Dragonclaw Dare

by Brian S. Ference

  Briad was nowhere in sight.

  The captain of the companion ship seized on the creature’s distraction and launched a full attack on the sea serpent. He stood tall at the foredeck, a brawny man with arm raised giving orders and a curved sword gleaming in the other. His fierce expression told many tales. Calling out in a loud voice, he commanded with authority, ordering the schooner to veer in and sight harpoons on the beast’s skull and scaly hide. Grim-bearded men released the pressure springs from the guns and iron bolts blasted into her hide, one catching in her eye.

  With a grateful gasp, Darek paddled away.

  Chapter 5.

  Captain Serle

  The creature thrashed and wriggled like a blind worm on a hook. In a last act of defiance, the serpent bashed its crusty head against the forward strakes. The pirate schooner rocked in reply and the men of the crew cried in alarm. But the blow was not enough to sink her and she only took on a bit of water, though it scared some of the cockiness out of the crew. A monster from another age, it splayed hideous in its death throes and sank from sight. Darek watched, spellbound, paddling on his piece of driftwood, hoping to escape the enemies’ notice. Other drowning men clambered to get on to his bit of sanctuary, but he kicked them off, pushing away with his strong legs.

  The surviving ship rounded in to pick up the survivors in the bloody froth. Bits of ship and men floated everywhere; masts, rigging, an arm, cracked planks and splintered oars littered the sea. Gulls and other seabird scavengers gathered and squabbled jealously over the feast.

  A thick hand reached out and seized Darek by the scruff of the neck. Rude hands hauled him aboard. He cursed and struggled, though he had hardly any energy left to fight.

  Briad lay on the sopping floor of that longboat like a beached mackerel, sucking air into his lungs.

  “Aye, a scratcher and biter, this wee little one,” croaked one of the six hardened rogues in the boat, yellow teeth flashing in a sneer.

  “Give him a bit of medicine, Alred. That’ll teach the beggar.”

  A buffet to the crown lay Darek low, dazed him. He found himself flat out on the sodden planks, shaking the stars out of his head.

  The schooner, battered but alive with motion, anchored and set herself in irons. Rocking in the swells, she accepted survivors. The longboat bumped against her side and ropes slapped down to draw men up. Darek, in his haze, saw the stark black lettering under her gunwales: the Persephone.

  He was thrust rudely on the deck and wallowed in his hurts, bruises and aches. Briad slumped at his side. A medley of bearded faces and hairy fists wielding knives and other weapons crowded in to leer at them. Rough deckhands prodded the two aft of the foredeck where the captain could get a look at Darek and the other survivors.

  “A sorry mess. The serpent’s dead,” said the Harpoonmaster aside a keg of ale, muttering into his beard.

  “Too bad we couldn’t have got its filthy head and strung it on a spit,” growled the captain, his black eyes narrowing thoughtfully on the captives. “Could have been a nice trophy to roast over our fires for the spring feast.” He spat a wad of phlegm on the deck.

  “’Tis a dark and gloomy day, Serle. I see this as an ill portent.”

  “Quiet your tongue, Gibar. You’ll jinx the seadogs. It only proves we’re dauntless. We’re men that can kill anything that swims, true lords of the sea. There’ve been more of these fiends every week. Vipers! Normally they stick to the eastern deeps, not venturing this far west.”

  “Dark magic is about, Serle,” said the bosun who had joined the group, grumbling. “Demons come from the bowels of the sea. Like great Osun said of old, beasts be beasts, and the bane of our heritage.”

  The captain grimaced, his lips curling at mention of ‘beasts’ and that ancient name. “Osun will protect us.”

  The schooner was still taking on water. A visible, jagged crack in her ribs ran to midships on starboard.

  The captain called down into the hold a crisp, irate command. “Man the pumps. Amest, have ten men down there with buckets! Where’s your mend kit?”

  “Here, Captain.”

  “Get a move on. Smear the sides with tar and board her up.”

  Darek’s gaze swung from the sprawl of wreckage out in the swells to the savage pirate leader. He had finely-rendered dragon tattoos running up his throat. His lean muscled height gave him a sense of presence, a roguish twinkle to his eyes, mirthful yet as cold as the depths and as hard as an anchor. Most of these rogues sported ratty beards, some braided, others dangling with beads, but he had only a sandy mustache, oiled and pointed at the ends.

