Overkill

by Steven Shrewsbury

  The two never answered as the sailors laughed.

  Cody’s face turned grim, the rough lines growing deeper to his chin. “You were, weren’t you?” His nostrils flared. “Pretty boys, clean and shaven recent, trying to pass for regulars, but their bodies, no fat on them.” Cody leaned in close to Coryll. “You’ve swam the channel before, haven’t you?”

  No answers came.

  “Why spot us? Why finger us to the pirates? What could we have that was so much?”

  Silence reigned.

  His eyes flared in the dim light and he nodded at Vallen. “Cast that one by a line behind us. If he lives to shore, he can go free. He looks dimmer than this one.” The men all grunted as they brought forth the steel-headed mallets again, this time shattering the knees of Vallen. Orsen moved behind Gorias, gasping, but the big warrior just watched as Vallen collapsed to the deck. The spy screamed, begging for mercy. None came. “Let ‘em swim like that.” Cody looked at the other man. “You’re hard cases huh? Why bother with us?” Coryll remained silent despite the screams of his cohort. Cody said, “Work him over until he talks. If he doesn’t, impale his ass on a pike and let him suffer until we arrive.”

  Vallen rolled, screaming, “Pergamus, we…”

  Coryll slipped free of his captors, raging at his friend, “Shut up, damn you!” Gorias and other sailors moved toward the tall youth as he flailed at his fallen friend. Coryll made it to Vallen as the sailors tackled him, clasping his friend’s right ankle.

  Vallen still reeled from the blows to his knees, tears drenching his face as he wailed, “He’s gotta die! He’s gotta die!”

  Someone shouted, “Who?” But Vallen screamed louder as Coryll pulled free of him. At Vallen’s ankle, a ball of fire blossomed like a flower rapidly yearning for the sun. The fire spread, but only on his body, racing up his calf and over his ruined knee.

  All eyes focused on Vallen save for Gorias. He stared at Coryll, who smiled at his handiwork, but his grin faded when he saw Gorias faced him.

  The others stepped back as the fire raced over Vallen’s body, his voice screaming, “La Gaul!” But Gorias only imparted a momentary glance.

  Gorias grabbed Coryll by the baggy shirt and shook him until his teeth snapped against each other several times. “That’s right, skinny, I’m not impressed. They all got a hard-on watching him burn to death because they’ve never seen it before.”

  Coryll worked his mouth and Gorias anticipated him spitting in his face so he slammed his forehead down into the youth’s mouth, smashing his lips and caving in two front teeth.

  Face to face with him, Gorias growled, “Pergamus, aye? La Gaul has gotta die?” Again, Gorias shook the youth hard, the others still gasping at Vallen as the fire coursed over his flesh and ate away at his skin until soon, only bones remained, and they started to become dust. The fire surged, a vibrant yellow, surges of orange but occasionally a golden hue, but then back to its original color. As Vallen ceased to be, the fire started to ebb away, hardly scorching the boards of the barge’s deck.

  A few coins and a small straight razor fell from Coryll’s trousers as Gorias thrashed him, turning out his pockets. Gorias’ head snapped down as something else on the deck caught his eye. He threw Coryll into the sailors, who, though still stupefied by what they witnessed, caught him and held on. Gorias dropped to his knees, sweeping up the articles on the deck, and making his hands into fists. Back to his feet, Gorias’ stare drilled into Coryll.

  “You might as well talk,” Gorias told him. “You’re as good as dead already.”

  Still cocky, Coryll looked down and remarked through bloody teeth, “There are things worse than dying. Pergamus…”

  A single step forward, Gorias kept his fists tight. “You know what Pergamus really is, don’t you, kid?”

  Head up, grin returned though ruined, Coryll stated, “Why the place where dragons come from, right?”

  Gorias said, “Let him loose.”

  Cody barked, “What?!”

  “This will only take a second. Let him loose.”

  The sailors unhanded Coryll, but he had little time to get his arms free before Gorias swung and connected with the youth’s left eye. Coryll snapped around backward, his legs wavering and he fell back into the arms of the sailors.

  Gorias turned to Cody. “I hate to hit a guy held by another. Do what you want with him now.”

  Cody stepped toward Coryll. “We will.”

