Still bent over from Garhet’s powerful kick, the big man heaved for breath; trying to stay upright aboard the rocking ship. Seizing the opportunity, Garhet pressed the attack. Hefting the axe over his head, he leapt into the air once more, swinging the blade when he came down near the giant’s head. But the newcomer’s hand shot out and seized Garhet’s wrist, then wrenched the axe from his grasp.
Krin watched in numbed silence; unable to act, nor even think clearly. They were in a great deal of trouble, and not just from the giant. With the ever-increasing strength of the storm that was bearing down on the ship, he feared that he and Garhet would have little chance of surviving their journey. They needed to be rid of the newcomer fast, and get to safety. Another powerful wave slammed against the ship’s hull, drenching the trio with more seawater. This broke Krin free from his inertia.
It was time to act.
Keeping one eye on the two fighting men, Krin glanced down at his sword, then sheathed it to his belt. He had no training…no skill at using such a weapon. It would do him little good against even the now unarmed giant. He glanced over at the bundle of supplies he had lashed to a nearby crossbeam, and smiled. Quickly untying the bundle, he snatched up his bow and quiver. Hooking the quiver’s strap to a nearby rigging pulley, he deftly strung the bow, then reached back for his arrows. But, they were no longer there. Confused, he spun around, searching the swaying deck for them. Had they been washed overboard? He didn’t think so. He thought he would have surely seen them slide toward the railing before they did.
He turned back to the fight just in time to see Garhet scramble up the bigger man’s extended leg, vault off his thigh, and land a jarring uppercut to his jaw, bringing him instantly to his knees. Once the large man was at the dwarf's eye level, the dwarf let loose with a maelstrom of punches that would have flattened an average-sized man. But their aggressor, unfortunately, was anything but average. With a roar that drowned out the percussive thunder overhead, the giant leapt to his feet, swinging his trunk-like right arm in an uppercut that sent Garhet sprawling across the deck.
With his enemy now on his back, the newcomer dove for his fallen weapon, just as it teetered over the edge, but he managed to grab the handle just in time. Once secure in his hand, he twisted around with a howl of rage, and swung the blade at Garhet, who was just climbing to his feet. The dwarf narrowly missed having his legs severed from his kneecaps by leaping over the swinging falx. The move, however, sent Krin’s friend tumbling uncontrollably backward, and then swept toward the starboard side of the ship by rushing water.
Alright, Krin. Arrows. Find the arrows.
Unsure of where to start his search, he glanced over at the pulley where he had hung the arrows, and was surprised to see the quiver again. Eight arrows rested securely in the pouch, exactly the same number that had been in it when he had come on board the vessel.
Okay. That’s weird. He shoved the conundrum from his mind for the moment. There was too much at stake. Easing an arrow out of the quiver, he nocked it, then pulled back on the bowstring. Closing one eye, he took aim, directly at the enemy’s head.
“Don’t even think about it!” shouted Garhet. He had managed to avoid slipping over the side of the vessel, and was now grappling with the giant’s legs, desperately trying to bring him down again, and knowing he wouldn’t risk cutting his own legs by using the falx to get to the dwarf. “Just get out of here! Run! I’ll handle this.”
“We’re on a boat! Where in blazes am I going to run to?”
“It’s a ship!” the dwarf hollered back, before slamming an elbow in the stranger’s kneecap. “And there’s plenty of places to hide!”
If he thinks I’m just going to leave him… his brain must be waterlogged. As he prepared to take a human life, Krin’s arms shook with strain and a surge of self-doubt.
But just as he readied the shot, a sharp pain ripped through the calf of his leg, dropping him to one knee. The bowstring slipped from his fingers, sending the arrow sailing through the air with a whistling thrum. It grazed Garhet’s rear-end, before imbedding itself into the gunwale.
What the . . .? It felt like something bit into his leg, but when he looked, nothing was there.
“Eyow!” the dwarf howled in surprise. He managed to maintain his grip on the big man's leg while sending a look to Krin that could have sunk the ship.
