Reavers of the Blood Sea

by Richard Knaak

  “I am not the High Cleric. You may simply call me Rand. Did you encounter any trouble en route?”

  The captain shook his head. “Some storms, but nothing terrible. A clean voyage … Rand. The artifacts used by our robed ones were also able to keep the shielding spells active at all times. I don’t think we were noted at all.”

  Rand shook his head. “We must go with the supposition that you were, Captain Brae. Better to be safe.”

  “Aye, I suppose you’re right.”

  Aryx looked over the newcomers. On their garments, they wore badges with the same unfamiliar clan marking as the ships’ flags. What had the captain said was his name? Bracizyrni … de-Kaz?

  “Clan of Kaz?” he uttered without thinking.

  Brae glanced at him, stone-faced. “I claim blood through his brother, Toron Griffonrider.”

  “And I claim blood directly through his first-born son, Kyris,” Aryx immediately challenged, not liking the other’s haughty tone.

  At first he thought it was his eye that so unsettled the foreign captain, but then he realized that Brae had focused on his lineage. “Direct from Kyris?”

  “Yes, direct from Kyris.” The sudden increase in respect he sensed from the outsider surprised him.

  The cleric interrupted. “Forgive me for interrupting this meeting of cousins, my friends, but we must move on to other matters.”

  Taking the cue, Carnelia stepped forward. The knight saluted Brae, who saluted back after some hesitation. “I am Carnelia, Knight Warrior of the Knights of Takhisis and representative of Lord Broedius, who sits yonder.”

  “I am Brae, captain of the Avenger’s Axe, expedition commander and representative for the ruling council of the Kazelati minotaurs.”

  “Who are the Kazelati?” Carnelia demanded. “I’ve no information concerning your branch of the minotaur empire.”

  Brae almost looked insulted. “We are not a part of the empire. When—” He paused and looked to Rand, who nodded for him to continue. “When the champion, Kaz of the Axe, left the empire, along with him came his mate, Helati, her brother, several of his siblings, including my august ancestor, and countless other warriors who no longer desired their future to be guided by Nethosak. For some time they resided in a region south of the empire. However, finding this to be insufficient, Kaz sent out many to discover a better place where those who followed him could create a newer, superior minotaur society, one that did not prey on others but truly understood the significance of honor and loyalty!”

  This last stirred some disgruntlement among the minotaur generals. Already suspicious, they now eyed the captain and his crew as potential enemies rather than allies.

  “A shorter and simpler version, please, Brac,” Rand tactfully suggested.

  “Aye, cleric. Such a place was found in a small set of islands far to the southeast of Ansalon. There the first major settlement of the Kazelati was raised, Ganthysos, named after the Dragonslayer’s father. Since then we’ve kept our existence secret, although from time to time some left to report on the activities of our unenlightened cousins.”

  Carnelia smirked. “You sent spies to keep an eye on the empire.”

  “We did not interfere unless absolutely necessary.” The captain pointed at Aryx. “By your bloodline, you’re descended from some of them, child of Kyris.”

  Aryx sought to discern some trickery in the stranger’s words but could see no guile. He felt a little uneasy, though, as if he had spied on the empire himself.

  “There must be a change from the original plan, Brae,” Rand finally interjected.

  “What change is that, cleric?”

  “We need you for more now than simply support. You must act as transport for their forces as well.”

  “With all due respect, they’ll be packed in like—”

  The blond human quickly cut Brae off. “All the more important to see to it that we get this journey over quickly. The Knights of Takhisis have a landing point in northeastern Ansalon. This warrior, Carnelia, will no doubt be able to show you and your captains where it is. Meanwhile, we need to send some of the other ships off to the other designated ports, and that has to be done tonight.”

