Sacrifice of Ericc

by Anthony G. Wedgeworth

Filth from the mines tainted the river with slimy streaks of browns and reds. Vile flesh eating fish fruitlessly attacked the sides of the ship while freshwater poisonous slugs fought the waves in a futile attempt to reach the deck.

  Captain Dare Mensley’s ship sailed quickly down the sewage-filled river. At times it was difficult to endure, but they had no time to dock and rest away from the water’s smell. It was a chase down the river and to the bridge which linked the cities of Krual’Dor and De’Ceit. Once beyond the bridge, they were free to sail Lake Luthralum.

  The captain watched the riverside road for riders. “I can smell them at our heals.”

  “You can’t smell anything over this foul river,” Santorray said.

  “Okay, then. I can sense it, ya big rud. I know they haven’t just let us skip away. We just need ta make it past the Krual’Dor bridge before they get there.”

  “We’ll need a lot of luck for that to happen.”

  “Luck ain’t good enough. We need to beat them.”

  “Then we need to put luck in our favor.” The Blothrud grabbed a few pieces of wood chipped away from one of the crates and walked away from the captain. “One must ask the powers of life and nature for assistance or be content with failure.”

  “Hogwash. Nature ain’t got nothin’ to do with it. It’s one man’s mind against another,” the captain yelled over to him.

  “Then we are sure to sink in this ship with you at the helm.”

  “You ungrateful Rud.” the captain replied. “Go ahead and appease your spirits of luck for all I care. Makes no difference to me.”

  Santorray could feel the staring eyes of the entire crew, as he sat down on the deck, in the center of the ship. Ignoring most of them, he gave the giant a growl and exposed his teeth on one side, before turning his back to him. It was a purposeful position to show dominance.

  The giant Mognin, Grewen, knew full well what his posturing was intended to do, but he wouldn’t give the Blothrud the satisfaction of an argument. There had been bad blood for thousands of years between the two Unday species, and the Mognin could see that the Blothrud had no plans to resolve such issues.

  Removing his necklace, which held a large obsidian talisman, Santorray unbraided one of the many spherical beads along its leather path. Tapping the bead twice against the flat stone talisman, he placed the heavy sphere into the center of the cloth he had ripped from the guard’s uniform. Two small sticks where snapped in half and then half again before being set onto the Southwind Province symbol that covered most of the fabric.

  Wrapping the cloth around the heavy bead and the broken sticks, he opened a hanging lantern and poured a bit of oil onto the cloth before tying it off. “Vo’lar oondra beldortha,” he said strongly to the newly created object. Lighting it on fire, he allowed it to burn in his palm until he repeated his odd phrase a second time before tossing it into the Stained River.

  Thorik looked on curiously at the event while sitting near the Mognin who was standing on the lower deck, but was still taller than Thorik. “Grewen, Santorray does a lot of unusual ceremonial rituals. In the prison it was with slugs and blood. Why is that?”

  Grewen leaned back on the hatch opening and rested his arms on the deck of the ship. The Mognin’s twelve-foot tall body caused the ship to be slightly top heavy when he stood on the main deck, so he avoided it when he could. “Most Blothruds believe that all things have a life energy and when they come in contact with each other they have an eternal link.”

  “What does that have to do with the strange rituals?”

  “The guard’s cloth could be linked to the Southwind military who most likely is searching for you. I would guess that the idea of sinking it could cause the guards difficulty in crossing the river or traveling by water to catch us. Seems a bit unnecessary to burn them.”

  “Magic? Is he some type of Alchemist?”

  Grewen chuckled. “No, it’s more superstition. You should see what they do before they go into battle.” The hairless brown leathery skin, which covered his body, wrinkled even tighter when he laughed and his small ears twisted from his smile.

