by Rex Hazelton
“The only dish I’ll handle is the one that’s given to me with a roasted slab of crocodon meat on it, once I kill the beast.” Lowen took a big swallow of bark ale before slamming his tall, wooden mug down on the thick table top.Then lifting his own eyebrow, the Bjork considered his friend who had been goading him. After wiping the drink's foam off his mouth, he added, “I can do anything you can do, and if you fancy manning the chum boat... I’ll be there with you.”
“Then it's agreed.” Ay'Roan laughed, good-naturedly, as he reached out to grasp Lowen’s hand. And once they shook, each nodded their head satisfied that they'd face the crocodon together. And why not do it together? Their families had a long history with one another that began when Leyert, as a young man, challenged Jeaf Oakenfel to a wrestling match during the games that took place in a Harvest Feast now long past. But what Ay'Roan and Lowen had agreed upon was no game. The competition they had entered was no benign contest. What they were risking was not the broken bones, dislocated shoulders, or bloodied noses that often accompanied the Bjorkian festal wrestling matches. They were gambling their livessince crocodon were monsters to be feared.
Reaching sizes nearly as large as a longboat, the bigger ones sat at the top of the seas’ food chain. Even killer whales fled from fully grown crocodon whose massive, triangularly-shaped heads- sitting atop long, muscular necks- were armed with teeth nearly the size of short swords.
“What are you boys up to?” Frowning, Leyert pulled thoughtfully on his red beard as he spoke. Though he thought it would be good for his son, Lowen, to have Ay'Roan around, he worried that their competitive natures might push them into doing things best avoided, and hearing his son speak of the chum boat made him wonder if his fears were coming to pass.
“We’re going to man the chum boat.” Lowen’s sky blue eyes were filled with a light that the thrill of risking one’s life brings to some men as he made his intentions known.
“Ashes, Lowen!” The king had to hide the pride he felt over his son’s bold proclamation as he fulfilled his fatherly duties. “The crocodon that’s been spotted is a big one, so large in fact, some say it could be Laviathon himself, and you know what that would mean.”
“We’ll have to deal with fire as well as fangs and claws.” Though Lowen’s face sobered up as he spoke, it didn’t lose any of its determination. With hair as red as a setting sun, and size that was nearly a match of Ay'Roan's own, the young Bjork was an impressive seafarer specimen.
Laviathon, Ay'Roan's thoughts were filled with excitement, can I be so lucky? His father had bested the sea serpent when he was a young man. And he would too!
Though he didn’t have the Hammer of Power to call upon like his father did the day he faced the terrible sea serpent, Ay'Roan was not without resources. For the inimitable power that resided in his father’s weapon had not only left a deposit of its magic in the one who had mastered it, it also passed a remnant of this onto the Hammer Bearer’s wife and children, altering their fundamental essence in ways Ay'Roan was still learning about.
For one thing, his body resisted injury, his skin was difficult to cut, his bones were hard to break, and whenever he sustained a wound, it healed quickly. Besides this, the grandson of a renowned Candle Maker, Ay'Roan had an affinity for the candle’s flame that was as strong as his own parents. Added to this, his sense of awareness was keener than most, his ability to absorb information that came from nature- from the ground below, sky above, and from all things that lived in them- was unmatched except by the woodland folk, the elves, and his brothers. The masters that taught at the School of the Candle said this unusual connection with the natural warl came as a result of his father having received Queen Alegramor’s blessing when she bestowed the title of Brosantaney, or Elf-Friend, on him, a blessing that had, at least in part, been passed on to his sons at the time of their conception. And last but not least, he was extraordinarily strong. Some said that this was because his grandfather, Aryl Oakenfel, had been a blacksmith and that the Hammer of Power had taken the things he inherited from him and enhanced them.
“Don’t worry about Lowen,” Ay'Roan boasted while slapping the king’s son on the back, “I’ll protect your pup.”
“And who’ll protect you if Laviathon comes calling?” The pride Leyert was feeling over the bravery the boys were exhibiting was tempered by all he knew about the monster they might face.
“Why, I will.” Lowen was as quick to boast as his reckless friend was.