  Rand detailed the matter as if he had given it the utmost consideration for weeks. Aryx suspected that this had been what had concerned the cleric during his vigil. He had promised the ships without knowing if the newcomers would agree. Fortunately, the more Rand explained what he wanted, the more everyone around him seemed to take it for granted that it would be done. Even Carnelia raised no fuss, although Aryx did not envy her when she finally stepped back to relate everything to Lord Broedius. However, it appeared that even the knight commander saw merit in the cleric’s plans, for after he listened to his niece, he made only a few mumbled remarks, then sent Carnelia back to the waiting minotaurs.

  Her look of satisfaction said it all. “Let’s get this started!”

  Rand nodded. “Brae, if possible, please have the Avenger’s Axe stripped of all nonessential items. You must make as much room as you can.”

  “He’d better,” Carnelia added. “Lord Broedius said that if we can, we’re going to pack every warrior available on these vessels.”

  “You still plan to take so many after all that’s happened?” Aryx frowned. “Who will defend Kothas and Mithas if we do that?” He had visions of the old, young, and wounded being slaughtered like cattle by a wave of Magori simply waiting for the bulk of minotaur might to sail away.

  The female knight’s eyes narrowed as she turned to reply. “We’re fighting for the whole world, Aryx, not simply the empire. If the islands have to be stripped to keep this threat from devouring Krynn, can you really argue against that?”

  He could not and saw that even the generals remained silent. Aryx doubted that the opinion of the emperor would vary from theirs, too, although inwardly they all had to be anxious. They could not be pleased to leave the islands almost defenseless, but neither could they turn their backs on the war. Honor would not permit it. If the rest of Ansalon, the rest of Krynn, fell because the minotaurs had hesitated to commit themselves wholeheartedly …

  There’s no choice.… Aryx quietly watched as Captain Brae made arrangements with the Knights of Takhisis and the imperial command. With this new fleet, it would be only a matter of days before they were ready to sail, only a matter of days until the empire lay open to the world. To save others, the minotaurs risked sacrificing themselves.

  The image of Sargonnas flashed in his head—Sargonnas in the Circus, praising his children, speaking of their destiny. Fine, moving words from the god who had, in the end, left them to fend for themselves.

  And where are you, Sargonnas? That creature of Chaos, the thing that called itself the Coil, didn’t know what had happened to you after the temple had been destroyed! Where have you gone?

  Where indeed?

  * * * * *

  The question continued to nag Aryx throughout the rest of the day and the next. Despite that all went well otherwise, that no hint of unnatural fog or sightings of monstrous serpents had been reported, he felt uneasy. It did not help at all that people constantly looked to him as one of the saviors of the capital, nay, the empire. Aryx feared the greatly exaggerated stories of his part in the battle of Nethosak might leave other warriors neglectful. From what he had gathered, most of the stories ended with the underdwellers being driven to the bottom of the sea, where they were sucked away by the Maelstrom, never to return.

  His darkening mood made him poor company for Delara or his brother, although they remained by him regardless. However, clan activities at last forced Aryx’s newfound love to return for a time to her own people, and Seph, exhausted from a day of arranging supplies and helping clear yet more rubble, had collapsed on his bed and fallen immediately to sleep. Aryx, unable to sleep even on the soft bed, at last abandoned the headquarters of the Knights of Takhisis and journeyed out into the evening, keeping his head low and eyes narrowed at all times in order to prevent r
ecognition.

  Even in the dark of night, Nethosak rumbled with activity, almost making it possible for one to forget that a fair portion of the city needed to be rebuilt. The crews from the port had already made much headway in clearing part of the harbor, and to everyone’s surprise, a merchant ship from the southern part of the mainland, completely oblivious to the dire events going on, had sailed in shortly after that, ready to trade.

  Yet despite the rising hopes of everyone else, Aryx couldn’t forget that in a short time the harbor, Nethosak, and the rest of his homeland would again be wide open to attack once the armada departed. Somehow he always ended up blaming the gods for that, for had they not brought this terrible situation to Krynn in the first place?