  Three large folds on the back of Grewen’s neck bulged as he leaned his head back to look at the strong wind in the sail. “If we are successful in passing the bridge before they block us, he’ll say it was because of his ritual, or some hex he put on them. However, if we aren’t successful, he’ll excuse it as some twist of fate due to our not believing, or the powers of nature not being pleased with us. There’s always a way out of it for the devoutly superstitious.”

  Thorik always felt at ease when he was around Grewen. Calmness tended to roll off the Mognin’s shoulders and covered Thorik with a sense that all would work out well, even his issues with Brimmelle.

  “All hands on deck!” Captain Mensley shouted from the upper deck. “They be in pursuit!”

  Fifty riders galloped along the river’s dirt road in an attempt to catch up to them. Arrows were already in flight toward the ship but simply didn’t have the distance.

  Brimmelle and Avanda rushed up from below, searching to see the reason for the captain’s commands.

  “Make yourself useful Blothrud and grab an oar and ‘elp us speed up this ‘ear vessel.”

  Standing to his full eight-foot height, Santorray abruptly turned away from the captain and went below deck.

  Captain Mensley couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “Damn ya, Altered! We ain’t out ta fire yet. Get yur red bulky arms up ‘ear.”

  The captain’s crew consisted of humans, all shapes and sizes. Some didn’t look like they knew what they were doing. Others looked as though they knew, but in fact didn’t have a clue.

  Shaking his head in frustration, the captain watched the useless efforts by his men to speed up the ship. “Bottom of da barrel,” he said in disgust. “Shoreview’s finest recruits.” He coughed out a laugh at his own joke before returning to the issue at hand.

  The river snaked its way toward Lake Luthralum. On a straight river they would have had a chance for escape, but the Stained River gave the advantage to the riders. Forging ahead up the next bluff, the riders prepared for their attack, while the ship followed the water as it weaved its way to the lake.

  Rounding the bend, Dare spotted a wooden bridge high over the water, connecting the two bluff ledges together as the river narrowed tight. Covered with the jungle’s vines and moss, thick old timbers held the structure firm as several dozen Southwind archers began to take positions across it.

  “Down sails,” Dare commanded, “Before they tear ‘em apart with arrows and fire.”

  The crew began lowering the sails as quickly as they could; tossing them to Grewen who stored them on the lower deck.

  Loud cracks of thick timber came from below, with a pause between each. Santorray climbed the stairs from the lower deck carrying a cannon, minus its wooden base. Each step up the stairs caused boards to snap.

  “What in the blazes are ya doing with me artillery?” Captain Mensley was stunned by the possibility of anyone being able to carry a cannon as well as the fact he was bringing it up at all. “We ain’t got the powder to make ‘em work.”

  Setting the cannon down, the Blothrud ignored the captain and walked over to the crate he had brought on board from the mines. Grasping the lid tightly, he ripped opened the top in a single motion, popping the nails into the air.

  Waving his hands violently to stop him, Dare Mensley couldn’t believe his eyes. “Get yur hands off of me nectar.”

  Santorray twisted around, grabbing Dare by his vest. Pulling his wolf-like snout tight to the captain’s face, the Blothrud’s nostrils flared in anger.

  Ripping off the front of Dare’s vest, he growled as he released the captain and spit on the deck between them. Turning his back on Dare, Santorray ripped the vest into several thin strips before popping open one of the bottles.

  “Take me whole damn vest if ya like, but leave me drink!” He pulled off what remained of the vest and launched it at
him. “And don’t you go marking your territory by spit’n on my ship.”

  Pouring the alcohol onto the torn cloths, Santorray saturated them before sticking one into the end of a new bottle. Proceeding to do the same action again demonstrated that he was building something.

  Thorik looked at the bridge down river and then realized what Santorray was doing. Running over, he began opening bottles and sticking rags into the ends.

  Dare jumped forward. “Ya criminals! Ya thieves! Use the bloody rum if ya need to, but leave the Irr alone.” Grabbing as many bottles out of the crate as he could hold, he made a mad dash for his cabin, protecting his assets as he limped heavy without his cane. “Crazy beast. Doesn’t ya know the value of what ye be wasting?”