  Gorias walked away from the rest and they started to arm up the youth. Orsen followed Gorias to where he stood near the edge of the barge, seeking out at the pirates in the distance. He opened his hands, shaking loose coins, lint, a hairpin memento of a lass, but keeping his fingers on a tiny object glowing yellow.

  Orsen looked around him, but was careful to guard Gorias’ discovery from the sailors. “What is that? A pill of some sort?”

  Gorias held the tablet-shaped object up. He saw the tiny flicker of fire within. “This isn’t good, kid. Coryll killed his buddy rather than let him talk, broke something like this against him, just enough dragonfire to burn a man to death. The tiny casing like glass but not as tough, see, it gives a bit if I squeeze.”

  “By the goddess,” Orsen gasped.

  “Yeah, goddess all right.” He opened the pouch on his belt and pulled out a small glass vial. This vial didn’t glow, but held a wriggling thing too dim to name in the moonlight. Gorias then pulled a silk scarf from the pouch, and wrapped both objects in the fabric. Once he closed the pouch, he turned to Orsen. “We all have our mementos.”

  “Would it matter if I asked what that is all about?”

  “Nope.”

  The sailors set about tying down the spy and pulling out ropes for scourges as Orsen walked back to the cabin. The Captain and Gorias exchanged a knowing glance, but that was all.

  Orsen said to Gorias as he walked into the cabin area, “That’s one reason why I can’t be a sailor.”

  “There’s more to life than sailing. Hell, that can happen to ya in a desert.”

  “Cheerful sort, aren’t you?”

  “A long life does that to ya.”

  *****

  Luckily, Nykia could swim. She’d been trained years ago by palace staff and the craft became keener to her nature when she came to live amongst the Prytens. Many of her fellows on the sinking vessel may have drowned, but she never looked back. She heard that was a sign of weakness. Nykia and dozens of others swam for the remaining vessel not struck by the Transalpinan Captain. Soon, she saw her mistress, Noguria, beside her in the drink, her blonde hair all washed out by the sea, turned back to its darker hue. The stout crewman, Allard, tried to help Noguria and received a backhanded slap for his trouble.

  While they treaded water, Nykia stared up into the faces of those on the last ship. They let down ropes and ladders, but her eyes focused on the tall man who faced her. Dressed only in loose-fitting breeks and sandals, the man shouted, “I’m glad you survived.” Behind him stood a broad-shouldered, thuggish man, who frowned at his leader.

  “I should’ve stayed in the Pryten wilderness,” Nykia remarked as she started to climb a ladder of rope.

  “And why didn’t you?”

  Once on the deck, she gulped in air and said, “You pigs took me and I was drawn here.”

  “Tired of tribal life?” he jeered.

  “You couldn’t understand, dumbass, Dumas.”

  He roared with laughter. “I bet I understand just fine.” Dumas struck a dramatic pose, one worthy of a thespian and said, “Your own true love, Gorias La Gaul, is nearby and heading to Transalpina.”

  Her boots flat on the wet deck, Nykia shook off her arms and promptly jabbed Dumas in the throat, causing the big man to grab his neck and falter a few steps. Fire burned in his eyes as Noguria hopped onto the deck and shook her locks off like a dog.

  “Shut your mouth,” Nykia sneered at Dumas. “I’d cut your balls off if you had any.”

  Allard and Noguria blocked Dumas from striki
ng her.

  Nykia faced across the waves, ignoring the distant men in the water and their screams. Her dark eyes rested on the barge. She could hear the cheering sailors over the waves, and even see a few of the figures in the half moonlight. Nykia swallowed hard, eyes focusing on a form taller than the rest, standing near a smaller man. She thought she could see gray hair blow in the night and her heart rose to her throat. “You’re here,” she gasped silently, hands gripping the edges of her tunic, thinking it not possible that she beheld him from such a distance. “You really are.”

  “Rotten bitch,” said Dumas, rubbing his throat. “You have no humor anymore.”

  Noguria removed one of her coiled whips and slapped Dumas across the face, but more playfully than to harm him. “Ease up, Dumas. She’s young yet.”

  “You just forget what connects us, pig dog,” Nykia snapped at him.

