FIERCE: A Heroic Fantasy Adventure (BRUTAL TRILOGY Book 2)

by James Alderdice

  He was armed only with the short sword, but he guessed that if he could row out to the ship, he could ambush and overpower the five sailors left aboard, he could free the other rowers and then sail back to Vjorn and have his revenge on Vikarskeid, Sarvan and the rest and, most importantly, win back his kingdom.

  He padded through the jungle, heedless of the buzzing insects and cries of strange beasts. Though tired, he kept to a steady stride and pace. Soon, soon he would be on his way home.

  Reaching the beach, moonlight shone on the light waves of the rolling sea and revealed naught but the sea itself.

  The ship was gone as was his hope of a swift return.

  ***

  Gathelaus explored the whole of the small island the following week and determined there was little enough hope of the ship returning, nor any other happening upon such a remote place. He had the small longboat, but without a store of water and food, he would not venture far. He did go out once to circle the island, but could not see any other land or sign of habitation beyond the ruinous city.

  He set about trapping the few pigs that were on the island and drying their meat. He gathered bushels of bananas, mango and papaya. He attempted to make water casks but had little luck until he used pig skin at the ends of hollow bamboo lengths. And that was after using every other part he could too. He regretted stabbing the first pig he found through the bladder and ruining that potential skin.

  Over the course of the next week, he outfitted the longboat with as much water as he dared to not worry of capsizing it. Of the foodstuffs, he was more selective, guessing he would attempt to fish along the way.

  The moon was nearly full and he remained the sole living inhabitant of the island, and after deciding that he would set out the next morning, sleep took him. He awoke in the night to the rhythmic beat of kettle drums throbbing from across the black jungle.

  Upon the Golden Sea

  Niels, YonGee, and the occultist Tang Shook sat crouched around a dark crystal ball. It looked like a head-sized solid piece of marble with varying shades of deep grey swirling beneath its smooth surface. Niels noted that the charcoal grey seemed to swirl like smoke as Tang Shook put his hands upon it.

  “Now we shall see where it is Hawkwood goes and what he knows,” said the occultist with a clipped accent.

  Niels frowned, whispering to YonGee, “Can we not just ask where Gathelaus is instead?”

  “Patience pup, to see him I would have to have connection to him, which since we have lost the palace and all of our former possessions, we have not a connection to our lost king. But,” he said raising a finger skyward and giving Niels a wry grin as he produced a small silk bag, “it was a simple enough thing to gain nail clippings of the mercenary captain from his barber,” said Tang Shook.

  Niels was dumbfounded. “You’re serious?”

  “Of course. How else would I gain a connection to his body? Unless you know where leavings of Gathelaus be, this is whom I can cast my view across the ether with.”

  Niels shook his head disbelievingly. “No. I do not know where any leavings of Gathelaus are.” He raised his hands in exasperation at YonGee, but the old man simply bid Niels to be silent and watch.

  “All right, because that would be much easier if you had some,” muttered Tang Shook, as he stared intently into the crystal ball. “Answer me spirits, where is he?”

  The occultist burned a large nail clipping with a pair of tongs over a candle beside the crystal ball. To Niels amazement, a clear vision opened inside the roiling storm of smoke, and they beheld Hawkwood standing on the prow of his ship. His left leg was balanced upon the figurehead and an axe was in his hand. He scanned the ocean, and, for a moment, it seemed his killer’s eyes stared right back at the men watching him within the crystal ball. Niels swallowed his unease.

  ***

  Hawkwood’s ship, the Kraken, skirted along the coast, stopping in most of the seaside ports until he found a retired navigator who had done trade with Rogliano and was aware of the smuggler’s intended route. That he had first been strung up by his thumbs and toes may have considerably loosened his tongue.

  “Mercy, lord, I have no idea what injury Rogliano has done to you, but I had no part in it,” squealed the navigator.

  “You think that dog could injure me?” snarled Hawkwood before turning his face and giving a wink to his crew.