  Thorik tore some fabric from his own clothes to add to the dwindling stack. “I think I understand. We’ll light the fabric as wicks and throw them at the bridge. Right?”

  Santorray nodded as he popped open bottles and soaked more cloths.

  Thorik pulled several more bottles out of the crate. “So, what exactly is the cannon for?”

  A devilish look sparked in the Blothrud’s eyes and grin. “Backup plan.”

  “How do you plan to get us close enough to throw these bottles before they take us out with arrows?”

  Glancing up at the approaching bridge, Santorray shook his head. “They’ll be firing at us long before we get close enough.”

  True to his word, arrows began to fly, stabbing the deck with their sharp tips.

  Reaching as far as he could from the open deck hatch, Grewen began gathering barrels and supplies. Taking them off the upper deck, he set them near his feet on the lower level, protecting them from the air assault.

  Returning to the deck empty handed, Dare watched his crew duck from the missiles and successfully flee any harm. “Running for cover appears to be me crew’s strength,” he muttered to himself.

  “Grab the wheel and ride the port side of the river,” Santorray ordered Dare.

  Reaching past Thorik, the captain loaded his arms with more bottles to salvage from them. “Not until ya give up on wasting me Irr.”

  “We’re drifting the wrong way,” the Blothrud growled at Dare’s lack of concern that no one was at the wheel. “Don’t you care about your ship?”

  “It ain’t my ship, it’s me lazy brother’s. If ya stop kill’n me Irr I can tend to her and bring it back in one piece to the indolent.”

  Another wave of oncoming arrows hit the ship as Santorray grabbed the lid of the crate and used it as shield to protect them.

  Without any sign of appreciation, Dare limped back into the cabin, arms filled with liquor bottles.

  Thorik looked back at his uncle who held onto Avanda, protecting her under the stairwell from the oncoming attack. “Brimmelle, we need you to steer the ship.”

  Brimmelle looked up from under the stairs at the unprotected area at the wheel. “I’ve never steered a ship. Get someone who has.”

  “I’ll do it!” Avanda shouted. Escaping Brimmelle’s hold, she darted out and then up the stairs to the wheel.

  Brimmelle clumsily worked himself up the steep steps in an attempt to catch her.

  “Where to?” Avanda shouted. “How close do we need to get to shore?”

  Sparse crewmembers were still on deck as the arrows from the bridge were landing more frequently and with better aim. Injuries were now being sustained and most of the crew had fled to lower decks.

  Santorray took command. “As close as you can without running aground.”

  Little time was left to make such adjustments before reaching the bridge. Avanda pulled hard on the wheel and quickly realized her excitement had caused a misjudgment in the effort required.

  The ship pulled hard to port, nearly tipping the vessel over in doing so. Two men were flung overboard along with ropes and other supplies, which Grewen hadn’t collected yet. Loud crashes of glass and metal could be heard from supplies below.

  Grewen closed his eyes and moaned as objects on the lower deck came crashing into the lower half of his body.

  Thorik held onto the crate, preventing himself from falling and rolling overboard along with some supplies.

  Santorray gripped the deck with his wolf-like claws on his feet, while hanging onto the crate of bottles. Nearly half of them had been converted to weapons and would be needed very soon.

  Brimmelle had reached the top of the stairs and stumbled toward the wheel, which Avanda clung to. Latching onto the large wooden wheel, Brimmelle made an effort to stop the ship from running into the river’s bank. Spinning the wheel in the opposite direction, Brimmelle overcompensated for her first turn. Never steering a ship before, the Fir struggled to properly make up for the direction change.

  “Watch out for the cannon,” Grewen announced, watching it roll out of control, out of reach of his own long arms.

  The cannon tumbled along the deck, just missing the Blothrud, only to be stopped by the ship changing its bearing and swaying the opposite direction.

