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In the throne room, the windows were little more than arrow slits; the last line of defense between the king and an invader from the sea. But as the sun filtered through and cast bright lines on the marble floor, the throne stood empty. Salmacha was now without a ruler. Perhaps, I thought, it had been without for a long time before my harpoon finally slew King Sondassan. 

The weapon lay quiet across my legs as I sat at the base of the dais, beside Hamilcar and his crew and a good distance from the twin princesses. Having done its duty, it was content, and projected to me a sense of accomplishment. It was pleased with my actions. There would always be more tyrants, more men willing to spend the blood of others on power for themselves, but for the moment, the work was complete. 

I’d held an enchanted weapon only once before: the Sword of Heaven, the tool of the god Torr, who had taken my Khalim from me. It, too, had approved of me. I’d used it to slay the great worm as it laid waste to Phyreios, and I had gladly given it up to the custody of Jin and his temple. 

I would call my harpoon Storm, I decided, for the thunderclap I had heard as it destroyed King Sondassan. Having spent the early part of my life upon the roof of the world, I had great respect for storms. They could destroy a ship just as easily as they could fill its sails; lay waste to a village as easily as water its crops.