The remainder of Hajish’s men ran out onto the promontory and encircled the Prince and his first mate. The hydra head, with spear still embedded in its eye, recoiled from the flames. Stretching its neck the full length, it snapped its jaws at the archers on the shore, but they were just out of reach. More arrows were launched from the archers’ bows at the hydra as Hasahn directed their targeting. “Hit the eye, you scurvy dogs,” Hasahn yelled at the bowmen.
The center hydra head immersed itself under water, extinguishing the fire that had engulfed its face. It then reared back up out of the pool, its wounded eyes looking like melted jelly. Blinded, the head thrashed about, wildly snapping its massive jaws. As the head slammed down onto the point of the cape, Hajish seized the opportunity and ordered his men to attack. The corsairs swarmed around the head of the creature, stabbing and slashing away at it with spears and swords. Just by chance the blind head still managed to grab onto one of the attacking buccaneers and gobbled him up. The intense onslaught of steel finally took its toll on the horrific face and head of the beast. Its serpentine neck slowly retreated, crimson ichor gushing from its wounds. The body of the hydra slid back into the pool with its three hideous appendages slowly following. More volleys of arrows were launched at the head with the spear protruding from its eye. Hasahn could be heard swearing at his archers. “You bastards are pathetic! The eye, damn you, the eye!”
The fire was still blazing upon the rocks on that side of the peninsula as Amahl, Hajish and several of the bruised and battered corsairs advanced to its point. Amahl pointed his dripping tulwar to the third hydra head which was still swaying in all directions. Hajish and the men looked on, seeing Mottar riding the monster, still hanging onto the short sword embedded in the back of its neck. The Aiser was swinging his battle ax, chunks of hydra flesh flying off his blade with each intense blow he delivered. Blood was spewing from the nape of the grotesque being’s head where Mottar had concentrated his attack. The corsairs, one and all, watched in awe. The hydra retracted its heads back into the dark waters of the pool, taking Mottar with them. The north man continued hacking with all his might as he vanished into the depths.
A few moments of silence passed and then Hajish spoke in a low tone. “Damn. I was just getting used to the lad.”
Amahl continued to stare into the pool as the waters settled. “He probably saved our lives, along with the man who set the thing on fire. Where is he?”
“Uh… he didn’t make it, Captain,” answered the last remaining corsair that accompanied Amahl. The spearman was bloodied and banged up from being dashed into the rocks.
Hajish put a hand upon Amahl’s shoulder. “Come, my Prince. Let us return to the safety of the shore in the case of that thing’s return.”
One of the other corsairs added, “What if there’s more than one?”
Just then Amahl stepped further out on the rocks, exclaiming with exuberance, “There! Look there.” Coming out of the water not far from the point of the rocky cape was Mottar. He was struggling to swim, as if he was pulling something along with him or perhaps wounded badly. Amahl stepped out into the water on the rocks that sloped down into the pool, extending his arm out to Mottar as he approached the point. Hajish followed also, reaching out for the Aiser. As Mottar came up out of the water he let out a mighty yell, his muscles rippling and straining, as he heaved a severed head of the hydra upon the rocks in the shallow where Amahl and Hajish stood. Still clinging onto the ax, breathing heavily, he looked up to Amahl asking, “May I keep it?”
Amahl had an ear to ear grin upon his face as he obtusely answered, “What? The head? I suppose, if you really want it.”
Mottar gave Hajish a puzzled look as they helped him back up onto the rocks of the cape. Amahl let out a half grunt, half laugh, adding, “Of course you can keep the ax, and anything else you wish that is upon these rocks. You have more than earned it, my brother.”
Amahl turned to the remaining corsairs. “It’s been a good day’s work, lads, and I don’t think our friend shall be returning. But in case there are more of those things, I think we should make haste in moving this booty over to the campfire.” Hajish instantly started giving orders to the men.
Amahl, leaving the peninsula, walked over to Hasahn who was yelling at his archers. “You bilge rats couldn’t hit the side of a galley in dry dock.” Hasahn, seeing Amahl approaching, ran to him, embracing his arms in his hands. “My brave captain, methinks you should learn to run. I am pleased you are in one piece. And our barbarian? Is he all right?”