“On the morrow, we’ll see.” Leyert could have stopped the boys from doing what they planned to do. With a single word, he could have put the whole thing to rest. But that wasn’t the Bjorkian way. Sons weren’t born to be protected. Sons were brought into the warl to stand beside their fathers in battle, to help them destroy their enemies or die trying.
In the seafarer's view of things, a family’s greatness was not measured by the respective ages its members reached before they died. Rather it was determined by the deeds that were done in the time given to them to live. With this mindset firmly in place, Leyert was certain to let his son do what everyone in the hall had heard him proclaim.
But with that as a given, the king was busy putting plans together that would give Lowen and Ay'Roan the best possible chance of survival. After all, what would he say to Jeaf Oakenfel if he allowed his son to die? The only comfort he found when facing this fear was the thought that if Ay'Roan perished, his own son would probably die right along with him. Morbid comfort indeed.
You wanted your son to learn our ways. Leyert recalled what Jeaf had said to him the day he brought Ay'Roan to live in Thundyrkynd. Well, there’s nothing more Bjorkian than to risk one’s life to kill the crocodon. With a wry smile on his face, he added, If your son lives past tomorrow, there’ll be nothing more we’ll need to teach him.
As Leyert watched the flames lustily consume the wood it fed upon in the fire pit, he cursed the crocodon and prayed to Wygean that the sea monster they would face tomorrow wasn’t Laviathon. After the prayer was done and his plans completed, the king cast off his concerns and joined the festivities whose merriment spat in the face of death. After all, if you must die, the Bjork were wont to say, do so with a full belly and a smile on your face.
****
The twin cities of Thundyrkynd, sitting on either side of the entrance to G’Nyrly Cove, were blanketed in fog that had crept out of the Largryk Sea during the night. The rhythmic sound of oars, moving in synchronized precision, accompanied the longboats as they slipped out of the long, narrow cove and into the sea. A smattering of grey figures, all well wishers silhouetted atop the wooden battlements that protected the twin cities, could be seen and not much more. The sound of waves lapping against the shoreline intermingled with the oars’ gentle splashing, a rocky shoreline covered with wooden and metal spikes that were put into place to keep Laviathon from siding up to the defensive walls. Neither city, that swept up the side of the Alabaster Mountains, could be seen, nor the mountains themselves.
All through the early morning, the longboats, with sails finally unfurled, worked their way out into the sea. It was important to get well off shore before the crocodon caught wind of their presence. As luck would have it, the fog helped them accomplish this. It was important that the Bjork chose the time and place to confront the scaly monster.
Once deep enough into the sea, the indomitable Bjork lowered their sails and waited for the sun to burn away the fog. In time, a wind rose up to disperse the waning mists that were still clinging to the top of the sea’s gray surface. And as the wind grew, so did the swells that lifted the longboats into the air as the waves passed beneath them.
When the first patch of blue sky appeared, the sea began its predictable transformation from gray to green. Sails were unfurled a moment before the vessels began disappearing within the Cloak of Invisibility the Wisdor Stones[EH2]’ magic provided them, sails whose colors were as varied as pieces of cloth used to make a patchwork quilt. Red and gold were the predominate hu
es. Stripes were commonplace: green or blue on white, brown on orange, black on silver, and so on.
In time, a lone chum boat, one-fifth the size of a longboat, could be seen moving along under the power of a wind that continued to grow in strength as the day progressed. The word seen being the operative word since it was being used as bait to draw the crocodon in.
Unlike the rectangle-shaped sails the Bjork’s longboats were outfitted with, the chum boat’s lone sail’s contours were triangular in form. And unlike the longboats’ crews, whose numbers were many, only two sailors were seen aboard the smaller craft: one sailor manned the rudder; while the other tended to the sail’s rigging; both had harpoons laying nearby.
As morning turned into afternoon, Ay'Roan was worried that the crocodon might not show up. He wondered if the size of the waves was responsible for this since the chum boat was hidden in the troughs as much as it was exposed to sight when a passing swell lifted it up. Unless the sea serpent topped the crest of a wave at the same time the chum boat did, the diminutive craft would never be seen.
