Warlord

by Keith McArdle

  I haven't heard that title in a long time.

  Thick clouds blotted out the moon's glimmer and a second flash of lighting descended towards the ocean nearby, the deafening crack of thunder shuddering through the longship.

  Have you heard of me, Gorgoroth?

  It's a little difficult when I know not your name.

  Thoron.

  Vyder attempted to squirm sideways, but he was held firm against the longship's deck. Torrential rain slammed down upon the longship, turning dry wood slick within a matter of moments. The sail, sodden, hung limp. The storm descended upon them, but no wind filled the sail.

  You are a rarity indeed. Vyder. We are in the presence of royalty. Thoron is both a water and air spirit.

  “Pleasure to make your acquaintance,” Vyder spoke through gritted teeth. He wiped a hand across his brow, eyes clenched against the torrential rain. “Tell me, are you known by we highlanders as Thros, the storm goddess?”

  The very same.

  Fear speared Vyder, numbness spreading through his extremities. “So, now I'm talking to a highland deity,” he muttered to himself.

  You might have asked my permission before you embarked upon your journey, Gorgoroth.

  I did not know you guarded this area, Thoron. Had I known, I would have.

  Well now you do know. So, what say you now?

  May we pass?

  Perhaps.

  The weight faded from Vyder's chest, allowing him to scramble to his feet.

  Perhaps not.

  Lightning seared the dark sky, a clap of thunder shattering the air around the longship.

  Something smacked into Vyder's chest with a dull thud. He blinked through the heavy rain and looked down to see a hand holding a wooden pail against his chest. Following the hand, and the arm to which it was attached, he looked into Snarri's face. The longship's captain squinted through the blinding weather, water streaming from his thick beard. “Make yourself useful! Start bailing,” he roared, pointing below decks. He stepped closer to Vyder, a wide grin splitting his beard. “Thros is giving us a show, is she not?”

  “Aye,” he leaned toward the captain's ear and cupped a hand against his mouth. “Although I think it's more than a show! She means to kill us!”

  Snarri threw his head back, droplets of water flying from his hair. He laughed and held out his hands, then returned his attention to Vyder. “We must all die.” He looked at the dark, grey sky around them, “and today is as good a day as any. Yes?”

  Vyder thought of his wife, Verone, waiting for him on the far side of the Frost River. He smiled. “Death holds no fear for me, Snarri.” He clasped the pail and pulled it free of the captain's grip. “If today is the day we are sent to the bottom of the ocean, then so be it.”

  Snarri slapped him on the shoulder and strode past, shouting orders.

  Vyder climbed down the ladder. He jumped onto the deck and stepped clear of the ladder. The cold rain faded to be replaced with heat, the stink of body odour and shouting. Oars were stacked in neat piles in the centre of the floor. Highland sailors ran towards another ladder, descending into the bowels of the ship. They carried pails, similar to that clutched by Vyder.

  Rain water streamed between the planks of the top deck, splashing to the floor at Vyder's feet, where it seeped between the boards.

  “The bottom deck is flooding,” shouted one sailor, brushing past Vyder. “We must bail the water clear, or the ocean will claim us.”

  And will you claim us, Thoron?

  We shall see.

  VI

  Shouting awoke Ahitika. She rolled out of the hammock, her feet slammed onto the deck, and she steadied herself, her hand clenched upon the hilt of her knife. The other touching her bone breastplate. The longship pitched and rolled beneath her. Thunder reverberated through the ship, rain water streamed through the gaps in the ceiling, cold against her skin. Henry landed with a thud beside her, his face calm, but his eyes belied the fear she knew he experienced.

  Highlanders ran towards a ladder, climbing down deeper into the longship, wooden buckets in their hands. She spotted Vyder amongst them and called to him, but the assassin disappeared into the depths of the longship. She turned to Henry.

  “Safer up top.” She pointed towards the sky. “If ship sinks, we jump off.” She pointed at her feet. “If we down there and ship sinks, no good.” She passed an extended index finger across her throat. “We good as dead.”