  The man shook his head violently. “No, lord. Assuredly not. But I don’t know what he has done but that I had nothing to do with it.”

  “Very well.” Hawkwood cut the rope that held the man up by the thumbs, thereby dislocating them, and then letting the man slump to the floor in a heap. “Where is he going?”

  “He said he was sailing to Derenz, Marence, and then KhoPeshli.”

  With knowledge of the destination that Rogliano would keep, it was a simple matter for Hawkwood to chart a course where he might cut off his intended victim. “We make for KhoPeshli and board him before he reaches it. With any luck, we can catch him halfway between here and there,” said Hawkwood, sending his crew of cut-throats back to the swaying decks of the Kraken.

  He set course for the northern horn of Dar-Alhambra and the city of KhoPeshli. This was a favored haven of slave traders and others with ill-gotten merchandise. It was a tolerated city of pirates that the sultan of Dar-Alhambra willingly ignored so long as they left his citizens unmolested. The respectable folk did avoid the northern coast rather than be mistaken for easy prey. But all across the central oceanside rim, those who were in debt or on the run or in need of changing their horizons did flock to KhoPeshli in the hope of making their fortune there. Though called a city of pirates, it was also known as the City of Dreamers. Not for any altruistic nor optimistic flight of fancy, but because it was also a haven for opium and other mind altering substances. A great portion of the population might very well be out of sorts and wandering the land of dreams during the warm afternoon.

  A day later, at mid-morning, The Kraken caught up to the sluggardly ship of Rogliano. Barbed hooks on the end of stout ropes were tossed from the Kraken to the gunwales of Rogliano’s and they boarded her.

  Hawkwood strode the deck examining the slaves. Not finding whom he sought, he demanded, “Where is he?”

  “Who?” asked Rogliano, feigning ignorance.

  Hawkwood stared Rogliano in the face and then, swift as lightning, buried his dagger in the man’s heart. Rogliano’s mouth opened in a mute cry of anguish and Hawkwood shoved him over the side, letting the former captain’s body splash and sink into the deep blue.

  “Now. Where is he?”

  One of Rogliano’s men, the first mate, was much more agreeable. “We sold a few of the slaves to Tariq of Dar-Alhambra. He wanted men for the gladiatorial games there.”

  Hawkwood strode over to the man, who, despite being taller than the fearsome mercenary commander, lowered his head in subservience to avoid eye contact. No one wanted to look into those eyes. “Who?”

  The first mate still would not meet Hawkwood’s gaze, but said, “We sold the usurper Gathelaus to Tariq of Dar-Alhambra.”

  “And was Tariq bound for Dar-Alhambra forthwith?”

  “No. He said he would trade with the ships of Derenz for a day or two. We must be ahead of him. But that was also before the storm on the edge of the Invisible River.”

  “Invisible River?” prodded Hawkwood, as if he had never heard of such a thing.

  The man still didn’t raise his head but nodded slightly. “Tariq said he would ride that current.”

  Hawkwood poked a finger in the man’s chest. “You just said you think we are a day or two ahead of him, the River would put ships a week ahead of us.”

  “There was a storm. We heard the River did a reversal. No one in their right mind would have dared to ride that. He must have turned back.”

  Hawkwood wheeled and said to his own men, “He must have turned back. No one would have dared to ride that.”

  A tremor passed through the first mate’
s body and his breaths came in quick gasps.

  “Now we need to find another ship and a Dar-Alhambran,” said Hawkwood, stalking away from the first mate and leaping aboard The Kraken.

  “What now, Captain?” asked one of Hawkwood’s crew.

  Hawkwood glanced back at Rogliano’s ship and the sailors aboard who looked apprehensively back at him. “No witnesses,” he said coldly.

  The Kraken’s sailors cackled, nodded and tossed over jugs of oil and one tossed a torch as they pulled away. The sailors and slaves aboard Rogliano’s ship screamed and tried in vain to fight the fire. By the time The Kraken was a hundred yards off, Rogliano’s ship was a blazing pyre.

