Reavers of the Blood Sea

by Richard Knaak

  All around him the cavern shook as Sargonnas and the Coil locked in magical combat. Mountains of rock and earth had been pushed up. Little of the ceiling had survived, turning the cavern into a tall, jagged valley. Despite the destruction, Aryx paid little mind to the cosmic duel.

  He reached for Delara. Her body felt warm, very warm, and his hopes rose. Aryx gently turned her over, trying to be careful not to cause any further damage to her wounds.

  His hopes shattered as he stared at her deathlike face. Hand shaking, he checked her heart.

  “No … By the gods, no!” First Seph, now Delara. The servants of Chaos had taken both from him right before his very eyes, and he had been unable to do anything to save them. Aryx clutched her body close, unwilling to part with it. He would never have the opportunity to spend a good portion of his life with her, as he had begun to hope.

  The earth thundered as the god and beast clashed. A shower of rock struck the minotaur and his lost love, stirring Aryx to life again.

  She had no chance.… He turned his gaze skyward, to where Sargonnas fended off attacking segments of the Coil. Both great combatants flared with magical energy, some of which they released against one another at random intervals. Aryx didn’t know whom he hated more, the Coil for killing Delara or Sargonnas for failing to protect her. Yet despite his hatred for the Horned One, the warrior still knew which of the two he had to focus his fury on. There would be no future for anyone if the servant of Chaos proved victorious.

  Gently lowering Delara to the ground, he looked around for a weapon. His search seemed fruitless until he happened to glance at her belt pouch. There, still in place, despite Delara’s terrible journey, hung a long dagger.

  A dagger against such a leviathan. It made Aryx laugh bitterly, but he nonetheless took up the dagger, studying it. Good minotaur craftsmanship. The blade itself stretched the length of his hand, better than he could have hoped for. It would probably avail him little, but Aryx had to strike back, even if in the end it resulted only in his death.

  He rose from Delara’s side, gauging the most likely target. Aryx spotted a massive segment that flared bright red where one of Sargonnas’s earlier spells had scorched it. The minotaur moved carefully. The serpentine shapes that formed the horrific behemoth writhed constantly, making it possible that the creature could crush him without even realizing it had ever been under assault.

  Aryx raised the small blade, his gaze fixed on the wounded spot. His mind screamed that he courted madness, but he ignored it, thinking only of Delara and Seph.

  The ground below him burst open. Aryx flew into the air and landed entwined in some of the lesser coils.

  “No more play!” roared the Coil, somewhat less mocking than before. “The Father of All and of Nothing would grant you wondrous oblivion, and although you are not worthy of his generosity, you shall yet receive it!”

  Aryx had managed to hold on to Delara’s dagger, but now he could find no open wound, no cut where he thought the mortal blade might do some good.

  The eye will guide you.

  He recognized the voice in his head as the same one that had awakened him on the shore. Aryx had thought it somehow related to the Sword of Tears or even Sargonnas, but that no longer could be possible. Who, then? The only other item of magical origins he carried was … was …

  This is a gift with many sides, Aryximaraki, Kiri-Jolith had said about the dragon orb.

  He fixed the emerald eye upon the coil, seeking a weak spot. His hand suddenly shifted, hovering over a tiny crack between scales. Aryx gritted his teeth, prayed to his ancestors, and thrust the dagger down.

  The segment exploded open, in the process knocking Aryx from his perch. Aware of the height from which he fell, the young warrior awaited his death.

  His flight paused abruptly. The voice of one he had come both to hate and respect said, “Aryximaraki, you must stop putting yourself in these straits.…”

  If Sargonnas meant to inject some humor into the situation, it was lost upon Aryx. He hung there as the God of Vengeance seemed to contemplate what to do with him. The dark deity’s almost cavalier manner frustrated him. Did Sargonnas still think this was a game?

  “I thought you were going to end this once and for all!” he snapped, not caring in the least that the tall armored figure had just saved his life. “End it before we’re all dead!”