  “Right you are,” Henry said. “Upwards it is.”

  They walked to the ladder leading towards the top deck and stepped aside as several highlanders came sliding down, landing one after another, running for the lower decks, wooden pails in their hands. Ahitika took the ladder in her hands, glared up and for the first time caught a glimpse of the ferocious storm high above them. She squinted against the incessant rain and climbed. Her soft moccasins were slippery on the ladder's rungs, but she persisted, pulling herself clear when she reached the upper deck. A sudden flash competed with the strength of Finkam the Hunter, and then faded to gloom, followed by a deafening blast of thunder. She ducked to her haunches, her soaking hair plastered to the skin of her cheeks.

  Henry cleared the ladder and stood beside her, pulling her to her feet.

  “Are you okay?” he shouted.

  She grinned. “I good. Not dead yet.”

  Waves half again the height of the longship rolled towards them. The captain had been skilled enough to turn the ship to face the oncoming threat. The deck ascended beneath them as the longship broached the wave, forcing the pair to squat in order to maintain their balance. Henry vomited upon the deck, the skin of his face whiter than normal.

  Ahitika laughed. “You no sea dog!”

  The longship crested the mighty wave, and then the bow descended. Ahitika reached behind her with both hands and threaded her fingers between a gap in the planks of the deck, holding firm. Henry copied her but vomited again.

  “When ship level, we run for mast!”

  Henry nodded his understanding, wiping vomit and tendrils of saliva from his mouth.

  The ship became level as it reached the trough between the waves and the pair dashed for the mast pole. They raced the next huge wave sweeping towards them. As the deck ascended, they clenched a firm grip of the mast. Sea water swept across the deck, threatening to wash her feet from beneath her. Seaweed snared against her leg. She plucked it free and threw it clear.

  The frothy water swept clear of the deck leaving several fish floundering upon the wood. Lightning made the ocean daylight for a fleeting moment and thunder tore the sky asunder, her ears ringing. The longship rode the peak of the giant wave and pitched downward. Henry slipped, one of his hands coming free of the mast. Ahitika crouched and grasped his wrist, water streaming down her face and soaking her to the bones. She pulled him towards her until he managed to snatch a hold of a rope tied around the mast. He shouted something, but she could not hear him over the hiss of rain, intermittent thunder claps, not to mention the incessant rumble of the powerful ocean around them.

  A group of highlanders approached them in a tight group. They're probably going to seek shelter with us, or aid us to a safer location. The ship tilted as it ascended the next great wave and the highlanders crouched, their balance impressive. When the longship reached the apex, they sprinted for the mast and surrounded Henry. The men grabbed him from all sides and hauled him towards the gunwale, shouting, although she knew not the words.

  Lightning flashed, and it was only then she saw the anger creasing their faces. They must believe Henry has brought the storm upon us. She snarled and shrieked a war cry, unsheathing her hunting knife. They began their steep descent towards the bottom of the wave, and Ahitika released her grip of the mast. Her feet left the ground, and she dropped towards the group beneath her, smashing into them, sending several highlanders to the deck. One of them slid away across the slick wood, scrambling for a hold to arrest his movement. He failed and disappeared over the edge of the ship
to be claimed by the furious ocean.

  Henry fought his way clear and punched one man in the face. Ahitika jumped at another highlander who'd snaked a forearm around Henry's throat. She clenched a fistful of hair, pulled back his head and drew the razor-sharp knife across his throat, splitting the skin. Blood gushed from the wound, spilling to the deck. The liquid was pleasantly warm as it rushed down her arms, across her neck, and soaked into her clothes. The highlander released Henry and dropped to the deck where he died.

