The Ironblood

I glance across the clearing and see a face that is all too familiar. At the site of every tragedy is this snarling figure, cloaked and holding a scythe. The creature is strangely handsome, or he would be if his face were not contorted so. Contorted with emotions I can’t even name. Anger, sorrow, maybe. Unspeakable, crushing depression. He is the last thing any of us see, the arm that guides us underground to our graves. And if he’s here, that can only mean one thing.

Somebody is going to die tonight.

It wasn’t me, though, of that I was certain. As much as Death loves to toy with his victims, he is forbidden from revealing himself to them. He must rely on other omens if he is to frighten the damned souls. A black cat, a shattered mirror, a stormcloud that’s a little too dark. A starless sky, perhaps. The superstitious see it everywhere, fear their death with every unsteady breath. The funny thing about dying, is you could never see it coming. So someone was going to die tonight, and it wasn’t me. Fantastic. I wonder who it is.

And then I know. An arrow whistles past my ear, nearly taking out my eye.

“That is not a toy,” I say drily. There is no fear in my heart tonight, the outcome has already been determined, so why would there be? Death melted back into the shadows, as if startled by my words that had broken the quiet night. The archer stepped out of the trees where Death had been standing just a moment ago. My attacker, a slight woman with mousy brown hair tied into a loose bun, pulls out another arrow and aims it at my heart. As if she was unaware of my reputation, she shot it and it bounces off harmlessly, just as I knew it would. Her look of confusion is quickly replaced by anger, as she loses arrow after arrow at me. They all glance off of me, not drawing a single drop of my silver blood. Because my blood is not red. My veins pulse with liquid metal, fueling me. Protecting me. Making me a god. Or immortal, at least. My ancestors had struck a deal with a demon long ago, to protect themselves from assassinations. Now the only thing that frightens us is poison, and most of us will never taste it.

Now to deal with this idiotic girl. I flick a knife from my sleeve to my hand, the movement almost lazy, then stride over and slit her throat without a word. She tries to fight me off, but it is pointless. The reaper has already determined the outcome tonight. Death reappears, says some words over her, and she goes cold. Something about the passing from life to death being as necessary and good as day slipping into night. My Ancient Runes is rusty, but I’ve heard the words many times before. I repeated them in a muffled murmur, careful not to alert any other potential attackers. I’ve spilled enough blood today.

So why am I in the woods, by myself? Without a guard? Because I want to be, and because nobody can stop me. With the monarchy dismantled, I wasn’t someone worth protecting. As fun as it was to dress up and be the king, I honestly prefer this new style of government, imported from the New World across the sea. It had served the Malari people well, and it did the same for us. I was not just someone born to the right parents, I had been elected, been chosen to lead. Power means so much more when it is willingly bestowed. So now I am the prime minister, not the king, but I am still the most powerful man in Kilvan Sove, and I’m enjoying it thoroughly. Who knew that running a country could be so fun. If only we could do something about those damnable pirates. By the look of this girl, she was one. Which meant her captain couldn’t be far.

Logic and temptation war inside me for a moment. I am armed with a knife, and Death has already chosen tonight's victor. It’s me. But would I be able to take out an entire crew of pirates and capture their captain? That might be a stretch. Too much for one night. But I can do some scouting, and come back with reinforcements in the morning. Or this afternoon. It already is morning, I realize with a start. The sun is coming up, sending sprays of orange and gold across the night sky. The light reflects off the ocean, staining it a grisly shade of red. As confident as I was in my abilities to fight off these petty criminals, it would be best to lay low and gather whatever intelligence I could. I usually left such tasks to lesser men and women than myself, but I was tired of drafting legislation. It was boring, and I was a person built for adventure. It courses through me in every cell, in every drop of my iron blood. This was going to be fun.