by Watson Davis
The horse bucked, kicking back with its back legs, throwing Dyuh Mon and Hanno forward. Dyuh Mon dropped the reins and grabbed the horse’s mane with his right hand to stabilize himself, clamping down with his legs around the horse’s chest, his left arm around Hanno’s hips. The saddle seemed to slide sideways on the horse.
Before them, the mound of sand exploded, a grit-encrusted tentacle bursting up from it. Hanno screamed. Dyuh Mon yelled. The horse squealed but ran forward, toward that tentacle. Something slammed against Dyuh Mon’s back, and he lost his grip on Hanno. His hand reached toward her as the horse sprinted away from the both of them, his legs no longer able to hold on.
A tentacle wrapped around him, around his chest, squeezing on the armor and making a horrible grinding noise as the bony spikes inside the tentacle’s suckers gnawed at the armor. He reached down, stretching over the tentacle, trying to grasp the sword on his belt, but the tentacle was too thick.
On the beach below him, Hanno screamed and sprinted to the treeline, stopping just before it and turning toward him. Gartan and the others emerged from the trees, but three more tentacles rose from their hiding places beneath the sand, menacing them, diving and darting at them.
Suspended above the waves and moving now toward the roiling sea, Dyuh Mon closed his eyes, trying to think of a mighty spell, something to stand up to a fearsome kraken, but he only remembered an old spell, one of the first Fire realm spells he’d learned, a simple cantrip. He reached inside himself, searching for that unquenchable anger of the realm of Fire, and spoke the words of the incantation, placing his palms on the moist, gooey skin of the tentacle, channeling flames through his hands.
The creature’s skin smoked, turning black around his hands, the skin tearing as his hands burned into the flesh, deeper and deeper.
A loud sound reverberated through the air, the creature’s deafening keening, its wicked cry. The tentacle lurched forward, unrolling, releasing him, casting him away and sending him flying through the air, armor and all, to crash into a tree well beyond the treeline, where he then tumbled to the ground.
Debris
“This is us, right?” Tethan asked, working hard to maintain his concentration, his stomach rumbling. He tapped a marking on one of Kalo’s maps spread out over the rectangular table in her cabin. The walls felt like they were closing in around him, pressing the air out.
The map showed the southern continent in intimate detail, more detail than he had ever seen on a map. Magelights hovered over the map, lighting it up, flittering back and forth at any wisp of breeze coming in through the open windows along the back of the ship. That breeze carried with it the pounding of hammers, the shh-shh-shh of saws cutting planks of wood, and the murmur of Nayen voices in the background.
“Yes,” Kalo said from her seat on the other side of the table, her elbows resting on the edge.
Pure, silvery moonlight poured in through the arched windows, with clouds gathering over the sparkling seas beyond the rooftops and the masts swaying in the harbor.
“We are here,” he said in Onei. He ran his finger along the coast, leaving a trail of sweat, and peered up at the clan leaders, Silmon, Leedy, and Mitta, and their counselors. “If there are any survivors, they are probably somewhere along here.”
Mitta shook her head, gestured to several cities and towns marked down, and asked Kalo, “Which of these towns has the best plunder? Which one is the richest?”
Kalo’s eyes narrowed, not understanding Mitta’s question. She looked past Mitta to Tethan, raising her eyebrows. “What is she asking?”
Tethan glanced at Mitta and considered lying. “She wants to know which town within striking distance has the most valuable treasures, the most gold, the most gems.”
Kalo tapped her finger against her lip. Mian-on said something to her, shrugging, and Kalo sighed and nodded.
“Gal-nya’s capital.” Kalo reached across the table to tap another symbol. “But this will be strongly defended. A trading town like Mumedan would be an easier raid.”
Tethan furrowed his brow. “Why is that?”
Kalo shook her head. “Why is what?”
Tethan shrugged, reached down, and touched the bandage around his ribs, already soiled and brown. “You say the Eternal Council rule these lands with such fierce resolve and undisputed power that no one would dare attack them. If that is true, why is Gal-nya’s capital defended at all?”
“You do not understand,” Kalo said, hanging her head.