  Pain exploded in her cheek and the longship rose to meet her face. An assailant squatted over her, a blade of his own in his hand, the tip pointing at her throat. A wicked grin adorned his face. She kicked him in the groin. He fell backward. Ahitika rolled away and managed to wedge her fingers between a gap in the deck planks. They climbed the next wave, and Henry tumbled towards the edge of the ship, embroiled in a wrestle with the last highlander. When they reached the wave's peak, she released her grip, ran to the man who'd so recently squatted over her, drew back his head and cut free his scalp. His scream was a drawn out, high-pitched wail. She stood and held the bloody section of hair and skin high, shrieking, fury consuming her. Blood ran down her arm. She threaded the hair through her belt. They rushed towards the trough, waiting for them between the wave they'd conquered and the next rolling towards them. She knelt to regain her balance.

  Henry broke clear of his assailant's grip and kicked him, his boot slamming into the man's midriff and spinning him from his feet. A wave crashed across the deck, sweeping the highlander away. Thigh deep water threatened to pull the Wendurlund prince into the eternal embrace of the ocean, but he clamped upon the gunwale and held firm. The longship reached the trough, the deck evening beneath her. She ran for Henry, clasped a fistful of his shirt, and pulled him away from the ship's edge.

  “Back to mast!” she shouted. “Come!”

  * * *

  Freezing ocean water sloshed around Vyder's hips. Fresh rain water streamed down through the cracks in the planks of the deck above, soaking him, his hair plastered against his face. He stood in an extended line, passing pails filled with water to the man next to him. The wooden containers, one after another, flowed down the line until they reached the last man, who emptied the water out an oar port and held the empty bucket out to a man standing opposite. The empty pails then made their way up another line in preparation to be refilled. Adept as they were, the highlander sailors were only able to maintain the water at the same level. If they slowed their effort, the longship would sink within minutes.

  “Faster!” someone further down the line shouted.

  “We're going as fast as we can!” another roared in reply.

  Muffled thunder shuddered through the ship.

  You've made your point, Thoron. I apologise for not asking your permission to seek passage through your area of the world.

  I wonder, what brings the guardian of the Waning Wood this far north?

  It's a long story sister, but my forest is under threat. The Huronians have invaded and will burn my land to the ground. They'll kill my children. I can't allow this to happen, so it is to Shadolia we travel in search of reinforcements.

  I could not bear to lose my land, much less see the creatures under my protection forced into extinction.

  Gorgoroth did not reply, but Vyder, his muscles aching, sensed the sadness sweep his being.

  I give you safe passage. May the creatures under your custodianship live.

  The incessant rumbling of the storm outside, muffled by the ship's framework, faded to silence. The water, streaming between the planks above their heads like a river, ebbed to slow drips.

  “The storm is at an end!” a highlander roared. “Thank Thros!”

  “THROS!” the others shouted. They laughed, cheered, and joked, but at no point did they slow their bailing.

  A hand slapped Vyder's back. “You might be a half blood, but you work like a highlander.”

  The water level gradually dropped. The buckets full of water were passed up the line and once emptied, streamed back down the men standing opposite just as fast. Soon, the water that had once threatened to consume the longship, lapped at Vyder's feet.

  A halt was called and the sailors, relief palpable throughout the enclosed space, moved towards the ladder and climbed upward, out of the ship's bowels towards the dim light above.

  * * *

  During the storm, the majority of the highland crew had darted below decks to help bail water. Snarri knew his crew would work like draught horses to assuage the ocean from sending them beneath the waves and into the silence-enshrouded pitch depths where only death waited. On top deck, there'd been a skeleton crew who'd hauled the sail up to avoid the power of the wind snapping the mast in half. Snarri had been steadfast, both hands upon the handle of the steer-board. The wooden handle of the steer-board had, on several occasions, almost been ripped clear of his grasp by the ocean's power swelling beneath the hull. He'd struggled to keep the longship pointing towards the oncoming waves, but deft skill and decades of experience had won the day.

  Snarri had not been oblivious to proceedings between his skeleton crew and the pair of newcomers who'd positioned themselves at the mast, clutching the thick wood for dear life. He'd yelled at his highlanders to stand down. Much as he disliked the thought of a full-blood Wendurlund man onboard, especially one of royal blood, they'd paid for their journey.

  One corner of Snarri's mouth stretched upward. And paid well.