Something really strange is going on here.
Krin ignored the thought and the pain. He slipped another arrow onto the bowstring, and took aim once more. The ship lurched and his feet suddenly flew out from under him, sending the arrow low and to the right. It imbedded itself into the ship’s mast, mere inches from Garhet’s head.
“Geeze, kid! Whose side are ye on anyway?” Garhet growled. “Now run—I don’t care where—before you get us both killed!”
The dwarf might be right. It is one thing to kill wild game for dinner. Taking a human life, even in the thick of combat, is another matter entirely. Krin had never imagined his life would take this sort of turn in a million years. He wasn’t a soldier; he had never been in a life and death battle. He had barely been in two fist-fights his entire life—and one had been with Justin.
Why on earth did I think I could be a hero?
With a frustrated roar, the big man plucked Garhet away from his leg with his free hand, the way one might a tick, and lifted him high over his own seven-foot frame.
In that instant, the answer hit him with crystal certainty.
Because my friend is in danger.
With that realization, came the undeniable knowledge that he would do whatever it took to protect Garhet. Do anything to look after those he cared about; even if that meant facing all the giants on earth.
Nocking a third arrow, he brought the bow up, and sighted his shot with grim resolve. Krin eyed the shot, and nearly released the string just as Garhet began to squirm in the man’s iron grip. But their attacker was far stronger, and used the dwarf as a human shield. Krin quickly adjusted the shot, brought his aim slightly down, and to the right, and released.
The arrow flew true, striking the large man in the thigh, just above his knee. The man screamed, then staggered back, but did not release his grip on Garhet. Instead, the newcomer glared furiously at Krin, then, took a single three-foot stride, and hurled the dwarf over the side of the ship as if he were nothing more than child’s doll.
“No!”
Heedless of any peril, Krin tossed the bow aside, and dashed to the gunwale. It was too late. His friend’s screams were already overwhelmed by the crashing waves, and howling gale.
Desperate, he screwed his eyes shut, thought of the hapless Garhet, and willed himself to his friend’s side.
Come on! Dear Lord, just this once…just this one time…let me do it on purpose.
For a brief second, he felt the now-familiar sudden drop in temperature. A fine layer of frost formed across his sweat-covered brow as he focused all his attention to saving his friend. Upon opening his eyes again, the rainfall had become a mixture of liquid and crystalized flakes dancing around his head. A fresh coat of ice gleamed over the side of the boat, but Krin was still on board the nightmare vessel. Only now in the clutches of the giant’s enormous hands.
The giant squeezed at Krin’s arm, and snarled as he glanced down at the arrow protruding from his bleeding leg.
“That, boy, was very, very dumb.” He then reached down and withdrew Glalbrirer from its sheath, before tucking it into his own belt.
“Now, as I was saying…” His voice trailed off as something gleamed next to the railing where the dwarf had been thrown. Keeping one hand tightly clamped around Krin’s arm, he stooped down, and picked up Garhet’s medallion. The precious relic had nearly been washed overboard, if not for its chain catching hold of outcropped protruding nail just at the edge of the ship. Admiring the trinket with a glib air of satisfaction, the stranger ducked, then slipped the chain over his bear-like head. The dwarven talisman was entirely too small for the man, and
looked more like a dog’s choke collar than a necklace. Satisfied with his newly acquired booty, the big man returned his gaze to his captive.
“How about you and I have that little chat, eh?”
EIGHT
The big man hurled Krin across the cabin, and slammed the door against the storm, before leaning his falx against the wall. The passenger accommodations were compact, barely containing enough room for a single bed, a wash basin, and rustic wooden writing desk and chair that sat unused in the far corner. A small port hole was cut into the wall directly behind Krin, giving a rather unnerving view of the rain-swept ocean outside.
Well, at least I know who the mysterious passenger is now, he thought bitterly, as he picked himself off the floor and squared off against his captor. Because tears still stained his cheeks over the sudden loss of his friend, he refused to give the man the additional satisfaction of seeing him tremble with fear.
