Reavers of the Blood Sea

by Richard Knaak

  “What about the emperor?” Broedius asked one of the generals as Aryx rode up.

  “He survived,” responded Hojak. “Led a contingent of the palace guards north of here. Arm wound, but Chot’s okay. He—” Hojak cut off as he recognized the newcomer.

  The knight commander looked Aryx’s way. “Ah. Hail to you, Aryx Dragoneye! One of the heroes of the battle of … the battle of Nethosak!” Until now, Broedius had never used the minotaur name for the imperial capital. “According to reports, you must have been in twelve places at the same time, wielding swords and axes ten feet long!”

  Uncertain whether the human praised or mocked him, the minotaur replied, “I fought just as everyone else did.”

  “And where you fought, others found the strength to fight on, despite the foul mist. An insidious, thing, that fog. As we suspected, once it lifted, the damned illness began to fade, too. For the first time in days, I can breathe freely. Oh, there are some still beyond help, but those in the ranks with only the first symptoms claim that their lungs have already cleared up … and we’ve you to thank, it seems.”

  One of the generals raised his axe in salute. “Hail, Aryximaraki de-Orilg! Hail, Aryx Dragoneye!”

  Others in the group, even some of the knights, raised their weapons in salute. Aryx felt perplexed. He had done nothing but try to survive the battle. His gaze drifted to the back, where he suddenly noticed Rand in deep conversation with Carnelia, whose arm hung in a sling. Suspicions formed. What had the cleric told them? If anyone deserved to be hailed as a hero, it was Rand.

  “I did nothing,” he insisted. “Others such as General Geryl are certainly more deserving.”

  Broedius waved off his protests. “Most think otherwise, Aryx, and those like General Geryl will not be forgotten. Victory might be ours, but the price proved heavy.”

  How heavy, Aryx finally learned. The casualties among both races had been high, more so, of course, among the more numerous minotaurs. In several areas, even noncombatants had perished, including the very young and very old. The soulless Magori had made no distinction between warrior and child. Any living creature not a part of their swarm had been marked for death. Reports filtered in from beyond the capital of mass deaths, areas completely overrun. In some places, the Magori had wiped out all resistance and had been on their way deeper into the island when the fog had been pushed back by the cleric’s spell, which the young warrior later discovered Rand claimed had been a blessing of Kiri-Jolith. Still, no matter how far into Mithas the crustaceans had encroached, all had turned and fled when deprived of the cover of fog.

  Among the dead lay many of the clan patriarchs and top-ranking warriors of the realm. Four members of the Supreme Circle had perished, General Geryl chief among them. Dying with Geryl in the desperate stand that had delayed much of the swarm during the last few crucial minutes had been Drejjen. To Aryx’s surprise, the subcommander had rallied what troops remained after the general’s death, utilizing minotaur and human alike with respect. Two minotaurs and one knight had survived that stand, and both of the former had reported that Drejjen himself had died only because he had tried to fill in the gap left when one of their own had fallen. A Magori blade had ripped through the knight’s breastplate, slaying the subcommander with a single blow.

  Despite the many names Aryx heard, two failed to be mentioned. No one had seen or heard from either Seph or Delara. Most of the officers knew them only by sight, but Carnelia and Rand could offer no hope either.

  Broedius showed him some sympathy, reminding Aryx that he had once lost a brother, but then the knight turned the conversation back to other reports. Most important was the vast damage to the port and the ships there. “The entire harbor, in fact, is strewn with wreckage and ravaged vessels. As you reported earlier, the Predator lies at the bottom, not only useless to us but also creating a navigational hazard. There are others, too. The crustaceans’ master made certain that they destroyed as much as possible. So far, reports indicate that at least half, and possibly three-quarters, of the expeditionary ships are beyond saving!”