  Realizing she didn’t have control over the wheel, Avanda slid out from under Fir Brimmelle’s outstretched arms. Sitting back behind him, she opened the red and gold purse at her side.

  Her lizard jumped out of her side pouch and ran over to the red purse to spy on what it held.

  “Watch out, Ralph, you don’t want to eat anything in there,” she warned him.

  The ship bumped hard against the shore as Fir Brimmelle grappled with the wheel to keep in under control.

  Captain Dare Mensley whipped open the door and rushed out. “What ya be doing to me ship?”

  Holding the crate firm to prevent it from crashing to the side, Santorray was less than impressed with the captain and crew of the Sinecure. “Saving it. Get over here and make your mark.”

  Rolling back, the cannon crashed into the crate, nearly taking off one of Thorik’s legs. Translucent red liquid poured onto the deck from broken bottles of Irr.

  “Destroying is more like it.” Using his cane, Dare worked himself along the tilted deck back to the crate. “Years I’ve dreamt of such a bounty. Damn the moment I let a beast on me ship.” Grabbing a third armful of bottles, he left his cane and hobbled back into the cabin just as Brimmelle attempted to correct the ship’s direction again.

  Grewen had lifted his massive body out of the deck hatch to help compensate for the deck’s uneven plane. Using his enormous Mognin body, he shifted his weight from side to side to help Brimmelle keep the boat heading the right way.

  Another volley of arrows pierced the deck’s surface as well as into the Mognin’s thick skin. The few arrows in his arms and legs had no effect on his thick tough skin as he stood on deck, grabbing the main mast for balance.

  A well-aimed arrow blazed past Grewen, nicking Santorray’s arm and striking the bottle he held, pouring the liquid onto a coiled rope near his feet.

  “That’s close enough. First blood has been spilled,” Santorray barked. “Keep us in near the shore!” he yelled to Brimmelle, who was struggling to do just that.

  Grabbing the lantern’s flint, Santorray sparked the drenched rope. A flame quickly grew as he grabbed two bottles and leaned the saturated cloth wicks over the fire. Once on fire, the Blothrud leaned back like a javelin thrower and launched one of the bottles high into the sky. The second one was shot from his mighty arm before the first had even arrived at its destination.

  Striking the side of the bridge nearest to the boat, the bottle shattered and ignited. Flaming liquid splattered across the surface of the bridge and the vegetation that grew on it. The second bottle struck within a few yards of the first one.

  Retaliation in the form of flaming arrows dotted the sky. Over a dozen oil-dipped missiles were now headed for the ship. Captain Mensley had been wise enough to ensure the sails were not up, but that wouldn’t stop the ship from catching fire from this bombardment.

  Grewen stood up to his full height on the front half of the ship, thus causing its nose to tilt forwa
rd and the aft to raise slightly out of the water. Reaching out with his arms, he tried to make himself as big of a target as possible. In doing so, the majority of the fiery weapons struck the thick brown skin on his back. The few arrows that passed him by landed on the deck, starting the floorboards on fire.

  Thorik quickly removed prepared bottles from the crate and lit them, handing them to Santorray as quickly as he could.

  The Blothrud’s aim was more accurate than the archers on the bridge, as he strategically ignited both ends of the bridge with fire. Once they were fully engulfed, the archers in the middle abandoned the attack and attempted to escape.

  Ignoring the battle around him, Dare Mensley limped his way back to the crate, on the far side from Santorray, to gather his next armful.

  Grewen plucked out a few of the arrows and easily snuffed out the flames on his hide before the next attack of flaming arrows arrived.

  A wave of cold air shot from the back of the boat, toward the bridge. Avanda’s attempt to activate the magical items from her purse had again gone wrong. Her endeavor sent a crystallized mass of moisture racing for the far side of the bridge. Upon impact, it suppressed the fire, created by Santorray’s bottle missiles.

  “Sorry!” Avanda shouted.