  But his crew hadn't obeyed him, or didn't hear his command over the storm's noise. When the fight broke out, he thought the newcomers wouldn't stand a chance. But the Wendurlund man had fought well given the situation. But the Kalote woman? She was something else.

  “She must have highland blood,” he muttered, watching the pair sitting together near the mast.

  She'd taken a highland scalp, and then finished the others off, kicking the dead bodies overboard. Or that's how it'd looked through the darkness, not to mention the heavy rain and blustering wind.

  Movement caught his attention, and highlanders appeared one after another from below. They laughed, bellowed at one another, or simply strode in silence across the deck, ringing water from their soaking clothes.

  “Ho!” one yelled at Snarri. “Boss, where are the others?” He spoke of the skeleton crew who'd been left on the top deck.

  “Claimed by the ocean.”

  Some nodded and passed a hand across their chest. A silent acknowledgement of their comrades' memories.

  Snarri stumbled a step forward, strong wind pushing at his back in line with their direction of travel. Rarely did the wind in the Shadolian Sea blow in exactly the desired direction of a sailing longship. Often the sail needed to be trimmed to catch the breeze.

  He cupped his mouth. “Drop the sail!”

  Highlanders reacted immediately, running to the mast. The Wendurlund prince and Kalote warrior scrambled clear. The huge woven wool sail, painted with vertical black and red stripes descended under the power of teams of sailors hauling on ropes. Within minutes, the sail filled with a loud snap, and the longship lurched forward, gliding across the ocean towards Shadolia. The ship cut a wide arrowhead wake through the sea.

  Snarri tightened his grip on the steer-board and chuckled. “At this rate, Thros will have us in Shadolia before dawn!” he shouted.

  * * *

  Vyder, saddle slung over his shoulder, led Storm up the wide plank from the longship to the Shadolian wharf. The dawn sun painted the world orange. Henry and Ahitika followed him, their mounts in tow. They negotiated the gangplank and exhaustion overwhelmed the trio when they stood upon the flat, stationary planks of the wide wharf. Half the crew of the longship were nearby in a group, talking and laughing. Some of them smoked pipes, others greeted family members who'd awoken early and walked to the coast to wait. No doubt the rest of the crew's family would travel to the wharf later in the day when the longship was scheduled to arrive.

  Brushing encrusted salt
free of Storm's fur, Vyder cast the saddle upon the horse, buckled it tight and stepped into the stirrup. The pair behind him followed suit, and they moved away down the wharf, past the empty stalls of the fish mongers, the faint smell of seafood still permeating the air, despite the absence of the traders and their produce.

  “Thank you for the hospitality!” Vyder shouted over his shoulder at the group of highlanders. “We'll be back sooner than you think.”

  Some of them waved, a couple turned their backs to the departing trio. Snarri, halfway up the gangplank to the wharf waved at them. “Wind at your back!” he roared in the highland tongue.

  Henry fixed his gaze upon Vyder. “What did he say?”

  “Just slang for a formal Highland farewell.” Vyder explained what Snarri had said. “Rather than say 'Goodbye friend and may the wind always blow at your back,' it's faster to say what Snarri did.”

  Henry nodded. “Fair enough. So where are we off to now?”

  The highlander urged Storm into a canter. “The highlands.”

  Henry came alongside him, a look of mock disbelief lining his brow. “Really? I had no idea, Vyder!” The muscles of his face relaxed. “Where are we going?”

  Demanding little human, isn't he, brother?

  Vyder returned the prince's stare. “He is.”

  The bump in Henry's throat rose and fell, but he maintained his focus upon the highlander.

  “We're heading north west towards the village of Yorv. Ironstone land. It was where I was born.”

  “You still have relatives there?”

  The highlander nodded. “Aye, my brother lives there with his family. My parents died a few summers before I left for Wendurlund.”

  “How long the journey?” Ahitika asked from behind.

  “If we push throughout the day, I hope to arrive come evening.”

  Henry shot him a glance. “This evening?”

  “Aye, young prince.”

  “Shadolia is smaller than I thought. How many swords do you hope to raise?”