“You’ve given everyone a merry little chase, haven’t you, boy?” the stranger said, limping over to the bed, and sitting down, taking great care to keep his injured leg straight as he did so. Once settled, he withdrew a knife, then cut a slit into his leather trousers around the arrow jutting out. He began to work carefully to remove it. After a few moments, he let out a slow hiss, then reached under his bed, and retrieved a large, leather bag.
Krin’s throat burned as he watched the man pull a handful of supplies from the bag, and spread them next to him on the bed. A grim smile stretched across Krin's face, as the stranger yanked the shaft from his leg with a single pull, and howled with the exertion.
Good. I hope it turns gangrenous. Krin folded his arm across his chest, thoroughly enjoying his enemy's suffering as the man worked feverishly to staunch the bleeding by sewing the wound closed.
“And we’ll be talkin’ about yer bit of target practice later,” the big man growled between clenched teeth. “Have no doubt about that, brat.”
Krin smirked in satisfaction. It just felt nice to give the giant a little payback—no matter how small. His own wound over the death of Garhet was far too fresh to tolerate the man’s intimidating taunts.
He still couldn’t believe the dwarf was really gone. What was he going to do now? How would he make it to Thana Pel without a guide?
Of course, one look at the murderous barbarian before him told Krin he had little to worry about in that regard. He wouldn’t be getting anywhere close to Thana Pel, or the Magi, or the answers he had desperately sought since the cursed night Nicholas was arrested. It was over. His quest had failed before it had even begun.
After several minutes of uncomfortable silence, the giant finished wrapping his leg in clean white linens, and slowly pulled himself to his feet. He glared over at Krin before taking one tentative step forward. He then squatted several times, testing his leg to ensure it was satisfactorily bound. When he stretched to his full height again, his wild mane of hair brushed against the cabin’s low ceiling, and he turned to face Krin again.
“Now where were we?” His ham-like hand went down to his belt, and he withdrew Krin’s sword. He studied it for several seconds before speaking.
“Nice sword, ya got here, boy,” he said, eyeing the runic letters cut along the blade. “Who’d ya steal it from? General Alexandrius? Is that why he’s payin’ so handsome for ya?”
Alexandrius? So this monster’s a bounty hunter! A surge of hope rushed through Krin. That means, he won’t kill me. Not yet anyway.
Unfortunately, the same was not true for Garhet. A fresh stab of pain tore through his heart. Tears welled again. He blinked twice to quell them.
“Or is it that fine silvery hair o’ yours, and those eyes, the color of amethyst?” his captor asked. The big man eyed Krin up and down, then shrugged turning his attention back to Glalbrirer.
“None of the traditional glyphs I might expect from yer kind, but the rest…well, those are some mighty striking features nonetheless.”
What's he talking about? Glyphs? My kind?
The stranger continued his appraisal. “Considering nothin’ like it’s been seen in our world for centuries, I’m bettin' you’d fetch a fair penny in all manner of places. I’d put odds on there being someone willin’ to pay a far higher price for you than even the General, eh?”
Krin didn’t respond. He wasn’t entirely sure how. Nor was he sure what the large man was raving about—glyphs and striking features. None of it made any sense to him. Then again, he was still reeling that Alexandrius had gone to so much trouble to capture him.
…And for what possible purpose?
In the end, it didn’t really matter. Garhet was gone. He was on his own now, and there was no one who was going to come to his rescue. No one who could save him.
I guess, it’s up to me.
Knowing he could not overpower the beast who had killed Garhet, and now held him prisoner, he wondered if perhaps, he could outsmart him. Despite the shock of his loss threatening to overwhelm him, his inner prankster was still there, sneaking about in the back of his mind. All he needed to do was bring him front and center, then there might still be a chance. Just like back home; keep a clear head, bide his time, and strike when the moment was right.
“Okay.” Krin shrugged, then raised his hands. “You win. I give up. Just stop talking, and leave me alone until we get back to Myra.” Taking a deep breath, he turned his back on his captor, and gazed out the porthole at the waning storm outside.
