' to me, at least. It used to be they didn't like me 'cause of my giant blood, but considerin' current circumstances, they see merit in the dwarven half a'me.”
“If there isn't much construction work to do in the lower districts, are you willing to lead its renovation and aid projects?”
“Of course,” Maggie agreed.
“Well, let's get started,” I said, sweeping an arm toward the tunnel. “Take us where you think they need the most help first and we'll go from there. We can gather ideas about necessary resources and labor time and start renovations fairly soon.”
Maggie turned around and led the way. Leering eyes watched us move up the slight incline of the harbor until we entered the cool shadow of the tunnel. The harbor's newly renovated structures continued through this gigantic underpass, tucked along each wall of rock many stories high. I remembered how my tsunami had raised the water level of the inlet so far that it overwhelmed this tunnel even after the storm was over. Considering just how huge the underpass was, such a feat was not only amazing, it also made sense with the water damage visible on buildings nearest the south city entrance.
After a few minutes, the tunnel opened up to Narangar's majesty so abruptly that the change was shocking. I'd read as a young girl about how the dwarven capital of Chairel was considered the country's best kept secret. Even though the city was massive and well-known, little of it could be seen from open land given its location. Adventurers and war heroes often referred to it as a hidden wonder. Its grandeur was similar in scope to Sera, but it wasn't as boastful with its locale.
As soon as the harbor businesses gave way to family-owned shops and services, the wealth and condition of the area degraded drastically. Some buildings were dark and shuttered with posted signs from landlords giving notice of vacancy and asking prices for rent. Others still had signs of life, but businesses which once prospered were now desperate to reclaim their prior success. Peering through windows revealed that most products available sat on windowsills visible from the road while inside shelves were empty with low stock. Boards and parchment boasted deep price cuts, and some advertisements were so faded and worn that it appeared they'd been hanging for years.
Maggie continued leading us down the main road, attracting attention with her large stature that persisted once bystanders realized I was with her. The animosity toward me was palpable, but all was quiet. Many here hated me, but most of them were too smart to risk saying it aloud.
Just as Maggie crossed over the broad street to turn down another, a gasp echoed through the air a
nd the thick soles of a pair of boots squeaked to a halt on stone. My left side was suddenly unoccupied as Azazel spun in place and lifted his bow in reaction to a threat behind us. I skidded to a stop so quickly in response that Cerin and Maggie finally understood the trouble and turned to look.
A dwarven woman with a tear-streaked tanned face and auburn hair highlighted with grays had pushed through the crowds of civilians to catch up to us. Her hazel eyes stuck on me, full of hostility and utter sadness. In the split second that I saw her before Azazel loosed an arrow, I didn't have enough time to realize her purpose for chasing me.
A spray of bright red blood misted the air near the woman's face where her right hand pulled back with effort. The arrowhead shone metallic where it poked out of her palm after Azazel shot her through the lumbrical muscle, disarming her. A small throwing hatchet clashed to the stone at her boots, and the shrill noise called even more attention to the scene.
Azazel had another arrow nocked and ready, trained on the woman's eye. He didn't yet shoot it. As the dwarf favored her injured hand and searched for options, newly panicked eyes glanced down at her fallen weapon.
“I wouldn't,” Azazel warned, his tone just as confident as his aim.
“Then just kill me!” The woman shouted, her tone hoarse with anger and desperation. Though she replied to Azazel, her eyes were on me. “Ya took everythin' else from me! Take my life! It would be a relief! Take my life!”
Other than the attempted assassin's heavy breaths, all was quiet as bystanders watched my reaction with morbid curiosity. I walked toward the woman as she stumbled back with sudden fear, still favoring her injured hand. Her eyes switched back and forth from mine to my open palm. Perhaps she knew I summoned a spell even though its energy was invisible.