  “I fight on many planes, Aryx, against not only this servant but also his master.” Although he spoke calmly, the god’s eyes blazed as he glared at the ungrateful mortal.

  “But if you divide yourself like that, you can’t win either battle! What matter if you hold off both if you can’t defeat either? You’ve claimed my people as your chosen. Now save your children! Every moment you waste, more perish!”

  The Coil sent an avalanche down upon them, so many tons of rock that the sky briefly vanished. Yet nothing touched either Sargonnas or Aryx. The god’s belated protection did nothing to appease the warrior, who watched helplessly as the new downpour buried Delara’s already battered body.

  “You are correct as always, Aryximaraki,” the armored figure finally admitted, placing Aryx on the rubble-strewn ground. “The path to triumph has always been apparent to me, but I would not take it. I am as much a coward as my so-beloved mistress, my honor no better than hers.” Sargonnas gripped the Sword of Tears in both hands. “Very well, mortal. Come. It is time we put an end to this wriggling wyrm.”

  The sword fairly screamed as a blaze of emerald light darted out from it toward the rocks surrounding the pair. Aryx recognized immediately that the enchanted artifact could not be the source of so much power. Sargonnas had to be channeling his own forces through it. The rocks blew away, each of them striking some segment of the Coil with amazing accuracy. The Chaos creature withdrew many of its parts, clearly taken aback by the vehemence of its adversary.

  “Wyrm!” Sargonnas shouted. “I have come to grant you oblivion a little earlier than your master promised!”

  Coils lashed out at them from all sides. Sargonnas simply remained where he stood, sword out. Aryx braced himself, certain that this time he would die whatever the outcome of the battle. He prayed that Seph and Delara would be there to greet him when he passed over.

  The God of Vengeance turned suddenly, facing the swiftest of the deadly serpentine trunks. He made no move to avoid the oncoming terror, but rather leaned in its direction, the Sword of Tears held ready.

  As they collided, Sargonnas plunged the wailing blade halfway into the thick, scaled hide of the Coil. The god’s entire body flared crimson as pure magic flowed from him first into the demon blade and then into the Coil itself.

  A thousand voices, all of them belonging to the hideous serpent, roared in agony.

  As Aryx watched, Sargonnas pushed the blade deeper. The other segments froze where they were, saving the minotaur from being crushed. Now the nearly blinding aura covered not only god, sword, and segment, but every writhing part of the Chaos creature that Aryx could see. Fragments of the already battered landscape plummeted from every side, threatening the warrior, yet Aryx could not keep his eyes from the final struggle of the pair.

  Sargonnas pushed the sword still deeper, and as he did, the Coil’s fearsome cries grew louder. However, Sargonnas, too, visibly suffered. His armor grew looser, and what Aryx could see of his face looked more drawn and terrible than it ever had in the temple. At last Aryx knew what Sargonnas intended. The god sought to sacrifice every bit of his essence necessary in order to at last destroy his adversary.

  Although three-fourths of the sword lay buried in the monster’s body, Sargonnas continued to press, as if only by completely plunging the demon blade in could he vanquish his foe. However, more and more Aryx wondered whether the god could do that and still maintain the flow of energy.

  The Coil continued to howl as Sargonnas fell to one knee. Aryx finally stirred, realizing that he had to see if he could aid the god. He came up behind the straining deity, braced himself, and th
rew every bit of strength he had remaining into pushing against the sword hilt.

  The Sword of Tears sank up to the guard. The Coil shrieked a thousand times at once. The eyes of the dark god met those of Aryx for a moment, a moment in which the minotaur read far too many conflicting notions.

  Sargonnas became pure power, power which fed into the sword and from the sword into the Chaos creature. Not knowing what else to do, Aryx continued holding the hilt down, although every fiber of his body tingled as vestiges of magic coursed through him. He prayed to every ancestor, every deity he could think of who might lend him the strength to hold on until the finish.

  With one last high wail, the Coil exploded.

  Rock, massive gobbets of reptilian flesh, and Aryx were flung all about the valley. The hapless minotaur tumbled onto something soft and moist, then rolled several yards. Rocks collided with him, one smashing into his shoulder. Explosions, caused by segments of the Coil bursting from the surge of magic, continued to shake the mountains.