  “Damn, ya girl! I told ya, no magic!” Captain Mensley ordered. “Does ya not remember the hole you put in the side of me ship last time?”

  “I was trying to put out the fire on our deck,” Avanda said. “I think I’ve got this figured out now.”

  “No! No more,” the captain ordered. “I’ll make ya a deal. I has a small book on how ta control magic. It be yours if ya get below deck and never again perform magic on me ship.”

  Eyes growing to perfectly round circles, she was ecstatic. “Deal!” She gathered her items and ran below before the captain could change his mind.

  Archers quickly ran back onto the bridge, hopping over the section of slick ice on the deck, which Avanda had created.

  Santorray was furious that his attack on the bridge had been hindered by a little Num. There wasn’t enough time left to re-ignite the far side of the bridge, especially now that it was covered with ice. After throwing the last few bottles at the under-support of the bridge, he reached down and pulled the cannon out of the base of the crate.

  Unknown to those on the ship, the ice spell, released by Avanda, was continuing to work as it froze the bridge to such a degree of cold that it began to crack and break apart. Stress from the weight of the bridge, along with the Southwind military, caused fractures as shards began to break off and fall into the river.

  Another volley of flaming arrows shot straight down at the ship. This time they passed Grewen, due to the vertical angle. Flames erupted all over the ship. The Sinecure couldn’t withstand a second attack of this magnitude once it emerged from the far side of the bridge.

  Santorray worked his way to the port side, carrying the heavy cannon, as they traveled underneath the bridge. Finding a railing area without flames, he waited until they began to pass the main support column for the west side of the bridge.

  Swinging the cannon like a club at the column, splinters flew in every direction upon impact, and yet the column held. Santorray had one last chance, as he attacked the column from the other side, with another mighty swing of the cannon.

  The column shattered and the bridge dropped, but only a few feet. The other support beams groaned as they took on the extra load. Vines began to snap as they also attempted to hold the bridge in place.

  Thorik noticed shards from the frozen bridge tumble down to the river, as Avanda’s enchantment continued to expand and freeze more of the bridge’s base. “Santorray, can you throw something at the other end of the bridge? That frozen section,” he shouted, pointing upward.

  “It would take something the size of this cannon to do enough damage. And it’s not possible to throw it that far.”

  “Nothing is impossible. Let me try.” Grewen had moved closer to the others. Several dozen arrows now protruded from his back, most surrounded by oily flames.

  “Mognin’s have the aim of a blind mole,” Santorray said. “Wouldn’t you prefer to hide some place until this is over?”

  “Don’t confuse defensive logic with hiding,” the giant said. Grabbing the cannon from the Blothrud with one of his oversized Mognin hands, Grewen turned and tossed the heavy object high into the air, as though it was a toy.

  The giant’s aim was not nearly what the Blothrud’s was, as it bounced against the vine-covered bluff before falling back down. He had missed.

  “I knew it,” Santorray growled.

  Falling back to the river, the cannon then slammed into the base of the main support column. It was enough to jar the column, snapping it away from its icy crystallized top, which connected it to the bridge.

  The entire frozen section of the bridge shattered into shards of ice, dislodging it from the top of the bluff.

  Swaying back and forth, the bridge finally began to collapse once the main support beam gave way. Military personnel attempted to flee as they ran and jumped off to the sides, while the bridge moaned and cracked.

  Lucian and Asentar arrived at the scene just as the bridge began to crumble. The Dovenar Knight quickly dismounted his ride to help the men off the remaining bridge, while Lucian stared bitterly down at the ship and specifically at Santorray. The beast had escaped, but Lucian would not give up the chase so easily.

  Sailing out from under the bridge, the crew of the Sinecure watched as the structure above them tilted forward. It raced the ship downstream as it fell, only to splash in front of the vessel by a few yards.

  “You were right, my aim is poor.” Grewen grinned at the mishap gone right.

  Chapter 12

  Lake Luthralum