  ***

  “That was quite the bloody revelation,” said YonGee.

  Tang Shook nodded sagely.

  Niels stood. “We have to do something. We have to find this Tariq of Dar-Alhambra and find the king!”

  “We will,” said YonGee.

  “No! Now! You said you had the means for us to outdistance Hawkwood and rescue Gathelaus. What is it?”

  “All in good time. We now have another method to find Gathelaus,” said Tang Shook.

  “What? You know where to find his leavings?” snarled Niels.

  YonGee broke in, “If we could get into the castle, I suppose we could—”

  “No,” said Tang Shook. “I have another way.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Hawkwood and the sailors mentioned the Invisible River. I can ask the storm spirits if a ship has crossed over. Something interfering with the resonant energy of those ley lines will be an easy question to ask them.”

  Niels, incredulous, looked to YonGee who could only shrug. “How long will it take for you to get an answer?”

  Tang Shook pulled up his sleeves. “A day, maybe a week, maybe a month, but I will get a truthful answer.”

  Niels raised his arms as if to strike the man, but YonGee came between them. “We shall just have to let him do his work and be as prepared as possible. Let us ready our confederates for a hopefully soon answer.”

  Niels gritted his teeth and left the room. He hated feeling helpless. He needed to come up with another answer, even if it meant risking his life to get it.

  Island Devils

  The drums called to Gathelaus like a lover’s song. They were primal and savage, utterly foreign music to even his barbaric senses, but the very fact that other people existed somewhere on the island was an irresistible mystery that must be sought out.

  He put his short sword into his belt and slung a water skin over his shoulder and set off, knowing his way through the jungle very well now. He had hunted the last of the pigs out these many nights and then the last of the birds. This was his island now and he was anxious to see who was trespassing, and if they might be friendly enough faces to be a means of escape from this lonely place.

  Half expecting the drum to be centered on the city, he was a little surprised that the sound came from farther on. Looping around the volcanic mountain, he skirted the tree line and came to the beach. Gathelaus stopped in his tracks. There in the bay, nearly run aground, floated the Gilded Saber, the ship he had spent so long at the oars of. Why would they come back? The grim answer became apparent as the smell of meat met his nostrils. Near to the pork he himself had been supping on, but different, he instantly knew what it was.

  Dark furtive shapes stood about the beach beside blazing fires as the drums of doom beat a simple, brutal dirge.

  “Headhunters,” he grunted.

  These men were very short, hardly above half of Gathelaus’s own considerable height, but they were lanky and savage, lean as reeds but cruel as whips. The glow of the firelight revealed their bowl haircuts and jagged filed teeth. Breechclouts covered their loins and they wore necklaces that looked to be made of finger bones. The obsidian tips of their spears glinted in the firelight. They chattered in a strange dialect Gathelaus couldn’t hope to understand, but he didn’t need to know what they said. Evil is evil. True, he had planned to slay the five sailors aboard the ship himself without mercy, but he would have been swift, he wouldn’t have made them suffer for their crimes. But these little headhunters seemed a particularly wicked lot.

  Most of the men from the ship had already been butchered, but a few remained, bound and beaten, naked and afraid. Apparently, the headhunters enjoyed playing with their food, for they continually abused the bound men, beating them with the butt end of their spears or even cutting small slices of their flesh.

  Gathelaus counted at least sixty of the little men. He needed to even the odds if he was to steal past them in the coming days. Their small dugout canoes, with short sails and outriggers, lay along the beach. They must be swift if they were able to run down the Gilded Saber and capture her. As much as he wanted the ship, he didn’t want to run her himself and risk being attacked in the night by the horde of diminutive cannibals.

  He pondered for a long lonesome moment on how to turn the situation around. Likely enough the cannibals sailed between a chain of small islands and knew the routes to resupply and such and had even caught the Gilded Saber and crew some days away and brought her back here, but why? Could they have not eaten the men anywhere? Why here? Why now?