“Amazingly, he is still in one piece also,” Amahl answered.
“Amazing is an understatement,” said Hasahn. “I have never seen anything like that.”
Amahl also clasped Hasahn’s arms in his hands, and with one of his typical partial laugh and grunts returned, “By the gods, I have never even heard of anything like that before. Have your men help retrieve the treasure.”
“Aye, Captain,” said Hasahn. Turning to the archers, he said, “You see lads, since you are useless as bowmen, you now have to work for a living. Get over there and help your mates, and put your backs into it.” The archers filed off to help carry the treasure.
Amahl said to Hasahn, “I owe you, brother. If not for your first flight of arrows, I think I would have been seafood.”
“I think it is we who should thank you for learning how to read those squiggly drawing things on the map.” Hasahn answered back. They both laughed as Hajish and Mottar joined them.
Hajish bowed and waved his arm as if to introduce someone in the Princes’ Court. “May I present Mottar, son of Gundar.” Hasahn bowed to the Aiser, who was confused by their humor. “Go ahead, lad,” stated Hajish.
Mottar bowed to Amahl, saying, “My lord, I found something amongst the treasure that I think belongs to you.” Mottar handed Amahl two perfectly matched gladii, both with identically cut emeralds in the ends of the pommels. Amahl took the swords and immediately swung them, checking the balance of the blades. Mottar added, “Now maybe you can master that technique you spoke of. And if so, maybe you would see fit to teach me. You see the gems? They match your eyes, my lord. A sign from the Fates that you were supposed to be here, and these swords your prize from the gods.”
Amahl gave Mottar a friendly gaze. “Thank you, my brother. They are perfect.”
Hajish then said to the others, “I’ve been thinking…”
“We are doomed for sure now,” Hasahn interrupted.
Hajish smacked Hasahn in the chest. “Shut up, swine.” Hasahn moved backwards a bit, chuckling as Hajish continued. “How do you suppose Skulpa and his men got the treasure out there without being eaten? He assuredly knew about the sea hydra because of what he wrote on the map.”
“I had wondered that also, my friend,” Amahl answered. I would expect that Skulpa did run into that beast. It is high tide now. He most likely waited for low tide to move the booty onto the rocks, when the water level was low enough that the hydra could not reach them.”
Hasahn snickered, somewhat amused. “Too bad you didn’t think of that till now. We could have done the same thing.”
Amahl gave a very sincere and serious look at Hasahn, blurting out, “Now where would the fun of that have been?” There was a brief moment of silence until Amahl smiled and began to laugh. Then they all erupted in laughter with Hajish raising his scimitar into the air exclaiming, “Here, here.”
Amahl clanged the blades of the gladii together, announcing to the others, “All right, you barnacles, we’ve work to do. After that booty is moved I want two runners sent back to the ship. Have them bring more men, litters to carry the loot, and more oil. Send out a party to chop more timber. I want fires all over this place. No more surprises.” At that moment Mottar dropped to his knees with exhaustion setting in. Amahl knelt beside the Aiser. “Get to it, lads. I’ll see to him.”
Another full day passed before all of Skulpa’s riches could be extracted from the cave and carried to the ship. Fires all about i
lluminated the cavern extremely well now. As the last of the corsairs were preparing to exit the cavern, Amahl, Hajish and Mottar all stood where the treasure had been on the rocky peninsula. Looking out across the now lower pool, Amahl thought out loud, “I wonder what other strange terrors live in the depths of Neptula’s chambers?” He knelt down on one knee and placed a single gold coin upon the rocks, then covered it up with the piece of sail that covered the treasure originally.
“My lord, why do you make this gesture?” Mottar asked.
Amahl stood back up. “Oh, this is no offering, mate. You, see I plan to keep the map in my quarters on the Seventh Son. I’m sure news will travel that Morro and his ship have disappeared and I’m also sure that we are not the only ones that knew he had Skulpa’s map. So if we don’t tell of its finding, the legend will live on. The search for the map will continue by many. And when the day of my defeat and end comes, my vanquisher will hopefully find this map and go to all the trouble of translating the directions and making the journey here to Skulpa’s Isle. But instead of vast riches they will only find this one piece of gold. And maybe a sea monster, too.”