  The Temple of Sargonnas—what little remained of it—looked much as he had seen it before. The clerics had done nothing to rebuild it yet, not with the efforts of the empire focused on other matters. Aryx noticed that few people passed near it, most going well out of their way to avoid even glancing at the ruins. He, on the other hand, had no difficulty approaching it, even walking up the steps to the doorway, which still stood intact.

  Where are you, O great Blessed One? Aryx silently mocked. Where are any of you now? Does Kiri-Jolith listen to Rand? Do any of you hear us?

  On impulse, the minotaur drew the Sword of Tears, glaring at the dim stone in the hilt. If he could have avoided having anyone else fall prey to it, Aryx would have left the demon blade in the ruins, abandoning the sinister artifact the way the gods had abandoned the mortal races. No good would come of the sword, of that he knew for certain.

  Aryx stood at the top of the steps for several minutes, but no great insight occurred to him. The wind blew strong and the doors, left ajar after his initial discovery of the demon blade, swung slightly, emitting a low but constant creaking sound that gradually frayed his nerves. Sheathing the sword, Aryx stepped forward and pulled the doors tightly shut.

  He blinked. As the doors met, a flash of light from the other side startled him. Gritting his teeth, Aryx immediately shoved the doors back open again, preparing himself.

  Wind, darkness, and the remnants of the marble floor greeted him.

  “Kaz’s Axe!” the gray minotaur muttered. He glanced quickly around, relieved that no one had seen him act the fool. Had he truly expected Sargonnas to reappear now and tell him that everything would be all right? The Horned One had left the sword behind for the very reason that he would not be returning. One demonic artifact had been supposed to make up for his vanishing.

  Frustrated at himself, Aryx reached for the doors again.

  A hand reached out from nowhere and seized his own, pulling the startled warrior through the doorway.

  “You’re never satisfied, are you?” asked a voice both familiar and unknown.

  Aryx declined to answer, for at the moment, he stood at the edge of a precipice so very steep that he could not see the bottom through the cloud cover. Night had somehow turned into day, a bright, almost golden day, but the beauty remained lost on Aryx as he contemplated what would have happened if he had appeared just a few inches ahead.

  “It must run in the blood. I could never be satisfied with my lot either.…”

  Aryx forced his gaze from the staggering drop and glanced at the speaker, an act that nearly made him step off the ledge in surprise. Another minotaur, a battle-axe fastened to his back, stood next to him, taller, a little wider, and scarred in so many places the younger warrior could not count them all. Proud of muzzle and defiant of eye, the elder minotaur seemed made of silver save for two deep brown eyes. Aryx could not tell whether the coloring of the other’s fur had to do with his great age or a force that radiated from him.

  Something about the face reminded him of another profile. The snout appeared slightly longer and the horns were a little bent, but somewhere Aryx had met or seen this veteran champion before. He knew that he faced a champion, in fact faced one who had won the highest honors in the Great Circus itself, for a worn medallion still hung around his neck.

  He focused with the emerald orb, wondering if perhaps that might help him learn some truth about the silver minotaur.

  The elder warrior frowned. “Don’t be turning that evil one’s gaze on me, lad.”

  Aryx immediately ceased. “My apologies … Habbakuk?”

  At first he thought he had offended the glistening figure, but then he realized that the other’s expression had not shifted to anger but rather laughter. “Habbakuk? Me? That would be a good jest on Kiri-Jolith and that bunch! Ha!”

  The axe, a twin-edged terror, shifted as the silver minotaur laughed. Aryx caught a glimpse of his own confused face in its mirrorlike finish.

  The axe jarred another memory to life, but before he could fit the pieces together, his unearthly companion, sobering, looked him in the eyes. “Would that I could send you Habbakuk, lad. Would that I could send anyone other than myself.”

  Now Aryx at least remembered where he had heard the voice. It had been the one that had contended with the God of Just Causes, the one that had never revealed a face. Surely one of the gods, then, despite the comments to the contrary.

  “I shouldn’t be doing this, young Aryx, but what penalty could I pay now? They can’t kill me again; it’s been done too often! Never become a favorite of a god, lad. They’ll keep on finding excuses to disturb your rest.”