  Again and again the entire region shook. The makeshift valley collapsed. Aryx had a glimpse of the tunnel through which he had thought to escape caving in, extending the new valley on and on. Earth rose in some places and sank in others, creating mountains and deep gullies.

  Another rock struck him on the back of the head. Aryx blacked out then, hoping that at least before he died he had played some minor part in saving the minotaurs from extinction.

  * * * * *

  Rand felt it first—the change in not only the weather, but everything. Stumbling from the rocky hiding place Carnelia had dragged him to earlier, he surveyed the battle. The cleric felt as if an immense weight had been taken from his shoulders.

  Carnelia ran to him. “Rand! Get back! You’re in no condition to fight!”

  “I will not have to! Neither will you soon, I think!” He looked at her, a tentative smile escaping his lips. Carnelia did not understand his sudden change until the winds abruptly died, the crashing waves lessened, and even the sky began to clear … all within a few brief moments.

  “What—what’s happening, Rand? Did you—”

  “I did nothing … but someone did.”

  “What does it mean?”

  The cleric shook his head. “We can only wait and see.”

  There were those, however, who would not wait and see, chief among them Lord Broedius. Carnelia’s uncle surely had noticed the stunning changes at the same time as the rest, but he reacted swiftly. Even as the Magori paused, uncertain as to what had happened, the knight commander began reorganizing the defenders, turning them into the aggressors.

  “Look alive, you louts! Archers! Your targets are standing there gaping! Fire! First line, regroup and prepare to advance!”

  Minotaur and human commanders began shouting out orders, coordinating with those given by the ebony-eyed warrior. Seasoned troops of both races quickly adjusted even as the huge crustaceans lost order. Sunlight peeked out, then spread across the battlefield. Those Magori it touched cringed, repelled by its brightness.

  Out at sea, the suddenly calm waters enabled the crews of the surviving vessels to regain control. Startled Magori slipped from the hulls, unable to compensate in time for the change in the Blood Sea. Those of the invaders aboard found themselves without reinforcements, and while many continued to fight, albeit with lessening eagerness, others turned to flee just as they had when the Maelstrom had vanished.

  “This is the last time, by the Lady!” Lord Broedius roared. “Drive those blasted shellfish into the sea and make certain that they don’t come back!”

  He nearly lost his balance—and his life—as two desperate Magori charged through the lines directly in front of the knight commander’s horse. Carnelia looked on with fear, but Broedius fended off both until help in the form of the Kazelati came. Outnumbered four to one, the two Magori fell quickly.

  “I’ve got to get down there and help! There’s still too much danger!”

  Rand hobbled forward. “I agree. Let us descend,”

  She looked at him, startled by his last words. “Rand! You’ve already done so much and it’s weakened you badly! Stay behind! Let me do my part now!”

  The blond cleric grimaced. She was right when she spoke of his weakness, yet Rand did not want her down there without him nearby. Still, he realized that in the long run, his presence would more than likely keep Carnelia from concentrating fully on the enemy. He would actually be risking her life if he tried to remain at her side.

  “All right,” he finally muttered. “Go … and may Kiri-Jolith watch over you.”

  She gave him a rueful smile. “At this point, I’d settle for any god watching over me!”

  Rand watched her scramble almost eagerly down the hillside. He touched the medallion on his chest, feeling no link whatsoever to his patron. Rand had felt no link before his last spell either. The cleric had tried to convince himself that Aryx had not been correct, that it had been the God of Just Causes who had provided Rand with the power. Yet if Kiri-Jolith maintained no link with him, then the cleric had drawn the magic from elsewhere. Difficult as such a notion had been to accept, he saw no other choice.

  If I could only draw upon it now … Rand felt drained, more drained than he had ever felt in his life. If once he had been able to draw magic forth from either himself or his surroundings, he doubted he could do it now even if his life depended upon it. No, best if Rand did as Carnelia had suggested and stay where the last vestiges of the battle would not touch him. Besides, from the look of things, it would not be long now.

