Frentis stared at him as he approached, a faint smile on his lips. Vaelin halted a few feet away, taking in the sight of a man who was both brother and stranger. His frame was even more impressive now, powerful and, Vaelin noted, free of scars judging by the skin visible through his torn shirt. His face also had lost the youthful smoothness he remembered, hard lines forming around the mouth and eyes. For once, Vaelin was grateful for the song’s absence as he found himself uncertain he wanted to know what those eyes had seen.
“I heard you died,” he said.
Frentis’s smile widened. “Whilst I knew you couldn’t have.”
Seeing his evident and genuine warmth, Vaelin felt his sorrow deepen yet further. “I require your sword, brother,” he said, holding out his hand.
Frentis’s smile slowly faded and he glanced at the people flanking him before nodding, coming forward to proffer his blade hilt first. Vaelin took it and beckoned the Wolfrunners’ new commander forward. “This man,” he said, “is bound by the Queen’s Word to answer for the murder of King Malcius. He is to be shackled and confined pending her judgement.”
PART II
It is a singular mistake to think of the slave as fully human. Freedom is a privilege afforded by the excellence of our lineage as true Volarian citizens. By contrast the slave’s station, earned through birth to enslaved parents, just defeat in war or a demonstrated lack of industry and intelligence, is not merely the artificial construct of society, it is the accurate reflection of a natural order. It therefore follows that attempts to upset this order, through misguided policy or even outright rebellion, are always doomed to failure.
—COUNCIL-MAN LORVEK IRLAV, VOLARIA: THE APEX OF CIVILISATION, GREAT LIBRARY OF THE UNIFIED REALM
(LIBRARIAN’S NOTE: TEXT INCOMPLETE DUE TO PARTIAL BURNING)
VERNIERS’ ACCOUNT
In contrast to my first voyage aboard this ship I found myself provided with a cabin, once occupied by the first mate who had perished at the Battle of the Teeth. Our captain stated loudly to his threadbare crew that he had yet to find a worthy replacement and I might as well have it since none of these dogs deserved the honour. The welcoming prospect of ship-borne comfort, however, was diminished by his insistence that I share the space with my former owner.
“She’s your prisoner, scribe,” he stated. “You guard her.”
“To what end?” I enquired, gesturing at the surrounding ocean. “To where is she likely to escape, pray tell?”
“Might damage the ship,” he replied with a shrug. “Might throw herself to a passing shark. Either way, she’s your responsibility and I’ve no hands spare to watch her.”
“It’s a small bed,” she observed as the cabin door slammed shut behind us. “Still, I don’t mind sharing.”
I pointed to a corner of the cabin. “Your place is there, mistress. If you’re quiet, I might spare you a blanket.”
“Or what?” she asked, pointedly sitting on the narrow bunk. “Will you flog me? Bend me to your will with cruel torment?”