  While others helped the injured, the man in the crow’s-nest yelled down, “No other serpents, Cap'n, nor ships—the water be clear.”

  “Very well, Halpar, haul it into Ridderwin.”

  “Aye, aye, Cap’n!”

  Darek, squatting on the deck, growled a curse under his breath. The noise caught the attention of the captain.

  “This stripling must have been out for a joy ride on his daddy’s boat. Cost him dearly—and me too. Tow in his sloop. Seems as if it’s the only collateral we have against our own losses.”

  One of the brawny men who had drawn in Darek and his companion, replied, “Poor Manx, the blighter, lost his ship and went down with it. Reckon we lost nearly twenty men.”

  The captain chewed his lip. He toyed idly with the strange lettering on his cutlass. “Get the survivors cleaned up and these fingerlings in irons.”

  Five deckhands, with no gentle handling, hauled Darek and Briad midships and plunged them through a trap in the deck to the prison hold below. The door shut and darkness swept over them. Only the smell of moldy straw and rotten fish reached Darek’s nostrils. A trickle of foul water oozed at his feet. “Well, at least we’re alive,” he muttered.

  Briad groaned. “I think I’d rather be dead.”

  * * *

  Later that day, the two were brought up on deck again into the setting sun’s glare.

  More grim faces swarmed around them, as the pirates discussed their fate.

  “These mangy rats caused us a lot of grief, Serle, and they should be put to death.” The bosun fingered his cutlass and brought it close to Briad’s neck. “This one’s a mousy specimen.” The haggard man shifted back.

  “Well, they’re fisherboys—kids, my guess. Look, how soft this one is. The other’s got a bit of meat on him.”

  Another snarled. “Aye, lost us a good ship and hearty men.”

  “Death’s too good for ’em!”

  “Here, here,” snorted others.

  “I didn’t ask you to attack my ship,” sneered Darek in a croaking voice. “You got what you deserved—hope you all die by serpents, or mauled by monster squids.”

  The captain blinked at him, his gaze demanding silence. “A tetchy tongue you have.” His eyes squinted in surly amusement, as if wondering how one stripling and a wayward fisherman could have survived a serpent attack. “I don’t know how you did it, boy, but you’re on my ship now. Only by my grace have I spared your hide, so you’d better keep a civil tongue in your head. Many of the lads wish to slit your throat.”

  There were many grumbles to this effect.

  “Where you from?”

  “Swordfish Isle, Cape Spear,” Darek replied sullenly.

  “So, an islander? A soft Red Clan Islander?”

  “A lie,” snorted a red-bearded thug. “His friend’s got a Black Claw slave mark on his wrist. See it here?” He pulled at Briad’s right forearm to show the others. “See. A runaway?”

  “No,” croaked Briad. “A—A wizard branded me. Killed my father, set a serpent on us. My brother’s been eaten—alive.”

  The pirates laughed. “And my mammy’s the Queen of Nevermore. Wizards! There’s no wizards about. No lies, pilgrim. It’ll go worse for you.” The red-beard boxed his ears and tripped him to the ground with his foot.

  Darek stirred and rose angrily. “Leave him alone. He speaks the truth.”


  The captain rubbed his chin. “Perhaps, boy. We’ll see. Helmsman! Guide the Persephone fair and true—to the homelands. Darmestra’ll be expecting us, and will have my balls if I’m not back with some choice spoils!”

  Chapter 6.

  Pirate Cove

  For a day and a half the wounded craft slogged through the swells, ever eastward toward the Serpent’s Deep. The seas were relatively peaceful this time of year, else it would have not have boded well for the Persephone which was drawing in brine despite the captain’s efforts.

  Gulls cried symphonies as they swooped and dropped guano on the deck and Darek saw naught of other ships. The captain ordered him and Briad put to work bailing water from the hold, then on deck, shining and polishing the cleats, coiling ropes, swabbing the weather-worn planks and gutting fish for the crew’s dinner. Darek was grateful for the work versus huddling miserably in that filthy murk of a hold. Briad remained quiet.