“So you would have your joke on them even after your death,” Mottar said in a thoughtful manner. “I see the truth of it, though sinister it may be.”
Hajish put an arm around Mottar and gave him a brotherly hug, chuckling, “Know ye now more or not, my brother? Know ye now more or not?”
Stormchaser
By Geoff Blackwell
Derx lowered his ale and scowled at the lad who approached his table. A Molorzian, young and nervous, his eyes darting away from Derx’s gaze. Around them the tavern thrived in a cacophony of toasts and jeers and fighting words.
“You want something?”
“Er, beggin’ your pardon Captain Derx, but, thing is, you see, er—”
“Spit it out or move along, lad. Men are trying to drink.”
“Beg your pardon,” the youngster muttered again. “I don’t mean to disturb. My mates and I, we only wanted to ask you about the Orphan, sir.”
Derx looked past the youth to the far end of the tavern. Three other young soldiers sat staring and whispering to one another. He sighed and drummed his swarthy fingers against his mug. “My crew is full, son.”
“With respect sir, we wanted to ask about her previous owner. The Stormchaser.”
The captain’s fingers halted mid-drum. “Where did you hear that name?”
The lad’s mouth opened, closed, then opened again. “Well, the sailors talk. One of my mates heard about it. We were just wondering, is all.”
Derx gulped down a mouthful of ale before replying. “Beiran Stormchaser,” he murmured. It was a name he hadn’t uttered in… how long? A decade? He wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “He was my captain.”
The Molorzian’s eyes lit with curiosity. “When? How long ago?”
“I had barely seen fourteen summers when I stepped aboard the Orphan for the first time. We sailed together for six… no, seven years. The Molorzians were barely an empire in those days.”
“So what of the Orphan? Did you have to fight Stormchaser for it? Did you win it in a card game? Steal it?”
The captain raised an eyebrow, his gaze flickering back to the three youths at the other table. They were watching him and their friend intently. A handful of coins lay stacked upon the table.
Derx chuckled. How indeed? Memories in obscure nooks of his mind dusted themselves off. A few lines from an old seafarer’s song rose to the front of his mind, a song he hadn’t heard since his days as a freebooter.
There had been the roar of guns. Seething winds. Ocean spray; the tang of blood. There had been—
—“Fog!”
Derx could just barely hear Beiran’s voice over the roar. He felt air rush against him as cannon-shot flew past his shoulder, crashing into the ocean beyond. Beside him, Janirro went down wheezing, clawing at a hole in his chest. Derx dropped his rifle and knelt, tearing a scrap from his shirt and pressing it into Janirro’s wound. It soaked red in seconds and the injured sailor gurgled and choked and died upon the deck. The world thickened with greyness.
The fog engulfed the Orphan in a silver shroud. So thick, Derx couldn’t see the deck of the ship, couldn’t see Janirro’s twitching body. The shouts and cries of men and the report of guns carried on but they seemed lost and far away, like a dream, a memory. Then silence became the world. The ship, the wind, the violence of the ocean, it no longer existed.
Derx stood up, alone in a world of clouds. Cupping his hands around his mouth he shouted for Vlannir, Gallad, Trizna, Beiran, anyone. He felt his tongue form their names but he couldn’t hear the words. He shouted louder, harder. He screamed so fiercely that he could taste blood in his throat.
All around him the mist contracted, became heavier, constricting his movements like some nightmare snake until Derx thought it would crush him and splinter his bones. It crawled into his mouth, up his nostrils. He couldn’t breathe—he choked and retched without any sound.
The world melted into shadow and oblivion.
The first thing Derx did when he regained consciousness was stagger to the railing and vomit. His vision carrouseled around him and his legs trembled like jelly. He fell to the deck and passed out again. As the darkness closed down upon him, his thoughts lingered on the smooth rocking of the ship, the gentle splashing against the hull, the dimness of the sun, the distant cry of sea fowl.