Thunder rumbled distantly in the west. Though it was still raining, and flashes of lightning streaked the sky, the wind had eased, and the waves were no long crashing against the hull of the ship.
Soon, the sails would be unfurled, and they would continue their voyage to Germania. Once there, the bounty hunter would seek passage back to Lycia; and that's when Krin could make his move.
“Fine by me. I’m sick of yappin’ anyway,” said the bounty hunter. “But, I am curious about somethin’. If it’s not the sword, then what is it about you that has that Roman peacock so flustered?”
Krin remained silent. Even if he had known the answer to the giant’s question, he would have stubbornly refused to answer.
Let him stew on it. Maybe he’ll choke on it too while he’s at it.
A streak of lightning blazed past the cabin’s porthole, reflecting off something metal around the bounty hunter’s neck. Garhet’s medallion! He had almost forgotten about it. Instinctively, he stepped forward, reaching out for the object, only to have his hand smacked away by the flat of his own sword.
“I don’t think so, little man.”
“Please. My friend’s necklace. It’s all I have left of him.” Krin pointed to the medallion.
The giant lifted the medal up, eyeing it suspiciously before turning his gaze back to Krin. He pulled the chain from around his neck, breaking one of the gold links, and tossed it to him with a tinge of regret flashing across his brow.
“Sure. It’s too fancy for my taste anyway,” said the big man. “Besides, it doesn’t fit right around my neck.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t be thanking me just yet. And don’t be getting any wrong ideas about me. I respect the runt for putting up such a good fight. That’s all.”
Krin looked at the giant, and smiled to himself. He would watch for an opportunity, then escape. Krin clutched the medallion tightly in his hand, and turned to look out the tiny porthole once more.
He would escape. He just knew it.
***
According to Krin’s calculations, the storm had passed a couple of hours ago. As he lay in the corner of the cabin, curled up in a tight ball, he listened to the crew outside repairing the damages to the ship in hopes of getting back under way as soon as possible. The giant’s great snores shook the wooden planks beneath Krin in a brutal rhythm. The horse blanket he had been given only covered most of his torso, and he laid there shivering while struggling to pinpoint just where his life had gone so wrong. For the briefest of moments, he considered turning to Nichol
as’ God for the answers, but thought better of it. He had gone seventeen whole years without invoking the Christian deity’s name to bail him out of a bad situation. He wasn't about to start now.
But he already had, hadn’t he? When Garhet had been thrown overboard, what was the first thing he did? Without even thinking, he had appealed for divine help.
Has it come to this? Am I this desperate that I need to turn to faery tales for magic solutions? Uncomfortable with both the hard floor on which he lay and the question itself, he turned again; wishing for sleep to take him. But his mind continued to buzz with thoughts of his quest, and escape. The hardness of the floor became a stark reminder that no divine would care enough to ever help him. In the end, of course, it really didn’t matter whether God helped or not. Garhet was still dead, and Krin was the captive of a beastly barbarian bent on returning him to Alexandrius just as soon as they arrived in Germania.
A lot of good you did me. He glanced up at the cabin’s ceiling. Toward Heaven above. You may have deluded my father, but I'm not so gullible.
He allowed himself a low, self-indulgent growl of frustration just as the bolt to the cabin door slid back with a clink. Krin tensed as the door squeaked open a few inches revealing a soft warm glow of the deck lantern. Sitting upright, he glanced over at his captor. Still asleep. He looked at the open door. The giant didn’t move; his immense legs dangled harmlessly off the end of the bed as a stream drool oozed into his matted beard. The bounty hunter was dead to the world.
Krin heart rate quickened. This might be his chance to escape. But where would he go? It was a small ship, and there were very few places to hide. He couldn’t very well jump overboard. What would that accomplish? The giant knew this. That was why he slept so soundly now. Krin had nowhere to go. He was stuck. At least, until they reached port.
The Legend of the Winterking: The Crown of Nandur Page 7