  “Then even though we’ve won, we still might have lost,” Aryx ventured. He looked out at the ruined harbor, studying it while he considered the knight commander’s problem. With effort, it would be possible to make the way clear for some shipping. In fact, the southern half needed only to have a few of the worst vessels towed to port, where they could be stripped to repair others. Unfortunately, what Lord Broedius said was true. Few large, sturdy vessels remained. The Vengeance had survived with only minor damage, but the Queen’s Veil might not prove seaworthy. Two of her masts had been shattered, one of which had collapsed onto the deck. She also listed, which made Aryx suspect that the Magori had ripped through some of the planks. She would likely need a complete refitting in dry dock, something they had no time for now.

  “Too true, minotaur,” Broedius replied to his earlier comment. The knight stared at him under thick brows. “What say you, Aryx? Will they return?”

  “My opinion is only one,” Aryx pointed out. Seeing that the human would not be satisfied with that, he grudgingly added, “No, I don’t think they will, but this isn’t over.”

  “I agree, but for now we must return to the most important matter at hand … preparing to get this expedition under way before anything else delays it.”

  Aryx felt glad to see that he was not the only one stunned by Broedius’s almost casual statement. “What do you mean? We’ve barely survived this attack, and we still don’t know how much damage there’s been to Kothas! The dead must be properly bidden farewell and the wounded must be tended! As you yourself pointed out, Lord Broedius, we’ve hardly a good ship left!”

  “The dead will be tended to properly, yours and ours, Aryx. The wounded, too. My scouts report that the capital’s fared better than you might think. Most of the damage is toward this end. Some supplies were lost, but we can supplement what remains when we reach Ansalon.” The knight commander paused, facing both minotaurs and humans, as if daring any to disbelieve his words. “And as for ships, if we must cobble together what we need, then so be it! I already have a number of men ready to inspect the damage to each vessel still afloat, and even if some of them have to be towed, I’ll—”

  “That will not be necessary, Lord Broedius.”

  Rand, Carnelia slightly behind him, faced the assembled officers. He smiled briefly at Aryx, then put on a look of calm determination. The young warrior marveled that the cleric could still stand after the effort of his odd spell. Aryx shut his true eye; the aura had again dulled to nearly nothing. Whatever energy the cleric had invoked, he had used almost all of it.

  A peculiar magic, the minotaur thought. More a part of him than anything else …

  Broedius frowned at Rand’s interruption. “What do you mean by that, cleric?”

  The pale figure cleared his throat. “Do what must be done to gather as many seaworthy craft as possible, Lord Broedius, but we must be under way in a few days.”

  “And to what do I owe this even greater miracle, my miraculous cleric? Between you and Aryx, perhaps I don’t even need the might of the minotaur legions! Perhaps I should just send you two to Ansalon to sweep away the minions of Chaos!”

  “Scoff if you like,” Rand returned, more defiant now, “but know that in two days, they will be here.”

  “Ah, yes! Now I understand! But the Queen’s Champion and the Dragonwing, as immense and proud as they are, cleric, will hardly replace what we’ve lost.”

  “I do not mean those ships, but if they come, so much the better.” Rand glanced at Carnelia, who apparently shared his secret. “No, Lord Broedius, in two days, others will arrive.”

  “Others?” Now the knight commander frowned. “What others? Who? How many? What secret have you been hiding, Rand?”

  “One of necessity.” He shrugged. “I swore an oath. They felt it best to do under the circumstances, but now I can safely tell you. They will be here when I said, that I promise. Enough s
hips to enable this expedition to continue and additional warriors to aid in the cause of Krynn.”

  That said, Rand turned away. However, Broedius remained unsatisfied. “You’ve still not told me who our new allies are, cleric. Where do these ships come from?”

  The thin blond man did not turn, but he did answer … to a point. “They come from the east … or maybe the southeast, Lord Broedius. I know no more than that. And as to who they are, well, we shall all see … in two days.”

  The Kazelati

  Chapter Fourteen

  On the day on which Rand had predicted the ships would arrive, Aryx found the cleric standing as a lone sentinel on a ridge overlooking the port. He had stood there since morning, never moving, always watching. From time to time, the patient cleric had reached into a small pouch at his side or for the waterskin sitting nearby, but never did he abandon his chosen post, not even when others began to wonder if perhaps his promise had been a false one.

