THE TRYPHON ODYSSEY (The Voyage Book 1)

by S. D. Howarth

  The bear remained down, its breathing slow and laboured from the undamaged head. Merizus looked to Mathyss, who nodded. Blood pulsed in spurts, arcing from the severed throat to the ground. In time, the hot jet of colour faded to a trickle, pooling on the grey shingle.

  Thinking it was over, the big serjeant was halfway turned to check his men, when the bear reared. Mathyss fought to yell a warning when its paw lashed out in a last convulsive death blow. It flung the massive marine in an explosive grunt, seashells erupting like a volcano in miniature.

  "Let it bleed." Mathyss wheezed, finally forming words. "Save your strength." Each word hurt from hitting the shingle, the running and the abrupt release of stress. His chest throbbed, sharp stabbing lances of pain, but he shrugged them off like an old coat. He waved two of his scouts forward while accepting Kandra's abandoned quiver from Trevir. No one said anything to the man who tried running and then returned to ranks. Meaun refused to look anyone in the eye and stood alone, head hanging. Mathyss turned to Van Reiver, who had prudently pulled his men back during the beast's death throes. "Keep watch behind and look for a sign of where the cyclopta have disappeared. Edouard, if they are not in the cave, then we are in trouble. They will be out there, and we'll be exposed when it darkens." He pointed to the horizon with the bow, and the thickening clouds forming out to sea.

  Van Reiver inclined his head at the opening and gulped, "Are you heading in there?"

  Mathyss nodded, masking trepidation with stoicism. It needed to be done. Had to be done. He had to see for himself. It was the last thing he wanted to do and gestured for Grimm to follow with six men and ignored his scouts. They exchanged tense looks like the humans. Curses erupted as Hatch yanked one man away and shoved Garshum into place. Mathyss ignored the rumbling discontent and led the way inside, his sword leading, probing the dark unknowable.

  .*.*.

  While Van Reiver's men covered the recess, Carla passed a tense-looking Ephraim a bandage for the unlucky sailor the marine had dragged wailing to beside the cave entrance. Breath bubbled as the man groaned from gaping armour, with deep crimson pools forming in each wound on the upper arm. Crouching beside him, Carla looked over at Kandra. She felt a twinge of sympathy for the other woman, looking at the substantial bruise distorting the side of her head. Carla was playing healer, she knew that, yet it was easy to guess the empurpled mass caused the elf's unsteadiness.

  Carla pulled the flap of her backpack wider, but there was little she could apply for a bruise other than a pot of greasy salve with a pungent, acrid smell. Kandra smiled her thanks, taking the pot, and smeared the contents on her head. It was all Carla could do not to gabble with relief at the confirmation of her choice. An unusual mannerism from the tall woman, as though a chink of light projected into her interior like sunlight through clouds. She turned back to the fallen man, and Ephraim shrugged. From his grim expression, and the already saturated bandage, he looked doubtful the man would live long enough to attempt treating.

  Fingering the pouch of phials on her belt, Carla withdrew one of three with a blue seal, cracked it and forced the thick liquid between blood-splattered quivering lips. Tryell had instructed her they were for dire emergencies, and she second-guessed her decision. Why hadn't she clarified the potions by injury example? It had been so easy to breathe in the isle's perfume and nod in understanding as though it made sense. She was a fraud. Who was she kidding? Seconds later though, the racking disjointed gasps became miraculously regular as the arm gave off a faint reddish glow under the bandage and a wave of heat caressed her face.

  Ephraim rocked back, awed as the dying man regained a healthy flush. Ephraim looked at her, then comically to the man, and barked a crowing laugh. Ruffling the man's hair, he shocked Carla by giving her a rough hug, then rushed down the beach towards Merizus.

  Carla sat back on her heels, too surprised to chastise him and taken aback by her doubt becoming her success and the strength of the adrenaline surge. She stared at the rents in the armour for several seconds and poked her finger inside to feel firm flesh and a tiny break in the skin she almost missed. Carla shuddered, and peering close, watched the ghastly wounds close. Was the unexpected hug a sign of acceptance within their party? The thought made her smile, lips curling back from dry teeth, but that faded as Kandra placed a hand on her shoulder and lurched to her feet. The elf staggered and bent to take the blade from the downed seamen and stumbled from the cave exterior, salve abandoned and unsealed.