His face suddenly stung. Derx groaned, and it stung again. He opened his eyes and saw three blurry faces peering down at him against a grey haze. He blinked. The three faces converged into a single familiar one. It was first mate Vlannir, his bearded face etched with worry.
“Ocean pearls, lad. I thought you were a goner.”
“What happened?” Derx said, voice creaking and raw. The fog had lifted, though the clouds still turned restlessly above them. “Did we escape?” For an instant his guts turned to stone. “Are we dead?”
“Couldn’t tell you, mate. As soon as we hit that fog…” Vlannir trailed off, shaking his head.
The Orphan’s deck was a mess of fallen weapons, chunks of splintered wood and toppled bodies. Some sailors staggered upright, some crawled. Some lay silent. Janirro’s body lay where he’d fallen, Derx’s scrap of fabric still stuffed into his chest. Blood stained his clothes and his eyes hung halfway open, misty in death.
“I tried to save him,” Derx said.
Vlannir took a long look at the corpse and shook his head. “You did what you could.” He held out a brawny arm and helped Derx to his feet.
Silver light filtered through the clouds. Up ahead, a mass of land approached, a bleak shoreline where rocks jutted skyward like rotting teeth. The land stretched before them in a shallow beach, then reared into high hills and barren cliffs, their peaks painted white by more of the low-hanging mist.
“Where are we?” asked Derx.
“I haven’t the faintest idea, mate.”
“Where are the enemy ships? What the hell happened to us?”
Vlannir shook his head.
Derx looked around, trying and failing to fix his bearings. He saw Beiran Stormchaser up at the quarterdeck, hands at the wheel. The captain’s eyes were wide and wary, his jaw set tight. Vlannir and Derx set about reviving the rest of the Orphan’s crew. Most of them woke up much in the way young Derx had, others cursing and thrashing as though the ship was still under attack. Some of them wouldn’t wake up, even a few who had no visible wounds. The confounded sailors pointed to the island and whispered. None had seen or heard of this place before, even those who had been born and bred on the deep southeastern waters. They could only sit and wait as the pebbled shoreline drew nearer and nearer.
“Captain, we’ve lost nine of our own,” Vlannir said, breaking the silence of the crew.
“Drop anchor at bow and ready the landers,” Beiran said, his eyes fixed on the land before them.
Vlannir stared in shock. “Are you mad?”
&nb
sp; Beiran blinked and finally tore his gaze from the horizon and gazed down as his crew. He stared at them and started down from the quarterdeck.
“Do you know this island, Captain?” someone called out.
The captain’s eyes flickered back to the sloping landmass ahead of them. “Maybe. But maybe not. I need to see. Prepare to land!”
With defeated movements, the sailors went about the task before them. Derx and Vlannir hauled the corpses into a row and Trizna, the ship’s doctor, shrouded them in weighted blankets one by one. There had been Janirro, a bit younger than Derx, hailing from some unnamed hamlet in Umbrioch. Cerridwen, who came from Ireheart, a fishing town in Varachne. They’d called her “Cerri” for short. Also Hurald, Nahwhey, and Gloan and more. All the dead faces were covered by a scrap of blue silk as the Orphan laid anchor and the landing boats were prepped.
“We go ashore. Bring weapons and a day’s rations,” Beiran ordered.
Vlannir ripped a foul curse and stood before the captain. “Beiran, we’ve got nine dead here. Their spirits deserve their rites.”
The Stormchaser looked upon the shrouded bodies, probably for the first time. He gave the waiting beach another glance of quiet longing, then he spoke:
“Brothers and sisters of the sea, we release you, we thank you, and our strength ebbs without you. Rest beneath the waves.”
It was weak, but it was the best that they would get.
The bodies were dropped into the water with less reverence than was usual for such an event. The crew stood and watched with hands over hearts until the last ripples swept away. Then they collected their guns, sabres and knives and assembled onto landing boats to be lowered into the sea. A pair of coughing, weakened sailors volunteered to stay aboard the ship. Derx took the same lander as Beiran and Vlannir, the first to hit the water, oars dipping and pushing.
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