“Enlighten me then,” Tethan said, spreading his hands and easing into a seat.
Kalo opened her mouth, preparing to speak.
“What are you two jabbering about?” Leedy of the Icefangs knocked with his knuckles against Gal-Nya’s capital on the map. “Is this the place with the plunder or not? How difficult is this question to answer?”
“Yes, maybe. I’m asking a question.” Tethan held his hand up, asking Leedy for silence.
Leedy spread his hands, turning and looking at the other clan leaders, a bemused grin on his face. “Oh? Well, I’m asking a question too.”
In Shrian, Tethan said, “Please, continue. Why would a powerful member of the Council be required to guard their city? I ask because if they are as powerful and as feared as you say, who would dare attack them?”
“Ah.” Kalo grinned, nodding. “I believe that the Eternal Council, with their magic, their armies, and their knowledge, would rule most of this world and maybe many others by now, except for one thing.”
“Oh, really?” Tethan leaned back, sliding down in the chair, a smile spreading across his face. “Let them come to the Wastes, and we’d put that to the test. But you say only one thing prevents this? Some weakness of theirs?”
Kalo stood, turning to Mian-on and saying something in Nayen.
Mian-on bowed. “Yes, Your Grand Majesty.”
He reached into a case holding many maps, all of them rolled up like scrolls. He flipped through several, pulled one out, and with a royal flourish handed the map to Kalo. She set it down over the map of the Tuthian coast and waved her hand over it. “This is a map of our continent.”
Mitta and Leedy leaned over the map, studying it. Mitta asked, “Why is she showing us this?”
“She’s explaining their defenses to me.”
“Good, then.” Mitta nodded to grant her consent to pursue the conversation, pulling up a seat beside Tethan’s and leaning over the table.
“Shall I continue?” Kalo asked.
Tethan nodded, motioning for her to go on.
“After their ascension, the Council conquered the continent within a few years, but they immediately parceled it up.” Kalo pointed to sections of the map. “This part to Lord Sissola, this part to Gal-nya, over here to Yut-hosa, Yakiyun, and Nof-ki. We are here, near the border between Gal-nya and Sissola. The borders are fluid, with land and towns and people going back and forth as gifts or taken in battle. Or destroyed by whim or argument. They constantly battle each other.”
“What about this area here?” Tethan asked, indicating a bit of land she hadn’t specified which bordered several other lands, but seemed separated from them by the lines on the map, wondering if it belonged to Gal-nya, Sissola, or Yut-hosa.
“That’s the Ohkrulon Desert,” she said. “That’s where Arenghel is, where your father wanted to go. Before…” She shrugged. “They all rule that area. They hold council meetings there, but it is a place for priests, mages, and soldiers.”
“I understand.” Tethan pushed the map on top back, leaning toward Mitta. Her skin glistened, and the scent of her sweat filled his nose. In Onei, he said, “The Council fight against each other. So they fortify their lands, not against external attacks as much as against each other. This”—his finger tapped the map—“is the capital of Gal-nya, one of the Eternal Council. It will be packed with all manner of treasure—”
Mitta grabbed Tethan’s hair and pulled his head toward her, planting a kiss on his cheek before pushing him away. “Then
this is our target.”
Tethan blinked, staring at Mitta, confused. Kalo stared at him, her brows raised.
“Yes!” Leedy said, slapping his hand on the table.
Tethan leaned away from Mitta, his cheek tingling. “This Gal-nya is a powerful mage, and the place will be heavily fortified. I’d prefer to go search for my father.”
Mitta grinned, patting her palm against Tethan’s cheek, her eyes dangerous. “Our goal here is to plunder these Nayens, to tweak the beards of their leaders, just as you said in your grand speech. We are Onei, and that is what we’re going to do.”
# # #
Tethan sat in the shade, his feet up on the edge of a table, the fresh bandages around his torso already stained with blood seeping from his wounds, with more bandages around his arms and forearms, around his thigh. He sharpened his new axe, one he’d retrieved from the body of a dead Ironcutter before throwing the body on the funeral pyre. A mug of Nayen ale rested on the ground beside him. Carpenters hustled around the wharf like ants, sawing wood, carrying it onto the ships, climbing up into the masts of the damaged Shrian ships, and hammering away, another cadre of men and women working on the sails to mend holes rent in the canvas.