  Men make any number of decisions based on their creed and habits. Perhaps the full moon was a time of feasting in this place. It seemed that they had no interest in the lost city, or knew better than to risk the ire of the demonic monster. After all, they remained on the beach alone. What if he could make them think it was coming?

  He remembered the roar of the behemoth and thought that a horn made from bamboo and pig skin might sound similar enough if he could blow upon it loud enough. Racing back to his own side of the island, he cut his legs on the thorns and saw-grass as he did not try for the trails he had blazed but cut straight across as swift as his legs could carry him.

  Back at his own camp, he tore apart one of the bamboo water jugs and another of the pig bladders and fashioned them together. It took a bit more bindings from one of the dried skins to seal them together, but it worked. If he pursed his lips and blew, a horrendous sound like the bellowing of a great beast sounded out low and deep.

  He ran back to the far side of the island with only a few hours until daylight.

  Half of the cannibals encircled the dying bonfires while more slept amongst their skiffs. Only a pair stood watch over the final four or five prisoners. They looked to have eaten the other twenty or so men that had once been rowers of the Gilded Saber.

  Gathelaus shifted the sword in his belt and angrily took in a lungful of air. He put the skin to his lips and blew. A sonorous groan echoed out and, thanks to the stillness of night, it seemed louder than it was. It was strange and fearful, but eerie and queer enough that it had the desired effect.

  The sleeping headhunters shot up from the deep slumber of their full bellies. They were silent a long painful moment and Gathelaus blew again.

  They leapt up and raced to their skiffs, pushing them into the light tidal waters and shoving off as if their lives depended on it. They dropped their spears and manned their oars, racing to see who could escape farther out into the wine dark sea.

  To a man, they fled the beach, abandoning their final meal and the last of their prisoners. Perhaps in the hopes that the sacrifice of these last few might appease the malevolent deity of nightmare.

  Gathelaus went to the tree line and blew another powerful note, then waited until he could hardly see the men in their skiffs. They rounded the edge of the bay, escaping to either side of the island.

  He raced to the prisoners with his short sword drawn, anxious to see who it was. There was Yar Ali, Mahmoud and two more that he knew were but rowers. They had never deigned to share their names and he didn’t feel like asking them now. By rights he thought he should slay the two he knew the name of, but he didn’t. He would want them to help man the Gilded Saber so he could better return home. Too difficult a task by himself. Besides, he would need all the streng
th he could get to push the ship off the sands.

  They looked up at him with grim resolution and wonder. “We thought you were the beast,” said Yar Ali through parched lips.

  “Of course, I had to get those headhunters to flee, didn’t I?”

  “Why?”

  “I want the ship. Let’s go! Now!” he commanded, as he sliced through their bonds.

  “Even if we could get the ship loose, they’ll run as down again,” complained Mahmoud. “All is Khallas,” he said with heavy resignation.

  “How did they get you dogs last time?”

  “They climbed aboard in the dead of night while we slept,” admitted Mahmoud.

  “So? We make sure that doesn’t happen again. They’ll not follow once we get beyond their chain of islands.”

  “But we have been hopelessly lost, the captain had the only compass and the stars—the stars are not right in this cursed sea. And how could we pass over the Invisible River again? It is impossible.”

  “I’ve heard enough complaints, let’s get the ship free!” barked Gathelaus.

  They strode out to hip deep waters and pushed on the ship.

  “It’s too low in the water, Captain,” said Yar Ali

  “At least you have the name right,” growled Gathelaus. “We’ll have to lighten her up, then, won’t we?”

  Yar Ali grinned. “Aye captain.”

  They clambered aboard and began tearing off and throwing out any piece of rigging or equipment not vital to the ship.

  “And if the savages return?”

  “They will, but we make them fight for every inch and we kill them when they do. Those short bastards will have a hell of a time climbing the gunwales with a foot of steel in their faces.”

  Yar Ali,shook his head. “We don’t have no more steel, Captain, they threw it all overboard when they captured us. You’d be the only one with a sword, Captain. The rest of us will have to make do with poles and staves.”