Reavers of the Blood Sea

by Richard Knaak

  “But—but how can that be?”

  The Vengeance suddenly shivered, a great groaning sound that sent chills through the female knight. The waves were knocking the ship loose from the reef, and if that happened, she would sink.

  “Not mine,” Rand continued, unaware of the danger. “I can feel … feel it. Something … someone else … controls it now.”

  All this time they had assumed that Rand’s spell had simply gone awry because he had been unconscious. Now Carnelia realized that the battle in the Blood Sea had never ended, that the force that had unleashed the Magori upon them had simply continued its attack in a different manner. Only it could have seized control of so great a spell.

  “Can you do anything to stop it?”

  He shook his head. “No … there is nothing left. Nothing. Kiri-Jolith could not … could not help me, so I followed Aryx’s lead and drew from myself … and now there is nothing left.…”

  He coughed again, nearly losing consciousness. A minotaur, the arrogant Kazelati representative, saw Carnelia and, to her surprise, bent close. “The ship will break apart soon! Come! Let me help you move him to safety!”

  Carnelia gratefully thanked him for his aid. Yet as they gently lifted Rand up and carried him toward the gangplank, she wondered if they should have even bothered. The servant of Chaos had trapped them at last, and even if everyone made it to shore, would it mean anything at all in the long run? Takhisis had abandoned them. Sargonnas had abandoned them. Did they have any hope at all?

  Rand groaned. Carnelia abandoned her dark thoughts. Hope or no hope, gods or no gods, she and the others would fight to the end. They had to.

  What other choice did they have?

  * * * * *

  The Coil quivered once, the many serpentine forms shivering as one. Aryx had some slight hope that something had happened to the horrific creature, but a moment later the thing—or things; Aryx had been unable to decide which term struck nearer the truth—recovered, once again laughing.

  “So you have come! This most loyal one thought it had lost the little mortals for a time, but here one of you comes to it instead! Entertaining, yes! Entertaining little creatures, considering so finite a span of existence! You thought that you would yet escape oblivion, but you are nothing to this most loyal servant, no matter how clever you think yourself!”

  Everywhere the Coil writhed in obvious pleasure. Aryx dropped the rock he had been holding, knowing how futile and foolish it would be to throw it at so gargantuan a monster.

  “Soon, soon …” crooned the Coil from all around him. “Soon this ball of mud you call your world will be returned to the emptiness from which it came, and then the Father of All and of Nothing will reward his most loyal servant with the oblivion his servant so dearly desires! How could you little ones be so arrogant as to reject this most precious gift of Father Chaos?”

  “We value existence,” snarled Aryx, refusing to surrender, even against seemingly insurmountable odds. “We value the chance to do something, to be something, to experience things!”

  “But for what purpose? In the end, all things return to the Father of All and of Nothing! He is the only existence that matters! You would do better to embrace his gifts, to end what surely is a futile path!”

  The weary yet defiant warrior shook his head. “Not having truly lived, you’d never understand.”

  The Coil writhed, but this time not in satisfaction. “This most loyal servant need not understand, for Father Chaos has given a command, and the Coil shall obey!”

  Aryx straightened, staring at the nearest segments of the vile creature. Had he still possessed a weapon, he would have brandished it. Instead, the minotaur could only shake his fist. “As long as we can, we’ll fight!”

  The Coil laughed again, and as it did, new segments sprouted from the earth, rising all around Aryx. The minotaur held his ground, watching as they neared him. If he died, he would die fighting.

  An emerald flash caught his gaze, and as Aryx turned, a figure leapt from hiding, swinging a familiar blade in a savage arc. Caught unaware, the nearest segments of the Chaos creature did not move fast enough, and the Sword of Tears, wailing, sliced through them as if they had no substance at all.

  The Coil shivered as the blade sank deep, a resounding, high-pitched noise that sounded like a cry of pain coming from all directions. What seemed like lightning crackled forth from each wound, followed by a thick stream of some putrid brown ichor. The entire area shook, and parts of the ceiling collapsed, threatening to bury both Aryx and his would-be rescuer: Delara.