Mitta strode up with almost no limp at all, her bow in her hand, axe dangling from one hip, her new dagger in her belt, and also covered with bandages on her arms and leg. Leedy, Silmon, and Lirden followed in her wake, all of them bandaged up as well.
Mitta sat down on the edge of the table by Tethan’s feet, placing her hand on his shin. “When will these Nayen be ready?”
Tethan dragged the blade over the file, the metal grinding. “They say the last ship will be done in two days.”
Mitta sighed, pursed her lips, and looked away, tapping her fingers on his shin.
Tethan dragged the blade over the file once more and said, “They are already working hard as hell for us.”
“I know,” Mitta said. “I just get antsy sitting around while this Sissola person is probably amassing a huge army to storm in here to root us out.”
Leedy shook his head, grinning. “I get antsy knowing there’s a bunch of my gold and gems sitting in someone else’s tent.”
“They use vaults and treasure rooms here,” Silmon said, scratching at the stubble on his cheek.
“You know what I mean,” Leedy said, sneering in irritation.
“Be good to get back to a nice tent, though,” Silmon said.
Kalo stepped off a ship, Mian-on by her side, took a few steps toward the inn where Tethan sat, but stopped, slapped Mian-on on the shoulder and turned her back to the inn, her arms crossed over her chest.
“I’ll let you know as soon as they tell me it’s done,” Tethan said, checking the axe’s blade with his thumb. He leaned forward, setting the file on the table. “Or I’ll let you know if they tell me it’s going to be done at some other time than when they said it would be done.”
Mitta raised her hands, a smile spreading across her lips, and she stood up, backing away. “Can’t ask for more than that.”
Leedy pointed at Tethan, his eyes narrowing. “Get them done early. That’s all I’m saying.”
Tethan crossed his arms over his chest, keeping his smile on his face as he stared at Leedy.
Leedy nodded, but Tethan didn’t nod back. Mitta turned and walked away, an extra bounce in her step, her hips swaying, the other clan leaders following her. Tethan watched them until they disappeared from sight.
Kalo looked in the direction the clan leaders had gone, her mouth moving as she said something to Mian-on. She spun and clapped him on the shoulder. They strode over to where Tethan sat, each of them grabbing a chair, seating themselves across from him. She nodded to Tethan. “Barbarian.”
“Captain,” Tethan said. “Mage.”
Mian-on bowed his head, smiling.
Kalo glanced at his feet on the table and arched her eyebrows. She sniffed.
Tethan smiled and dropped his feet to the floor, then moved his chair closer to the table. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
“You said you wanted to find your father,” Kalo said, leaning toward him, her eyes twinkling, a smile playing across her lips.
Tethan whispered, “Yes?”
“Our ship is ready to go on a test run,” Mian-on said.
Kalo sighed, glaring at Mian-on. “You have no sense of timing or storytelling.”
“No,” he said. “I’m honest.”
Kalo shrugged, rolled her eyes, pursed her lips, and said to Tethan, “We have at least two days we can search the coast, although my friends will not complete the repairs on the other ships until we return.”
Tethan glanced the way Mitta and the other clan leaders had gone. He grinned. “Let’s go.”
# # #
Tethan stood on the yard of the topgallant sail near the top of the foremast, one hand on the rigging, the other shielding his eyes from the setting sun, ignoring his exhaustion, the urge to curl up in the crow’s nest and take a nap. The ship rocked beneath his feet like a baby’s crib, the natural wind tugging at his hair while Mian-on’s magical wind filled the sails to drive the ship forward.
The white, sandy beach lay empty all the way to the next point jutting out into the sea, a small island or a large rock sitting just past the end of the point, with the waves lapping up against it. A light plume of smoke rose beyond that, from something he couldn’t see, something he assumed was a village or a town, possibly Varensinth, a Gal-nya farming community he remembered from Kalo’s maps.