  Ships bearing the yellow and black banners of the Free Band of pirates grew in number and the three-masted Persephone made her daunting last leg toward Devil’s Lair on the northwest shores of the pirate isles and around the ring of Fang Rock and Crypter’s Cove. Toadlike bulks of earth and rock loomed out of the blue-glinting sea with thick forest and bare grey crags on her brow. A designated pirate sailed the battered Star-runner in the schooner’s wake as her sails bellied to the winds.

  Darek had never traveled this far east before. Few Red Clan members had—and fewer ever returned.

  The schooner plowed through the sheltered waters of Dogdown Strait on half sail. “Take her through clear,” rumbled the captain at his helmsman.

  Darek marveled at the ancient stone towers guarding the narrow mouth to the pirate cove. They stood like sentinels left over from a forgotten age. Impressive harpoon cannons pointed down from arrow holes to skewer the crews of any invading ships.

  Darek saw wooded shores from his crouched position at the windlass aft of the harpoons. He scrubbed the planks with increased vigor, lest he incur Captain Serle’s wrath. Treacherous shoals could rip out a hull’s bottom, Darek knew. He was surprised that Serle was not taking it slower through the narrow seaway with its dark shadows cast by the towers passing over the ship. The helmsman must know the water well. “Avast, make way, lads, to Ridderwin!”

  The ship anchored in the circle bay nigh of the high wooden docks and the seamen piled into longboats and rowed them to shore. Looking up the beach and into the neighboring sea firs and stickypalms, Darek glimpsed blue smoke curling from primitive thatched dwellings with low conic roofs and sides wrapped with hides. Oxen and brute beasts, akin to aurochs, trod a muddy trail up into low hills, hauling wood to the shore for ship-building and fuel. Banana and coconut trees swayed among the plumed stickypalms. Other members of the pirate settlement pulled in the catch of the day from the bay; enticing aromas arouse from the spits in the common yard sizzling with swordfish and succulent clams rotating on spits over open flames. The curling smoke and cooked meat reminded Darek of his hunger. Surly corsairs with tricorn hats, horned caps and shiny cutlasses shoved them up the seaside path, along a line of trees and beach. Briad sweated and panted behind him.

  Down the bay stretched a shipyard of hijacked vessels. Masts teetered high—Black Clan, Blue Clan, Red Clan, even a Black Clan steamer that must have listed at sea and been towed across the Serpent Waters for salvage.

  Several island seamen sauntered out to greet the new arrivals.

  “Crack open the kegs, Lygbryd,” roared Serle, heaving himself forth to embrace his clansman. “What a day! I need some comfort.”

  “Aye, Chief.” The horned helmed islander thrust a whalebone cup of mead in his master’s hands. “You look like hell.”

  Serle downed the cup in a single gulp. “Feel like it too. We lost a ship to those damn serpents out there! But we killed one of their number. Sent it on its way to the deeps.” He wiped his mouth of the foam and thrust the empty cup in his retainer’s hands. “What news?”

  “The usual. Vestigix caught Marlot lifting coins from the treasury during one of our raids.”

  Serle scowled. “Well, he knows the law. The thief’s hand comes off on the morrow. No man steals from me.” He smacked his lips. “What else?”

  Darek looked over at the stolen pirate vessels, nursing the ironic thought that Serle and his thugs were nothing but ‘thieves’ themselves, scavenging ships and other islanders’ valuables.

  “Sala got in another catfight with your ‘other half’, Darmestra. Near tore her eye out.”

  Serle grinned. “I like those squabbling wenches. Feral. Just the way they should be. Well, let them fight over me. If anything of value is worth fighting over, it’s me.”

  Laughter came from the group of men assembled before Serle.

  Lygbryd motioned a hand. “Who’re these pups then, with the surly looks and the foul mutters?”

  “They are a couple of codfish grunts we picked up on that sloop. Varnor says we should kill them all for the mess they made of our boats.”

  Lygbryd nodded. “Varnor’s wiser than most. I say we should kill them too. Less mouths to feed. Unless you plan to make them slaves.”

  “I’ve ruled they live, Lygbryd. They’ll play in the games. Like minnows, let them sink or swim!”

  Lygbryd grunted with a shrug. “Suit yourself, Serle. It matters little to me.”