  She looked even more strained than when he had last seen her. Her features were pulled tight, her eyes wide and unblinking. Scratches and slight wounds decorated her arms and legs, legacies of her incredible, unwilling journey to reach this place. At her side, the stone in the demon blade’s hilt glowed as Aryx had never seen it.

  The Sword of Tears had forced her along, saving her from death in the Blood Sea in order to drag her to the peninsula, in pursuit, it seemed, of the creature who had commanded the Magori. Aryx realized that such a fate would have been his if he had fallen victim to its will. Looking at Delara now, he wished he had obeyed the artifact, if only to have saved her from this.

  Despite the wounds, the Coil reacted, many of its segments converging on Delara. She leapt aside from some, clucked below others, all the while swinging the blade. Each time it sank into the thick, scaled skin, the Sword of Tears wailed, but to Aryx’s ears, those cries seemed not as triumphant as in times past.

  He looked around, seeking a blade or axe, but found nothing. Delara continued to evade the searching coils, but with less and less ease. She also missed more often as the seconds passed, as if the Chaos creature’s individual parts had begun to take her measure.

  Aryx silently cursed, feeling useless. A weapon … he needed a weapon.

  A great green-gold segment struck Delara full in the body. She went flying across a large portion of the chamber, the sword falling from her hand. The demon blade bounced once, twice, then rolled several feet, landing but a few yards from Aryx.

  Despite the loathing he felt for it, he lunged for the weapon, but as he did, a part of the creature wrapped around his legs, pulling him back. Aryx tried to push himself free, but smaller segments looped around his arms and chest, dragging him away from the Sword of Tears.

  More segments seized Delara, who seemed to be coming to her senses. She tried one feeble attempt to escape them, but they wrapped her even tighter than the others had Aryx.

  The Coil drew them both toward the fiery sphere, turning the pair so that they faced one another.

  “Aryx! It took my mind, buried me within myself! I couldn’t stop no matter how much I wanted to!”

  He remembered how the artifact had tried to usurp his own mind. “I know, Delara. I know.”

  The Coil suddenly raised both of them high, dangling the two helpless minotaurs above the rocky floor. “Little mortals with little pins that prick,” it hissed. “Do you think even that bothers this loyal servant? Even the many, many pinpricks the betrayer, Sargonnas, inflicted when his sanctum was attacked troubled this one little! It will be amusing to watch you as your strength ebbs and your wits scatter. You will make for a pleasant pastime while this ball of dirt fades away.…”

  Without warning, it brought them down hard, stopping just before either of the minotaurs would have struck the ground. “And as you suffer, so, too, will the other little mortals! Would you like to see?”

  Not waiting for a reply, it twisted them toward the sphere, which now pulsated. As they watched, the great sphere expanded, swelling to twice its previous diameter. Intense heat radiated from it, enough to make Aryx sweat.

  At first the image within remained indistinct, murky. Then it gradually defined, although never with the precision of the prior visions. Lumpy shadows rippled along the bottom half of the picture, flowing forward at a constant rate. Something fairly large darted by in the middle. It took a moment fo
r Aryx to realize that the reason for the murky image lay in the fact that what he saw before him took place underwater.

  It took another moment to realize what caused the endless shadows rippling along the seabed.

  “Magori …” Aryx muttered. And as he spoke, they drew into focus. Underwater, their bulbous eyes glowed faintly, and their mouths opened and closed like fish breathing. The monstrous crustaceans bore their weapons as if battle was imminent.

  Battle …

  Delara saw his darkening countenance. “Aryx! What is it? Where are they going?”

  He started to answer, but the Coil spoke first, clearly delighted to explain such dire events to its victims. “The shelled ones have gone to redeem themselves, stupid creatures! This loyal servant has taken the curious spell of the human and made it my own!”