  Lord Broedius had questioned Carnelia about this, and to Aryx’s surprise, she had defended Rand openly to her uncle, saying that the cleric’s word of honor meant as much to him as Carnelia’s did to her. Lord Broedius had quieted after that, but from time to time, he had men check the horizon for any sign.

  While the cleric patiently waited, word came at last from Kothas and Pries Avondale, the knight commander’s representative there. Curiously, the other island had suffered to a lesser degree than Mithas, perhaps because the imperial capital, the heart of the homeland, stood on the latter isle. As with past adversaries, the servants of Chaos had surely seen Nethosak as the prime target. That was not to say that losses had not been heavy on the other island, especially since no one had alerted Avondale as to the new alliance. On Kothas, subcommanders had organized all defenses, led all talons and legions. Half of Morthosak lay in ruins.

  However, Pries Avondale had instigated a bit of diplomacy of his own, making certain that minotaurs commanded in some manner, albeit on a minor scale. He had also made certain not to waste their numbers, which Aryx appreciated, knowing that his parents and some of his siblings were there. The knight commander and his second were contrasts in many ways. Broedius carried a passion within him, a passion that had melded to a degree with that of the minotaurs. Pries Avondale, on the other hand, remained more reserved, less likely to reveal his inner self. After the debacle with the crowds at the imperial port, Aryx had feared for the stability of the other island, but Avondale had done his best to smooth matters over. The minotaurs who journeyed with him from Kothas on one of the few remaining ships spoke highly of his efforts during the battle.

  More important to Aryx than anything, even the mysterious fleet that had still not arrived, was finding Delara and his brother. Separated from him and driven to another part of Nethosak by the Magori hordes, they had been forced to fight for their lives. Seph had somehow managed to come through nearly unscathed, although he now sported a long scar across his right shoulder, and the tip of his left horn had been cracked off, which caused Aryx to jest that his brother wanted to be the new Orilg.

  Delara, however, had suffered a bad gash in her right forearm and a slightly less severe one in her left leg, both of which were now bandaged. Despite her wounds, though, she had leapt up at sight of Aryx, embracing him. Somewhere along the way, Seph had surreptitiously left the pair alone, something they only discovered much later.

  Seph and Delara had joined him this morning, the trio forming part of an impatient throng gathered on the water’s edge. Word of the mysterious fleet had spread, and many had come to watch, some with weapons, just in case the newcomers turned out to be more danger than aid. Several minotaurs continued to stare at Aryx’s emerald orb, and more than once he heard his name whispered along with the unnerving appellation Dragoneye. Aryx had related to his companions the fantastic tale of how he had received the orb, but while they managed to treat him the same as before, few others did. Everywhere the warrior went, the whispers followed. Dragoneye … Dragoneye …

  He continued to mull over this dismaying addition to his name as he rejoined Delara and Seph.

  Delara put her arm around him. “You are back fast. Any change?”

  “None. Rand stands up there all alone. I tried to approach him, but he didn’t care to have anyone near.”

  Seph glanced in the direction of the ridge. “Did he say anything about the ships?”

  “Nothing. He still acts as if he expects them to arrive, though.”

  “Perhaps they were delayed by weather … or worse,” Delara suggested. “We’ve all heard the rumors about terrible happenings all over Ansalon.”

  “I’d still like to know who they are. Rand’s not let slip any hint. I doubt that they’re knights, or else Lord Broedius would’ve known about them first.”

  Seph squatted for a moment, trying to work tired muscles. Like the others, he had spent much of the day cleaning up the city, carrying or lifting heavy barrels and crates or shifting old rubble aside. “I just hope they come.”

  “He’s leaving.” Delara pointed toward the ridge. “Do you think he’s given up?”

  In the distance, the weary cleric slowly made his way down the ridge. The others watched, certain at first that Rand had given up his vigil. However, as the cleric descended, he turned toward the docks.

  Aryx frowned. “He doesn’t look like he’s giving up. He looks like he’s expecting company … and soon. I think we’d better go see.”

  It didn’t take them long to catch up to Rand. He ignored the curious stares of knights and minotaurs as he calmly walked to the very edge of the Blood Sea. As the others approached, he raised both hands high and waited.