  "Wait, Kandra! Rest for a moment and regain your balance."

  "No. He needs me." Kandra turned to go, paused and pulled free a belt pouch and flipped it behind Carla.

  In an eye blink, Carla snatched it, and her glow of success evaporated. The marvel of seeing a recovery from near death paled at the sight of the patched-up return to ranks. Bloodied and bandaged, they fought on. Carla knew with every fibre of her being she had been wrong to volunteer. So very wrong. She looked away from the men around the fallen and put her head in her hands. The elf knew, and that made it worse.

  .*.*.

  "Merizus is all right and they're not in the cave!" Dagmar gasped, as he hobbled behind Van Reiver's detachment and slid down his staff onto a shallow hump of shingle by the high-water mark amidst dry clumps of black and orange seaweed.

  "Don't say you've been scrying again! God's balls! Look what happened last time! For fuck's sake, Dag!" Van Reiver fumed, shaking his fist at the magus, incredulous at the risk the sunjammer had taken. Dagmar grunted sourly, an apathetic response to the exasperated rebuke which pissed off Van Reiver more than the scrying, or seamen sniggering. It was damn fortunate that Dagmar hadn't injured himself again. Worth a second prayer to the Gods's with Merizus' fortune. If they survived, it wouldn't just be Grimm heading to a temple.

  "Where the hell are they?" the sunjammer vented his frustration as he glanced around. "They're too big to hide in the trees. They can't just vanish into fresh air, can they?" He scooped up a handful of shingle and tossed it towards the water, then frowned at the sea. "Shit."

  "I know, I'll check the cave and see what Mathyss discovered in there," Van Reiver said. He felt resigned to follow Mathyss inside. The ship had better be worth it. He thought, hoping he could close his eyes and sleep without bringing dank, gloomy caves and ferocious bears into his dreams to shrivel his balls and devour his soul. He stopped dead a pace inside, rocking on his heels as he heard the echo of footfalls. Shit. He snatched at the hilt of his blade and tore the steel free.

  "Careful. There is enough death here. A hellish fate from the deepest imaginable despair," Mathyss said in a dull, sickened tone and pushed the blade aside. He looked through Van Reiver as though he wasn't there and stepped into the light. His face several shades paler, his eyes dead, he seemed like he had been sick and straightened with a grimace. Grimm didn't appear any better when he came out a minute later, and the coxswain herded the seamen away, ignoring questions from the others about what they had seen. He looked at Van Reiver and shook his head. Some answers required no words. The bad ones to shred a life and destroy hope—and your mind—never did.

  "Did you find the missing women?" Van Reiver asked, studying Mathyss' pallor. If he didn't know otherwise from Mathyss moving around, he'd assume the man was bleeding out under his armour.

  "Yes." There was a lengthy pause as Mathyss swallowed several times, struggling to speak. "She was their supper. They are both with Sepharzur, embraced in the earth."

  "They would eat them?" Van Reiver gaped and felt doubly sorry for Grimm and the men.

  "Something did," said Mathyss in a voice clenched in steel, and shouldered past a gaping sailor to snatch a moment alone.

  Van Reiver saw the commander slump. Stoop-shouldered, he stared unseeing down the beach that had dashed his hopes. He took several gulps from his flask and spat onto the beach. After breathing heavily for a minute, Mathyss sighed and turned to one of his two male scouts, standing with tears crawling down narrow elven cheeks from deep-set brown eyes.
"Check the sea. They must be there." The scout nodded, sympathy on a wet face, and turned, crippled by dejection but not defeated, still functioning. Van Reiver cringed, feeling even more the useless coward, and sheathed his sword. Fuck.

  Van Reiver glanced around, trying to match the mental image against the men standing. He couldn't see the man. Relief at not having to pry two giants from a cave intermingled with the despair radiating from the elves and his own paranoia. Tryphon's men—his men—had performed well, with few casualties. Merizus was the luckiest, more winded than harmed. Breathing hard, the serjeant stepped gingerly to Van Reiver's side, dangling his helmet by the strap, with an inquiring expression on his face. Van Reiver was lost for words for a moment, feeling that this was all a dream. A nightmare. He shook himself and spoke for Mathyss to give him time.