  The big man chuckled, “I’m not too bright but I get the notion of obsession.”

  “It’s more than that,” Nykia said, her right hand flat on her abdomen, slowly sliding to her pelvis. “It’s magic.”

  Two men moved up to flank Dumas: one a head taller than the rest, skin & bones, but with eyes dancing like a fire; the other a stout man sporting a braided beard that draped his belly.

  Comfortable with his two men near, Dumas said, “Why do you think we wanted that barge destroyed? The last deal with Pergamus, well, it was magic.”

  Hands becoming fists, Nykia raged, “You did it on purpose? You meant to kill Gorias!”

  Dumas voice grew grave as he said, “You aren’t a princess here, Nykia, barely the bedding for your bitch mistress. Mind your tongue or she’ll have to find another.”

  CHAPTER III

  Pie with the Queen

  The barge cruised on into the night, the men too hearty to sleep, and certainly, the ruckus of those torturing Coryll kept any who did try awake. Once they impaled the spy on a pole via his backside, his cries didn’t help those attempting a nap. After an hour, the whistles blew when the watchmen spotted Transalpina’s docks.

  Stepping down the planks from the barge, Gorias glanced at the prisoner bisected by the pole, now silent, and then back to the dock.

  Orsen said with frankness, “Coryll never made it.”

  “The waves made sure he’d slide down. Hell, on dry land he may have stayed up there for days.” Gorias thumbed over his shoulder, but wouldn’t look back. “That Captain knew what he was doing.”

  “Now they won’t learn anything.”

  “I don’t think Cody wanted to know any of it too badly. Sure, we wouldn’t mind understanding the motives of all that, but this story about what Cody did will get around and that will be a warning enough. Fewer men will volunteer to be spotters or spies amongst the pirate ranks.”

  “You took note of Pergamus when they spoke of it.”

  Gorias kept walking and stretching, showing no great emotion to Orsen’s words. “You play cards?”

  “On occasion.”

  Eyes scanning the docks, Gorias didn’t regard Orsen as he wondered, “You deal out all the cards face up, do ya?”

  “Of course not. Oh, I see.”

  “Just because I ain’t blurtin’ it out, doesn’t mean I ain’t gettin’ onto everything.”

  Once on the docks, Gorias hopped a little on the boards and Orsen gave him a sideways glance.

  “Damned ocean,” Gorias grunted, face flushing white for a moment. “It’ll be the death of me.”

  “Missing your horse?”

  “I’m missing anyone’s horse right now. I’ll be glad to get on Traveler again.”

  Orsen waved at a ship not far off down the line. “He’s over there. We’ll go collect him. Hopefully these men here have better hygiene than the handler in Albion.”

  “Dunno, kid. Not everyone can wash their ass so well as those in the palace, out here in the real world, don’t ya know?”

  Orsen eyed him as they walked. “You aren’t a foul-smelling man.”

  “By the gods, ya know how to put ink in my marker, son. I was waitin’ fer that compliment.”

  Teeth clenched, Orsen cursed under his breath, but Gorias only chuckled.

  Halfway to the ship carrying animals the pre-dawn light showed them a few naval schooners and larger battle vessels in tow. Orsen gestured at a soldier guarding the nearest tie-up port and they exchanged niceties. Gorias noted the schooner and then turned to the sea.

  “Gorias La Gaul,” came a tight, strong voice down the docks.

  Gorias turned to face a man on from the schooner, nearly as tall as he, clad in Transalpina naval garb of dark slacks, a white shirt and a navy blue jacket. This man sported officer’s epaulets and unblinking violet eyes. His black hair, combed straight back, glistened in dim light. Behind this officer stood another dressed exactly alike, but he allowed a yard of space between himself and his superior officer.

  “Of course you wouldn’t answer,” the officer stated with arrogance in his voice to spare. “You’d never show your hand.”

  “Did I kill somebody important to you or are ya just an asshole?”

  Jaw open, words stuck, the officer froze for a moment. His look of contempt flared as he noted Orsen and the port workers nearby trying to restrain smiles.

  “I am Admiral Rosman,” he declared, hands pulling the edges of his short jacket down tighter.

  “Good for you.” Gorias stepped toward him but the admiral didn’t back down. “So why do ya act like I pissed in your breakfast?”