  “The fleet’s been blown toward this peninsula,” Aryx explained. “Some of the ships have run aground, and others are in danger! Broedius and the others are trying to get everyone ashore so they can—”

  “But they won’t have time,” Delara finished. “The Magori are coming after them from below.…”

  The Coil’s harsh laughter rocked the mighty cavern. More loose earth and stone tumbled from above. A glimmer of sunlight cut through at last. Aryx eyed the light with yearning.

  “Oh, clever little mortals! Such delightful toys you make! Soon, yes, the others will know the wonder of Father Chaos’s gift of oblivion! When the Magori are done here, they will attack what remains on your pitiful islets. They will suspect nothing until their blood flows, for did not their precious gods long ago promise their safety? All trace of your kind will be eradicated … but have heart! Soon there will exist no one who will remember your shameful defeat, no one at all!”

  “The gods will stop it!” Delara declared. “Sargonnas will not permit it!”

  Aryx wished he could convince Delara to forget her god. Like the others, Sargonnas had probably fled. The minotaurs and humans had only themselves to rely on now.

  Curiously, though, her mention of Sargonnas caused a reaction in the Chaos creature. Some of the tubular segments pulled back, while others were obviously in an agitated state. The Coil said nothing for a time, not even bothering to mock their hopes.

  At last, in voices a bit too interested, it asked, “And do you know this to be true?”

  “He would never let you destroy us! Never!”

  “But your god is gone … fled or destroyed! The betrayer Sargonnas is no more! He must be!” A segment looped around the Sword of Tears, bringing the demon blade close. The green stone did not glow at all. “Even his toy is no more!” It flung the deadly artifact far aside.

  Aryx watched the blade clatter against one wall of the cavern. As the weapon tumbled to the floor, he thought the stone glowed faintly for a moment, but the image could also have been a product of his own imagination.

  The Coil pulled Delara closer to the sphere. She squinted, the fiery ball’s illumination nearly blinding her. “Where, then, is he? Where?”

  The serpentine segments around her tightened. “I—I don’t know,” she finally gasped.

  “You do not know because there is nothing to know!” the servant of Chaos declared triumphantly.

  Aryx thought he heard a little quiver in that declaration. To his own surprise, the minotaur warrior found himself twisting toward Delara and saying, “You know, I think our friend’s more uncertain than it would like us to think.”

  “There is no uncertainty!” the Chaos creature roared. The echoing sound caused a new cascade of rocks and dirt everywhere, threatening to bring down the entire ceiling. Curiously, it was the Coil itself who protected them from the rocks. “And for you, no hope at all! Your gods, the betrayers, have abandoned you all! They have fled or they have hidden, licking their wounds. They do not dare to show themselves, no matter—”

  “Ah …” Aryx muttered, “but you don’t know for certain, do you?”

  The multitude of serpents coiled around one another in a much more agitated state, clearly affected by the minotaur’s words. Aryx could only guess at the emotions of such an unsettling behemoth, but he suspected that he had come close to the truth. Not only did the Coil not know what had happened to its adversary, but that lack of knowledge disturbed it greatly.

  “Can’t find a god?” he asked it with overexaggerated astonishment. “How can you misplace a god?” Had the Coil been any mortal creature, Aryx’s theatrical mannerisms would have been seen as just that, but the Chaos monster had no basis on which to judge them … or so the gray minotaur hoped.

  “He will be found!” the voice hissed from everywhere. “The betrayer will be found hiding in some little corner of the all, hoping that Father Chaos will not punish him as he deserves! But punish him the Father of All and of Nothing will do, perhaps even giving him to the Coil to play with!”

  “Or,” Aryx interjected, “Sargonnas may be lurking around here even now, waiting for the time when you least expect his attack, prepared to cut each and every one of your segments into little twitching pieces.”

  “No!” Again the various segments of the Coil writhed, many in seemingly independent fashion. The more agitated the horror became, the less control it seemed to have over its individual parts.

  “He could be watching you even now,” Delara suggested.