  The wounded sailors were given over to their women to attend their injuries. Willowy figures coming out from brailwood yurts brought herbs and cloth bandages. Garish women indeed, ornamented in shells and shiny bracelets. They looked exotic enough, thought Darek, and not uncomely in their colorful plaited bangs, thick black curls and pleated sea-island clothes. Horsehair whips hung at their belts.

  Darek was surprised to find the pirates kept livestock and seemed to have other industries besides mindlessly raiding and slumming aboard their anchored ships. They had a village ringed by several massive firepits. Copper and bronze spits still hung with last night’s leftover meat: stag or auroch from what his eyes and nose told him. The embers glowed and the charred meat and sweet-sour smell of stickypalm ale stirred his olfactory senses.

  How his heart wished he could be a wizard and fly out of here! Or curse those rogues and turn them into crabs. That would be a wizardly feat indeed. It almost made him laugh, if he weren’t in such a dire circumstance. He thought back to the black-garbed spellcaster on the beach of that stark scrub island. A shiver passed through his body. If that’s what being a wizard was all about, he wanted no part of it.

  Bare-chested slaves moved in a towline alongside huge tusked oxen to the beat of whale-hide drums. Whips of horn-helmed slave-drivers slapped the men’s gleaming thighs, encouraging efforts at a breakneck pace. Grunts and heaves filled the air. The slaves hauled their barrows of copper-ore seaside or dragged small four-wheeled carts by means of chains.

  Darek winced at such a sight. Somehow he intuited his destiny was to be that of backbreaking labor, like it or not. That or shipped to Fang Island to work in the copper mines. The threat of pirate enslavement kept Black and Red Claw nosers-about at bay, he knew. The pirates were more industrious than he had ever imagined.

  The horned, tusked beasts struggled under the weight of their loads: copper ingots freshly mined from the nearby cliffs. The rocks brought for chipping and smelting at the refinery were as valued as nuggets of pure gold as far as raw materials went. Smoke billowed from twin stacks of the smelter, a rectangular metal structure, tucked amid green trees off to the side.

  The pirates-slavers worked their beasts, to haul raw material from the hills. The rest, the old and sick, were used as hides for their houses and on their backs.

  The path veered toward the animals’ fenced-in pens. Island aurochs, or tuskoxen, large, shaggy beasts with downsloping backs and massive hooves, stood within. White and yellow horns extended outward past their ears, tusks flanking snouts upturned like a boar’s. Sweating figures, mostly women, herded and fed those brute b
easts unafraid, mingling within the built-in stalls.

  The pirate-slavers worked their beasts hard, the central labor force to haul raw materials from the hills. When old, sick, and weary, they no longer served a viable purpose. Darek guessed the creatures’ tough meat became a steady source of soup and stews, their hides thick coverings for the pirates' huts and leather for their backs and feet.

  A tall, proud woman rode straight in toward them on the other side of the penned yard of tough wooden posts.

  “Round up those strays,” she yelled down in a husky voice to other women on foot or riding smaller mounts. “You too, Lvis, just because you’re my daughter, doesn’t give you special treatment. You’re letting them get away, girl! Herd them in—like this.” Her whip snapped on a headstrong auroch’s back. She kneed the beast forward to shunt a group of the unruliest into the feeding stalls. “Only when they’re young can they be taught manners.”

  Serle stared with pride at his wife and daughter. “Well, good to see some grit around here!”

  Darmestra reared her mount and it gave a low plaintive moan. She rode in closer, her daughter not far from her side.

  “Took you long enough,” she bawled down at him, her surly gaze raking his grin with scorn. “What did you go and do with our boat?” she cried. “It looks near staved in.”

  “Had a little disagreement with a serpent. Lost Manx and the Witherall. Bad turn of luck.”

  “Bad turn of luck? Is that all you can say?” She shook her head with displeasure. “Get a man to do a woman’s job and what do you get—incompetence.” She laid leather whip on the hide of another recalcitrant beast. “Ha, you feisty goat!” Lvis, her lustrous hair flying, struggled to control the disobedient beast she was managing, but seemed to be losing the battle.

  Serle sneered at his wife’s taunt, though warming to his daughter’s fruitless efforts. “The sea is a harsh place, woman.”