Overkill

by Steven Shrewsbury

  Seeing Gorias unarmed, one of the pirates leapt at him, dagger swinging. The knife broke in half as it impacted on armor near his neck. Gorias grabbed the pirate by the throat and threw him behind himself into the smoldering dragonfire mound. The pirate screamed in broken shouts, partially bathed in the runny bile, rolling until the blaze took his breath.

  Alena took a knee, drew a pig sticker from her boot and drove it into the pirate trying to kill her with a curved sword. This man fell and she stepped away from the fray as the woman wielding the whips fell off Gorias. The confusion of bodies and swords flashing made Gorias turn, but he saw the same thing Alena did: The whip mistress’ pouch fell from her belt, open, spilling out what looked like a handful of dead fireflies. Alena scrambled over by him, knelt, eyes darting around for an incoming target, but scooped the glowing objects back into the pouch. Her blade sliced through Noguria’s belt and she took the pocket, just before she impaled a charging pirate. Gorias leaned down and grabbed his waist belt and swords. He then focused back on the fallen woman, using his swords to slice at the restraints of her leathery clothing.

  “No tats,” Gorias muttered. “Yannick, you die.”

  “Stop!” shouted the other woman with dark hair from the boat. She held a globe of dragonfire. She looked into Gorias’ face. “I won’t fight you. I can’t fight you.” She put the globe at her feet and held out her hand. “You’re Gorias La Gaul.” She turned her palm to him, showing a tattoo likeness of Gorias on her skin to him. “You’re my husband, remember?”

  Gorias pulled up the visor on his helm. “Nykia?”

  The skinny pirate trembled all over. “It’s really you.”

  “And it’s you,” Gorias said and stepped toward her.

  “You know how to make an entrance,” Nykia said, tears running down her face and then staring at the dead woman at her boots. Nykia gave her a kick. “She was my mistresses, Noguria. I belonged to her.”

  “Not any more.”

  Nykia wiped tears from her eyes, looked embarrassed that she cried in front of her men. “So I belong to you now?”

  “I dunno, but you are free of them now.”

  Thynnes’ troopers came forward, many leveling crossbows at the pirates. “Hold!”

  Thynnes shouted from afar, “You have them, La Gaul?”

  “Yeah,” Gorias took off his gauntlet and touched Nykia’s wet cheek. She started crying again. She moved closer and tested his chest to see if he was still warm from the fire, but threw herself on him anyway. “Yeah, I got ‘em.”

  Nykia shook all over and said, “I love you, Gorias.”

  He patted her back, “I know, Princess. There’s no future in it, though.”

  From her position, Alena pointed with her blade toward the ship and started to back up. She exclaimed, “Gorias! Look out!”

  Gorias turned to see something in the air like a glittering ball coming away from the moored pirate ship. When he turned, Nykia slipped from his grasp and dived into the raft, along with many other pirates. The force of their bodies put the raft further back into the water. However, the group of traitors still alive ran for the edges of the Keep as the huge projectile fell from the sky. Gorias had no time to move much, but he took a couple steps to his right and flung his waist belt toward Alena. The belt flipped end over end and dropped short of her, for she had climbed down behind the rocks to hide.

  When the flaming mass of scrap metal and flaming pitch struck the edge of the Keep, it killed a dozen Transalpinan troopers, a few more of the elite Ravens and the traitorous group. The ejecta spread out, cutting dozens of soldiers and traitors alike off at the knees. The blast struck far from Gorias, but this fallout swept Gorias over. The flaming pitch never scorched his legs due to the armor he wore. However, the force of the projectile knocked him down, slamming him into the stone beach. His helmet popped free and shot into the small craft.

  Nykia caught the helm like a ball and then shouted orders to the other pirates in the boat.

  “Get him! Help me with him, damn you all!”

  Alena screamed, “Gorias!”

  Nykia smiled, “We have him now!”

  The pirates seized the form of Gorias and started to drag him to the small ship.

  He turned his head to the flaming bodies and noted a large member of the traitorous band that fell, his bulbous body bubbling like fat in a skillet. Once the hood burned away, Gorias recognized the dying man.