Makal rode the yard beneath him, and other Skybears milled about on the deck. Tethan wondered if they thought him mad, if they would have done differently in his place, and then decided he didn’t care.
A Nayen sailor at the prow called out something. The windmages decreased the winds in the sails, changing directions, slowing and turning the ship to take it further out to sea, around the point and the small island.
Tethan sank down to the yardarm with a sigh, sitting down on it, one leg on either side, ignoring the magical winds yanking at the legs of his pants. He stared to the north, back toward his home, a part of him wondering why anyone would ever leave a place they held dear.
The ship turned once more, coming around the rock, revealing sheer walls of striated rocks with a few caves set in them, a small stretch of sandy beach with a dense jungle beyond it, and further along yet another point, with another rocky outcropping. Something honked, a blaring sound strangely familiar.
Tethan stared down at the deck and the yardarms below him, expecting to find someone blowing a horn.
The honk sounded once more.
He shot to his feet and called out to everyone and no one in particular, “Did you hear that?”
“Yes!” Makal scaled up the mast, joining Tethan on the uppermost yardarm.
In the fading sun, the light twinkled off something undulating in the water, tentacles rising high up in the air, smashing back down. Tethan pointed. “There. The kraken is there.”
“I see it!” Makal said, slapping Tethan on the arm, laughing.
The ship began to change direction once more, angling over, turning about.
“No!” Tethan screamed, hurling himself down the rigging, swinging from one line to the next, navigating the length of the ship and dropping to the deck beside Kalo, who stood at the wheel, her face pinched, drained of color.
Mian-on stood behind her, sweat dripping down his forehead, another mage by his side, the brazier burning. Mian-on chanted with his hands dancing in the air.
“What are you doing?” Tethan yelled at Kalo.
“I’m getting out of here,” she said. “What in the Nine Hells does it look like I’m doing?”
He set his hand on the wheel, stopping its motion, keeping her from turning it any further. “The kraken is just past this next point!”
“And that’s far too damned close!” she screamed back, straining at the wheel with all her might, trying to turn it.
“My father is the
re,” Tethan shouted, pointing back the way they’d been going, back toward the kraken. “And that’s where we’re going.”
“No!” she yelled, setting her feet on the deck, both her hands on the wheel, trying to wrench it from Tethan’s grip. “It will kill us all.”
“Fine.” Tethan released the wheel. “Flee!”
Kalo tumbled to the deck, striking the back of her head.
Tethan pulled his axes from his belt, securing them on his back. “Skybears! To me! To arms!” He leapt from the poop deck to the main deck, sprinted to the rail, and launched himself over the side into the water.
# # #
Gartan carried Dyuh Mon to the camp, Hanno following behind, and settled Dyuh Mon down beside Gekisha, careful not to drop him, careful not to disturb her. He laid Dyuh Mon’s head down with extra care, one hand holding his neck. “Found him.”
Gartan cut through Hanno’s bonds, letting her loose.
Hanno knelt by Dyuh Mon, chanting, her hands glowing, and opening up his scale shirt, she slipped them inside.
“He don’t look good,” Simthil grumbled, leaning over with his forearms on his knees, a half-fletched arrow in his hand.
“He didn’t look good to begin with.” Gartan gazed around at the camp, at the eyes of the men and women trusting him, expecting him to make this fiasco right.
“Yeah, well, he looks even worse now,” Simthil laughed.
Gartan peered across the sandy opening in the tall, alien trees. The funeral pyre burned in a clearing they’d set up while he had been gone with Dyuh Mon, the flames flickering beyond the camp, the smoke rising up like a beacon. The scent reminded him of so many battles, so many friends gone on to the Great House over the years.
Nohel and Tayna chipped away at flints, making crude arrow heads. The horses nickered and whinnied with Pohmuk and Sinah calming them, talking to them, stroking their long necks. The animals nudged the warriors, leaning into their hands, touching them with their noses.
Hanno moved from Dyuh Mon’s side and knelt beside Gekisha, chanting. Her hands arced through the air, graceful, delicate, channeling her magic. The wound glowed.