  “What is it?” Seph called, unable to conceal his eagerness. “Do you see them?”

  Rand did not turn his gaze from the sea. “They will be here.”

  His companions peered out across the water but did not see anything. A thin haze spread across the water, but not enough to prevent them from seeing for quite some distance. Still, no ships appeared. Rand remained stalwart, but Delara and Seph shifted uneasily. Aryx knew that they had come to like the cleric, despite his outward formality, and did not want him falling into disgrace for making such outrageous promises in a time of dire crisis.

  Aryx squinted, using the dragon eye in the hope that perhaps it could see more distant objects. Perhaps the ships were just at the horizon, too tiny for a normal eye to see.

  He saw nothing but more open sea. Aryx squinted harder, not knowing if it would make any difference.

  An immense shadow materialized in the haze.

  Surprised, Aryx opened both eyes wide … only to have the shadow fade away. For a moment, he had thought he had glimpsed a fleet of ghost ships, shadowy forms not too distant from the waiting port. Now, however, the minotaur saw nothing.

  He squinted again, utilizing only the emerald orb.

  The shadow ships materialized again, even closer now. Tall, ominous vessels, reminiscent of minotaur ships save that they were sleeker in design, swifter in the water. As he watched, they cut the distance to the port by half again. Their sails billowed, making full use of the sea winds. Aryx tried to count them, but could not. Not only were there too many, but in the mist, they also seemed to mingle with one another.

  “By Honor’s Face …” he finally managed. “Rand, I think your ships have arrived.…”

  “What?” Rand shifted position. “You may be right.”

  He lowered his arms just long enough to take hold of the mace hanging from his side. Raising the weapon above his head, Rand swung the heavy weapon back and forth almost like a flag. The others stood clear, not because they feared being struck, but because they were uncertain as to what the cleric intended.

  Suddenly the sea filled with ships.

  They materialized everywhere, an armada as great as any the minotaurs had ever assembled. Above each flew a flag both vaguely familiar and yet completely unknown. In a field of gold stood a silver, twin-edged battle-axe. In some way,
it reminded Aryx of his own house’s clan symbols, but clearly these were not vessels of Orilg nor of any other house. In fact, together the major houses of the empire would have been hard put to gather such a fleet, especially now.

  Aboard the foremost ship, he spotted the crew, all minotaurs. To his surprise, they resembled him, being slimmer in appearance and slightly more angular in the face than most minotaurs of the empire. The majority wore kilts similar to his own, save that the garments were of darker hues. The newcomers moved with a supple grace, and from their swift work aboard ship he knew they had reflexes superior to many champions of the arenas.

  “Who are they?” Delara whispered. “Where are they from?”

  Rand’s only reply was a shake of his head. He lowered the mace and watched quietly as the lead vessel maneuvered carefully through the treacherous, wreck-filled waters, at last coming into port.

  A vast band of riders approached from the city, Lord Broedius, Carnelia, and several minotaur and human officers among them. The knight commander remained mounted, but Carnelia joined Rand and the minotaurs.

  “You spoke the truth after all,” the senior knight called. “What you didn’t say was just how many ships were coming.”

  “I did not know a number, only that they would bring as many as possible. I did not even know that they would be minotaurs!” Rand grimaced. “I do know that they and I follow the same patron.”

  “Oh?” Lord Broedius stared out at the countless vessels. “Are you saying that they all follow Kiri-Jolith?”

  “Either Kiri-Jolith or Paladine, my lord.”

  “Amounts to the same thing, cleric.”

  Rand shook his head slightly. “Not to some, Lord Broedius.”

  The ship finished docking. Aryx studied the vessel closer, noting that the name had been written in an old style of minotaur script. Avenger’s Axe. A strong name.

  A sleek brown male with a patch of black running down his muzzle marched toward Rand, followed by two sturdy female warriors who looked enough alike to be twins. All three stood slightly taller than the average minotaur. The male saluted Rand respectfully, ignoring the rest. “Captain Bracizyrni de-Kaz reporting, Revered—”