Though the strong northerly wind continued to blow, the day proved to be a warm one that made Ay'Roan and Lowen strip off their shirts and boots. Yet the weather wasn’t the only reason why they did this. If swimming was called for, the young men wanted to be unencumbered by unneeded clothing.
Occasional voices could be heard coming from the invisible longboats that were strategically positioned around them. From time to time, King Leyert called out to his son to direct the chum boat’s movements. Whenever this happened, Lowen was able to locate his father’s position, not only by the voice he heard, but also by the tell-tale indention the invisible longboat created, an indention that the untrained eye would miss in the vastness of the undulating water that surrounded it.
Having rolled up their pant legs, the young men moved about like they were fishermen tending to their tackle. Completing the ruse, netting was, both, hung over the boat’s side and suspended from a line that ran from the top of the mast to a place near the rudder's handle. As late morning turned to afternoon, the young men’s enthusiasm for the act they were putting on dimmed. At times, they sat stoically in the boat cursing the wind for ruining the hunt and taking away the chance for adventure. Long before evening began its approach, the fleet of longboats would start the trip back to the twin cities of Thundyrkynd, aware that darkness would nullify the advantage the Magic of Invisibility gave them.
Taking the elven leaf-blade he carried with him, Ay'Roan idly cut notches into the mast as he stood idly chatting with Lowen. Though the king’s son was as tall as most Bjork were, Ay'Roan was taller still by half a hand at least. Lean, he was well-muscled like those built for speed. Broad shoulders reflected the physical strength he inherited from an ancestry replete with blacksmiths and warriors.
As comely as his father and grandfather were, Ay'Roan was blessed with their good looks. Amber-colored eyes, a strong jawline, and an engaging smile were the most notable facial features. And like his paternal lineage, patience wasn't one of his virtues. He needed to be doing something- swing a hammer against an anvil, practice fighting with a sword, hoist a sail and run before the wind- not this infernal sailing about so slowly that he felt like he was a cork bobbing on the water.
“Savana's a pretty one,” Ay'Roan said to Lowen for no other reason than to keep himself busy.
“I’d be careful if I was you.” Lowen ran a hand through his long red hair as he spoke with a voice that said he really wasn’t interested in the conversation. “Jayd has his eye on her.”
“Gert’s a fine one too.” Ay'Roan stared off into the distance as he struggled to keep his mind on what he was saying.
“She’s more than you can handle.” A wry smile crossed Lowen’s face as he thought of the strong-willed woman who was not afraid to speak her mind. With a touch of mischief he added, “I don’t think you can handle a Bjork maiden if you took one for a wife.”
“Who said anything about a wife?” Ay'Roan frowned as he turned to look at the king’s son.
Seeing the opportunity for some fun, Lowen continued, “Well, I overheard our father’s talking about you and…”
“And who?” Distracted form his whittling by Lowen’s words, the leaf-blade now hung loosely at Ay'Roan’s side. “My father didn’t need any help finding a woman... and neither do I. I’ll not let a matchmaker chose a wife for me, even if it’s my father whose making the match.”
“So,” Lowen’s blue eyes sparkled as he goaded his friend, “you're saying you want to get married? Is that why you mentioned Gert?”
“No!" Ay'Raon sheathed the leaf-blade before folding his arms across his chest. "I don’t want to get married.”
“Never?”
“Not now. Not to Gert, that’s for sure.”
“You’re afraid of her, huh? Or are you holding out for a Fane J’Shrym? That is, if you ever meet one.”
“Fane J’Shrym, Bjork, or the Queen of Eternal Song, I’m not interested in any of them.” Ay'Roan used hyperbole to get his point across, for, of course, there was no Queen of Eternal Song. “But you know what I'd like to do?"
"What's that?" Lowen inquired even though Ay'Roan's tight lips and clenched jaw already gave him the answer.
"I'd like to punch you in the face, you fire-blasted pest.”
“Getting angry, I see.” Lowen laughed as he placed his hand on his friend’s taut shoulder. “My words must be hitting close to home.”
“And my fist will be hitting your smug face if you don’t stop.”
“CROCODON!” a seafarer’s voice rang out.