  The Coil laughed. This time the sound was a little forced. “Little mortal creatures, so cunning, so transparent! This loyal servant does not fear your words! The Coil is great! The Coil is powerful! At this most loyal servant’s command, the Magori die and die again, until by their numbers they will crush the life from your friends! At the Coil’s command, dragons of Father Chaos will soon wreak carnage on your little islets! This most loyal servant need not fear the so-called God of Vengeance! Sargonnas must fear the Coil instead! Yessss, the God of Vengeance fears the Coil!”

  “If it talks long enough, it just might convince itself, Delara,” Aryx returned, trying to hide the fact that the Coil’s mention of friends dying had reminded him of Seph, Hecar, and who knew how many others who had perished in this divine war. “It fights from behind, only taking on the enemy when they’re otherwise occupied. I think it perhaps fears having to fight Sargonnas face-to-face. That must have been some battle in the temple.”

  “Sargonnas does not forget his enemies.” Delara’s eyes brightened in devotion as they often did when she spoke of her god. “Nor do they forget his vengeance … for as long as they live, that is.”

  “You should be crushed,” the Coil abruptly declared. “Yesss, you should be crushed or torn apart or tossed from the sky! Yesss, you should be taken one by one and in most interesting ways be given the gift of oblivion! Let us see if your Sargonnas will protect his chosen, his little mortal pets! Let us see that!”

  Fortunately, before it could attempt to fulfill its threat, something in the sphere caught its attention. The Coil shifted, its many parts rolling over one another in what Aryx decided represented interest. He peered at the sphere, trying to see what would so please the servant of Chaos.

  “They’re attacking!” Delara gasped.

  The Magori had reached the stricken fleet. While the image did not reveal what happened on individual vessels, it did show the crustaceans rising from the water even as the first of those who had made it to shore began to recover.

  The view shifted, and with it came voices and sounds: Minotaurs and knights gathering what weapons they could. Horses being pulled into service. Officers of both races shouting orders.

  Lord Broedius flashed into view. “Form ranks! Archers at attention! Buy us some time! Get fires going! Use torches against them if you can, but don’t depend entirely on them!”

  Broedius became a Kazelati captain. “Double ranks on the right! Defend that position, or the others will never get off the ship!”

  Shifting again, the image retreated, showing a long stretch of wind-tossed shore. The Magori swarmed from the waters, pushing on as if their very lives depende
d upon it.

  “They will not be turned back this time,” the Coil explained. “The Magori, good for nothing but death, know that to fail now would be to suffer! They will fight and yours will die!”

  As they watched, Aryx saw that what the foul creature had said apparently was true. Nothing the Magori had feared in the past seemed to disturb them now. Fire did not daunt them. They did not shun the day, although perhaps the cloud cover proved helpful. Still, they moved without any protection from the mists of past battle. Even the slowest-witted warrior could see these differences and wondered at them. The crustaceans seemed to have adapted to nearly all their failings, even defending their softer regions better from adversaries. They were by no means invincible, but their changes, along with their endless numbers, promised that the battle would surely lean in their favor.

  Nevertheless, Aryx took heart that no one panicked or retreated. Minotaurs did not retreat simply because a foe appeared superior. The knights, too, refused to bow their heads. Arrows downed the first rank with astonishing accuracy. When the Magori grew too near, lines consisting of both humans and minotaurs moved up to meet them, taking the battle to the enemy instead of the other way around.

  The crustaceans swarmed as they never had even on Mithas. Unfortunately, despite its efforts, the first line of defense gave ground in only minutes, overwhelmed by sheer force. Minotaur commanders shouted, directing warriors to where the lines grew thinnest. At last one of Lord Broedius’s elite talons, on horseback, trampled a momentary breakthrough, pushing back the Magori all the way to the Blood Sea.

  Knights and minotaurs alike clearly knew that they could not move into the higher ground deeper inland. Magori lances flew far, as more than one officer shouting orders from higher up discovered. If the lines tried to move up, the Magori would bring them down, using throwing arms remarkable not only in strength but in agility. Even without weapons, some of the Magori charged forward, reaching with their claws or, if near enough, snapping at any unprotected throat or face with their poisonous jaws.