  "Get the wounded to the cave. For their sanity, tell them not to wander."

  Merizus grimaced and rechecked the men, sending two for Carla's attention and then a third when Grimm pointed to Nadam.

  Ephraim hurried over to whisper in his serjeant's ear. Merizus chuckled and cracked a smile. "Once she treats them, use them to cover the cave. Get the magus inside, he's no use sat on his arse waiting to get stamped on." Ephraim smirked and jogged after the wounded. Van Reiver winced. He should have sent his friend to Carla rather than yell at him. He felt swamped trying to think on several things at once. Looking to Merizus was of little help. The huge man stared back and shrugged. Then glanced to the bear. Shit, his paranoia would have to wait. What proof had he have beyond over-imagination in the roiling mess of a melee? What proof did he have? Two shoves in the back from a man who'd vanished in a blink of an eye wasn't definitive. Shit.

  "Defending the cave?" Mathyss spun him around. Those few seconds and Van Reiver's order had wrenched him from his dark reverie. The commander looked drained and pale, but his determination remained unwavering. His eyes told a different story. Van Reiver knew in that moment, revenge was all that remained for the elf. It would have to be enough this day. But the future? Gods, the future, the long emptiness and bottomless recrimination. Van Reiver knew about those emotions all too well. In the boat, thinking had been the principal activity when not pondering hunger and thirst. Or was it thirst and hunger? Gods, stop thinking. He clenched his teeth and cleared his throat.

  "Yes. It's protection when the cyclopta return. Presuming they return." Van Reiver muttered, then hesitated, before nodding at the still twitching bear. "How long will that take?"

  "'I'll finish it. It has been enough of a distraction." Mathyss withdrew a long, slightly curved dagger from his forearm sheath and sliced both throats in one fluid act. Efficient and clinical. Blood pumped from the first cut under the darker head into the pool forming under its body. This time no-one cheered. Weakly, the head twisted, took a last rasping breath with foam bubbling from the wound as the dreadful eyes closed. Rolling sideways, the bear succumbed to death.

  43

  Van Reiver quietened the men after their second ragged cheer. He felt like a cunt quelling their humour, but it was better than having them join the bear. "Hush! Outstanding work. That's the pet down. Back into your ranks, recheck your gear and keep your eyes and ears skinned. Scour around for arrows and unbroken spears; we're not homeward bound yet." Van Reiver gulped, waiting for the protest. It never appeared. He looked around at the sudden silence. Grimm winked, seeing Van Reiver's expression as the men obeyed, looking over each other with a rising chatter.

  The navigator crunched to Mathyss' side. "What next?" he threw, hoping the taciturn commander had an inspiration for what remained. "Same plan, or do we have a better way of doing things?" Van Reiver snapped. The navigator hid his terror behind anger, barely avoiding biting his tongue. It wasn't the time to scream profanities…

  "We do not have the spears to surround, constrain and destroy them easily." Mathyss conceded, squatting. If he observed Van Reiver's anger, he ignored it by waving over Grimm and a muttering Merizus. "It will save explaining things," he half apologised. Van Reiver shrugged the apology away and squatted, fuming. He raked shingle with his fingertips while eyeing the elf sideways. He could guess what the others were saying.

  "Two main phalanxes. Here and here, with our remaining two-handers. Ten men each, plus myself and Merizus to command." Mathyss gestured either side of the cave entrance with his knife and made corresponding marks in the fine shingle. "I'd like Edouard's men with spears as our reserve phalanx under Grimm. The archers and any without spears as skirmishers behind. Edouard commands them to use as he sees fit. Have everyone unoccupied collect rocks. Anything for a distraction."

  Both of Tryphon's most senior warrant officers exchanged a long look over the idea of hurling rocks at a diabolical leviathan bigger than a house being a viable battle tactic. Van Reiver had to agree with them. Yet to be objective, Mathyss wasn't being unpractical. He used what he had at hand.

  Merizus nodded with a wince. Grimm looked in speculation at Van Reiver, then asked, "Do we have any ropes and hooks?" Van Reiver blinked, taken aback, but Mathyss stared at Grimm, eyes curious at the comment.

  "Why?"