  “I’ve heard you were in Albion.”

  “Ya got great ears. So far, I’m all a twitter.”

  “Why do you sully our shores?”

  “Just passing through.”

  Rosman’s thin brows lowered. “See that you do.”

  “Admiral, huh? We coulda used ya out there on the seas. Lots of pirates, ya know?”

  Rosman flared his nostrils. “I heard that Captain Cody saved your life.”

  “He saved all of our lives. Mine was accidental.”

  “A pity. See that you go about your business.”

  Gorias turned to Orsen. “See, kid? This is an example of one’s mouth overloading one’s ass for self-aggrandizement. He feels like more of a man because he can wave his prick in my face and live.” Gorias laughed once and Rosman’s sneer disappeared. The other officer fidgeted with his hands near his pockets, unsure what to do with them. “I killed my first before your birth, piglet, and I’ll kill you if you cross my shadow again.”

  Undeterred, Rosman growled, “You’ll eat those words, hero.”

  “What do ya know, Orsen? He recalls the nickname his mama gave me.”

  Ready to jump from his boots and strike Gorias, Rosman shook, but held his actions in check. He couldn’t stop the blood from flushing his face and his hands balling into fists. The Admiral tore himself from his position and walked away, like a man yanking a boot from the mud. Stomping on the dock like he had a grudge against it, the Rosman departed, fellow officer still behind him at the same distance.

  Gorias headed toward the ship that carried Traveler. Once Orsen caught up with him, La Gaul said, “Always throw a dig at their mother, Orsen. The strongest men hate that.”

  “Very good, sir.”

  “Unless of course, their mother really was a whore, and then the vain stab kinda loses its thrust, ya know?”

  “Indeed, sir.”

  “Yer not gonna ask me about my mother?”

  “I know who your mother was, Lord La Gaul.”

  Gorias peered down at him for a moment before saying, “I thought ya looked like ya read a lot.”

  “Nothing to be feared of, Gorias. She was a fine lady of great breeding.”

  “That she was,” Gorias granted and scrutinized the waves again. “How long until we reach the capitol city?”

  “Oh, you know it’ll take all day.” Orsen frowned as the man led Traveler to Gorias and then went to his own stables, producing a burrow for him. “You have no horses?” />
  The man threw up his hands and showed that his stable sat empty, save for three burrows.

  Gorias paid the man a few coins and then got into the saddle. “Well, there ya go, son. Glad yer not emotionally attached to any animal like a foolish ol’ fighter, huh?”

  *****

  They ate a quick breakfast of berries, cornmeal biscuits and jerky as the sun rose across the coast of Transalpina. Gorias pondered the long trip ahead, knowing the Queen resided further inland than coastal cities. True, this staved off easy invasion forces from the coast and even the lands beyond Transalpina.

  “Gorias, why did you ask me how long the trip is? Surely, you’ve ridden it many times.”

  “But not recently. The mind forgets over a decade much less a hundred years. Besides, I didn’t come by this way to Albion.”

  “I see,” Orsen replied, pulling at the reins of the donkey.

  “Borders beyond this land in good shape?”

  Orsen nodded. “I know you fought in the battle of the Somme and then helped burn the great forest outside. The forces of Transalpina have been at peace with their neighbors since that day, for the most part.”

  “Well, we did exterminate most of those in the neighboring lands aside from Silex country. We didn’t invade Albion.”

  His nose up a little, Orsen said, “Other savages came in and have filled the lands left vacant to the east. They give us no grief when our forces travel beyond to trade or go aide in a war with an ally.”

  An hour passed before Orsen suddenly volunteered, “There are vast differences in Albion and Transalpina. Granted, Albion sits beyond the channel on a land mass in the north sea, on the very edge of the known world.” He glanced at Gorias. “Surely different than the cradle of civilization where you visited and spent much time.”

  “Your seasons are rougher here, I’ll grant ya that, but Transalpina has better summers than Albion. Pretty dreary there year ‘round, but those folks don’t seem to mind. Maybe it keeps the foreigners out.”

  Orsen glanced behind himself as if he could see Albion. “They are bordered by the Pryten wasteland on the west and glaciers to the north.”