  To their credit, the Magori fought. Rand almost felt pity for the monstrous creatures, clearly slaves to the horrific thing that had called itself the Coil. Of course, he doubted that the crustaceans would have come in peace, even given the choice. They simply did not like having to battle under conditions not favorable to them.

  Carnelia stumbled slightly as she reached the bottom. Rand bit back words of caution as she started along the moist sand toward her uncle and the others. She had changed much since they had been first thrown together, and if it turned out that both their gods had abandoned Krynn, he hoped to discover a new future alongside her.

  The moist ground behind Carnelia suddenly burst open, and a Magori with a lance rose up. Rand recognized the same markings on the snout that had earlier indicated one of the swarm’s possible leaders. Her attention focused on the battle ahead, Carnelia neither saw nor heard the crimson and white crustacean as it lumbered toward her back, lance already poised to throw.

  “Carnelia!” Rand nearly fell down the hillside as he desperately tried to attract the female knight’s attention. Much to his dismay, though, she could not hear him.

  The Magori threw its lance.

  “No!” The cleric’s hands crackled with silver-blue energy. The ground around the crustacean suddenly swirled, becoming a thick, pasty soup that pulled the Chaos creature down. Hissing, the Magori struggled to free itself, but it might as well have been trying to fly, for all the good its efforts did it. Even as Rand recovered from his shocking spell, the ground swallowed the abomination, leaving no trace.

  It nearly proved impossible for him to reach her, so exhausted, so ruined did Rand feel. Each second that passed seemed an eternity.

  Heedless of his own wound, Rand dragged himself to Carnelia’s side. He stared at her still form, the terrible lance rising from her back like some macabre flagpole. She still breathed, but in short, ragged breaths that said that her life had but moments left.

  No! I will not permit it! Not when we are this close to victory! Yet what could he do? The one time that he had saved a life, that of the minotaur Aryx, he had done so under the secret guidance of Kiri-Jolith. Granted, Rand had performed other miracles these past few days, but they meant nothing to him compared with the effort he knew he would need to help Carnelia. Perhaps if he had used this strange magic sparingly before, Rand might have not worried, but the last and unexpected spell had nearly caused him to black out. Only the
sudden rush of fear had actually enabled him to unleash the spell that had killed the Magori. Surely no more remained within him.…

  Rand refused to accept that. He would do what he could for Carnelia whatever the cost to him. Let this one final spell take his own life if necessary, but the cleric would save her!

  He removed the lance, then placed his hands on her wound. Tears fluttered down his cheeks, but he paid neither them nor the battle any mind. Only Carnelia mattered.

  Heal her! Rand pleaded to the power within, beseeching it as he would have his lost god. He put his hands over the terrible wound. Take from me what you must! Give my life for hers if necessary, but heal her!

  Something within him seemed to answer. Rand felt a primal force rise up inside him, one that threatened to wrench his very being apart, yet gladly did he accept the sacrifice if only Carnelia could be saved.

  More and more power flowed through him. Rand watched his love, saw that he had stemmed the tide but had not yet reversed it. He needed to give her more. He needed to give her everything.

  Rand gritted his teeth, pushing his will to the limit and beyond. Everything!

  The force within continued to well up until the cleric thought it would overwhelm him … and then it burst free, flowing like an uncontrollable river into Carnelia’s quivering form.

  Rand screamed.

  Aftermath

  Chapter Nineteen

  Somehow Aryx had survived. He should not have, but he had. The realization did nothing to assuage him; Aryx almost would have preferred to die. He had failed both Seph and Delara. He did not deserve to live.

  But you will live.…

  He stirred at the voice in his head, fearing that somehow, through all of it, the Sword of Tears had yet come to claim him. Aryx pushed himself up, trying to locate the demon blade, and instead saw the feet of a tall and massive minotaur warrior.

  No … no minotaur, for the face that met his gaze did not belong to one of his kind, although it had similarities and its owner had certainly meddled in the affairs of the race enough.