Chapter 4: Crocodon
“Take your positions,” King Leyert’s command was the last thing Ay'Roan and Lowen heard, except for the harried sounds of sailors getting the invisible longboats ready for action.
“There!” Ay'Roan pointed to the east as stepped forward to pick up a harpoon.
“By Wygean’s Hammer,” Lowen exclaimed as he grabbed hold of the till. A cloak made of crocodon skin and a shield covered with sea serpent scales lay at his feet. These were things he would need if the humongous beast coming his way proved to be Laviathon. “It’s a big one,” he added when the sea monster’s massive body exploded out of the top of a nearby swell as it leapt towards its prey. “And it’s seen us!”
“Good! It’s about time we had something more to do than talk about women,” Ay'Roan growled out his words between clenched teeth as he positioned the harpoon to strike the approaching monster.
As big as a longboat, the sea serpent had Laviathon’s size and speed. Dark green on its wide back, the monster’s belly was as white as newly fallen snow. Whenever the crocodon’s long, powerful neck and triangular-shaped head rose above the water’s constantly moving surface, the beast looked like a gargantuan swan was swimming across the Largryk Sea’s expanse. Only the constantly moving tail, that eagerly swung from side to side as the sea serpent rushed at its prey, dispelled the avian illusion.
“Is there fire?” Lowen shouted as the chum boat slid down the side of a large swell that passed beneath it.
“NO!”
“Smoke?”
“NO!”
Though Lowen wanted to hunt crcocodon, he had no appetite to face the father of the deadly breed that the Bjork hated so much, he had no desire to fight flame as well as muscle and fang, or to hear the taunts Laviathon would surely throw their way. Given the ability to speak and armed with glands that excreted explosive liquid, Laviathon was unique from his own offspring. But fire and speech weren’t the only things that separated him from his children. He also possessed an intellect that rivaled the best minds found among men and a nature as devious and ruthless as Ab’Don’s own.
If the mountain of scales and muscles that swam towards them was Laviathon, Lowen knew the odds that both he and Ay'Roan would survive the day were slim. King Leyert knew this too. That’s why he had taken command of the expedition and was even now directing the longboats to form a gauntlet that would
give the crocodon a clear pathway to the chum boat and the two young men it carried, a gauntlet that would not remain open for long once the sea serpent entered it.
Though the crocodon could easily dive beneath the oblong ring of longboats that would soon tighten about it and escape, once it discovered the snare, the sea serpent’s nature kept this from being its first option. Predators to the core of their being, crocodon lacked the instincts their prey possessed. The sea serpents’ survival was predicated on their hunting skills, not on their ability to hide from danger or run from impending harm. Exlposive strength was used to run their quarry down, not the stealth-like tactics ambush predators employed. They were nothing like deer that fled before the archer’s bow. They were more like rock bears that stood and fought until either they or their foes were dead or wounded so badly that choosing not to flee would be absurd.
Taking advantage of the crocodon’s intrepid nature and lust for slaughter, the Bjork hoped to kill the sea monster before it fled- if it ever did. The problem with this plan was the crocodon itself. Bred for fighting, with an unimaginably ravenous appetite, the sea serpent was capable of devastating any foe that challenged it, especially one as fearless as itself. In the end, the battle would boil down to two mortal enemies standing toe to toe, bloodying each other until one or the other was dead or hurt so badly it could no longer fight.
The sound of two invisible longboats, inadvertently bumping into each other, alerted the crocodon to the trap the Bjork were about to spring on it. Roaring its displeasure, the sea monster didn’t deviate from attacking the two men standing in the only boat it could see. Why would it? In this particular crocodon's thinking, it was first among its brethren and second only to its fire breathing father. Hadn’t it spent the past winter terrorizing Nyeg Warl all the way from where the Wyne River emptied into the Nour Sea, east to the Isle of Regret and the Breach Sea, and finally southward to where the Breach Sea's waters met the Largryk Sea, leaving death and destruction in its savage wake? Weren’t the families of scores of mariners mourning the deaths of their fallen loved ones, usually without the benefit of the bodies that had been digested in the crocodon’s cavernous stomach?