  “I don’t understand.…”

  “And you’re probably the better for it.” The gleaming figure pointed beyond both of them. “We’ve much to do in very little time. Tell me, can you see that smoking peak over there?”

  Distracted, Aryx turned to study the distant peak …

  … only to find himself staring down into the mouth of a raging volcano. Incredible heat swept over Aryx and fiery light nearly blinded him. The minotaur stumbled back in shock, nearly sending himself over the edge of a precipice far steeper than the last.

  A buffer of warm air restored his balance. The silver warrior watched him, a hint of amusement in his eyes. Aryx recalled that among Sargonnas’s titles, the shadowy deity included Lord of Volcanoes, yet he knew that this figure could not be the Horned One.

  “Why are we here?” Aryx finally roared, trying to be heard over the rumbling. The volcano below him was one of the four major fiery mountains found in Argon’s Chain, the range which ran down nearly the entire eastern side of Mithas. Although none had erupted in recent memory, they constantly threatened to explode. Aryx still did not know whether the quakes Nethosak had suffered had been because of the invaders or had simply been due to the constant anger of these craters.

  “You wanted the lands protected. We have come here to see to that.”

  The younger warrior was not at all certain that he wanted his people protected in any manner that involved volcanoes. Such protection might end up doing more damage than that against which it defended. He recalled stories of early minotaur settlements completely buried by ash.

  His unsettling guide reached into a belt pouch, then held out his hand and revealed a tarnished minotaur horn more than two feet long. Without ceremony, he tossed the horn into the volcano. “Makel Ogrebane.”

  Aryx knew the name. Makel had been a legendary fighter who had helped free his people from the rule of the ogres … for a time, at least. Aryx watched as the horn vanished into the molten pit with a puff of smoke that fluttered skyward, almost as if with a life of its own.

  The gleaming minotaur watched the smoke vanish, then turned unblinking brown eyes to Aryx. “Come, lad.”

  No sooner had he spoken than they stood upon the lip of another volcano. While this one did not smolder as much as the first, its mouth stretched twice as distant. With one sweep, Aryx’s companion had taken the pair of them miles to the south.

  Here the silver warrior removed a second horn, this one shorter and grayer. The tip looked as if it had been chewed off. He tossed it into the infernal depths with as much fanfare as the first. “Bos of the Blood.”

  Aryx d
id not recognize this name, but when the horn touched the molten earth below, a great column shot up, nearly spraying them. Before Aryx could recover from his surprise, the other had transported them to their third destination, where again he repeated his peculiar ritual. This horn, thinner, shorter, and more curved, proved to be that of Jarisi Longarm, a female archer of great renown during the minotaurs’ struggle against the dwarves.

  At the fourth and last of the volcanoes, the silver champion took more time. Now he removed what seemed the most unremarkable of horns, a plain, tan stick barely two feet long, with very little curve. The end had clearly been broken off long before. A few scratches gave the horn its only character.

  The figure beside Aryx at last threw the horn into the sizzling pool far below. “Orilg.”

  With a gasp, Aryx reached after the artifact, but much too late. As the horn struck the lava, a great puff of steam rose. Aryx squinted to protect his eyes, only to see something unexpected. The steam spread swiftly upward, and as it did, it experienced a ghostly transformation. The vapor became a warrior, a minotaur warrior of unprepossessing yet determined features who rose toward the sky, a short war axe in one hand and a long sword in the other.

  The steam dispersed then, and with it the brief if astonishing vision.

  “Mithas and Kothas have their sentinels now. Let even dragons beware.…” The unearthly figure turned to face the younger minotaur. “The best I could do, lad. Don’t worry about the homeland now.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Made an agreement with some loyal friends.” He reached out to Aryx. “Give me your hand.”

  “Why?”

  “Don’t be suspicious of me. Give me your hand.”

  Aryx reluctantly did as requested. The silver warrior seized hold of his wrist. The blink of an eye later, they stood on the original peak.