  "It's obvious from being kicked around by the bear. They're too fuckin' big to run up to and stab with swords and spears. For most of the lads, this was fuckin' futile. Utter shite. They're too well defended against our dinky spears, just shoved aside our lads as they pressed in. Half the guys have shields, which're useless, as you need two hands on the fucker to crack fur, or skin. Even then, our shiny new weapons did fuck all. Ropes an' hooks are effective in messing up deck crews. It might be worth tryin' it here. If we can snag an arm, maybe we can haul the big fuckers off-balance. Give our archers a clear shot, if nuttin' else.

  "It could help," Mathyss admitted, appreciating the brutal pragmatism. "You need to check through the packs we dropped; they could be on us at any moment."

  "Where do we look for them now?" Merizus asked with a deep frown at the elf.

  "We will see what the sea says." Van Reiver frowned as Merizus had. Mathyss bounced up with an ease the navigator could only envy and brushed past to walk to his kneeling scout at the surf's edge. The scout had his head cocked to the side, one hand caressing the water as it swished past him. Van Reiver glowered at the water creeping stealthily further up the beach with each wave and felt the hair rise on his neck as he heard Mathyss' scout murmur the same incomprehensible phrase again and again.

  Before Mathyss could speak, the scout lurched up, eyes wide, and babbled a stream of incomprehensible elven.

  "What was that?" Van Reiver struggled to keep his voice down. What a fucking time to dither on translation, his mind cackled in inappropriate laughter.

  "Reform!" bellowed Mathyss. "They are in the sea! Both cyclopta are coming in from each side of the bay." He snapped something to the elf as he dragged his scout to the side of Van Reiver's company, the man stumbling in a daze. Mathyss snapped louder, and the scout shook himself and pointed to the sea in front of them.

  Van Reiver didn't need to tell the men where to look and position themselves. Tryphon's crew were too dutiful to run, or too brave to flee. Muttering amongst themselves, the seamen readied bloody weapons and waited. Seconds became minutes, then felt like hours as fear squeezed lungs tight. Impossibly tight. He could feel the blood pulse at his temples as his heart drummed. Fuck, get it over.

  Van Reiver creaked to his feet. A sense of trepidation filled his stomach, which hung leaden around his knees like the proverbial anchor of doom. Rapidly breathing, armour heaving harder than a whore's bed, he stifled the sudden urge to spew. He caught Merizus watching and saw the big man wink. He returned it, taking comfort in the simple act. If only it was that simple.

  "Is it a good plan?" Van Reiver croaked, walking in the shade beside the serjeant, who towered several inches taller. He wished Hatch was at his side. The man had been a rock on Tryphon, albeit foul-mouthed and intolerant. Now, he ordered Van Reiver's men into two ranks. The huge marine stood monolithic in Hatch's p
lace. Silent, intense and shrugging off two batterings that would leave most men down and out.

  "It's total shit, but I can't see anythin' better, sir. We're fucked if we take on both together. If the lads can find rope, maybe we can use it to tangle their legs or knackers. They aren't quick, I got that from Kandra, but it hurts standin' up to them with blades. We've been lucky. I'd give a leg for a naphtha keg or a ballista. It'd be a rumpus evener and some."

  "Are you all right after the tumble?"

  "Just winded. My fat arse found the only dollop of soft sand. One god must have smiled on me for that moment. Hail the mighty seven!" Merizus blew a kiss to the heavens.

  "Maniac. And thank you—for the support."

  "Dunno what you mean, sir." Merizus deadpanned, his attention turning as the swell increased and he rammed his helm on. It heaved as the colossus stormed from the depths. The courage Van Reiver recouped from Merizus wobbled as water sheeted back into the sea with a shattering hiss. This leviathan loomed. The dripping cyclopta scanned the bay from the burning village to the barricaded cave, and only then at the scarlet ringed corpses before settling on the small group of humans and elves. Van Reiver didn't have to be a mind-reader to see its unhappiness. The single orb glittered with madness. Long abyss-black hair hung greasy and dripping in long rivulets of oily sea water. It framed a broad, coarse sculpted face. Brownish skin speckled heavy jowls. Dark-green seaweed, algae and yellow crustaceans surrounded rosebud-like lips.