  The name “Dola” ran through his bleary mind, along with everything it implied. .

  Gorias looked at Nykia with groggy eyes. He took a weighty breath and looked up at the full moon. He closed his eyes.

  CHAPTER VII

  Escape, Nykia and Pirates

  Alena tried to run down into the flaming mass of the Keep, but General Thynnes grabbed her by the left elbow. “Hold your ass, child!”

  “They’re taking Gorias!” She yanked at her arm but the bear of a man held her fast.

  Thynnes shouted out orders for his surviving troops to fire on the raft. “The old bastard’s armor will protect him.”

  Alena used her leg to help pull free of the General, but she couldn’t run through the seething pitch, even if the flames died out. She could see the crossbow missiles slay a few of the pirates in the boat with Gorias. Nykia, through, dragged the unconscious Gorias over herself, wiggling in behind him. The warrior’s prostrate form proved an excellent shield against all attackers and missiles.

  “Damn her,” Alena cursed and swung about, glared at the General. “They’re taking him away!”

  Salty curses flowed free before Thynnes said, “We’ll get them, I promise.”

  “But…” she protested.

  His left hand up flat to her, Thynnes said, “The Admiral’s ships were on the way up to Mysoline even before this operation happened. That pirate vessel won’t reach open water.”

  “They let them past once. How can you be sure?” Her chest heaving, Alena stared helplessly at the raft as it traveled farther away. She turned angrily, stomping across the edge of the burning pitch.

  Orsen stood at the crest of the descent for a moment and then he walked down near her.

  Alena’s face went sullen at the sight of him. “Fat lot of help you are, runt.”

  Orsen gazed across the sea, silent.

  Thynnes’ men gathered up what they could, and still had four living pirates as prisoners. The General said to Alena, “We’ll go unto the coast and ride hard for Mysoline. The Admiral is taking on supplies, and after we talk, I’m sure he’ll depart shortly to join his other men cutting them off at sea. I can put you aboard his ship if you so choose.”

  Alena’s eyes locked on his. “I have a mission from the Queen…”

  Thynnes got close to her, his nose near to touching the tall woman’s nose. “I can only but guess at the true nature of your mission for my beloved Queen.”

  Alena blinked. The old man knew something of her assignment and vocation.

  Thynnes said, “I shall do as I can to get you out to La Gaul again. Never fear, young lady, not all desire to have certain forces rule this land.”

  Alena then understood the old General not a disciple of the new way of Mavik or Prince Vincent. While many in the military paid unified lip service, Alena comprehended they wanted a different heir on the throne than Vincent and his controlling mother. Alena stood by the General, mildly amused that the deadly pouch on her belt, once belonging to the whip woman of the pirates, was out in the open. As they mounted up and rode toward the docks at the village a few miles distant, Alena thought the pouch weighed heavier all the time.

  Thynnes shouted, “Take the fuckin’ traitors that made it in for a damned public flogging and a proper execution. The pirates? We shall learn the fuckin’ truth from them. Question them well.”

  Alena understood that meant torture and had no pity on them. Her anger boiled and her body seethed at the image of Nykia, her arms about Gorias, caressing him, saying she loved him. Alena tried to banish her thou
ghts but they refused to leave. She didn’t love Gorias, nor did she have to. However, her innermost being still felt warm and wet with Gorias’ seed. Alena wanted him, though she knew he lived unattainable, forever. Silly girl, she laughed at her own fascination with the legend. How many women did he have? He’d lost count. But his manner and method, she quivered at the memory of his touch, strong, gentle, forceful, almost sweet, yet could suddenly turn violent, like riding a wild horse.

  Thynnes interrupted her thoughts, saying, “You’re of the Queens guards. Wipe your damned tear, you’re embarrassing yourself.”

  Alena shook her head and quickly pushed off a tear from her left eye that escaped. “I never…”

  Thynnes nodded. “Just come along. We’ll meet up with Rosman in a few hours. They won’t escape. His ships can outrun those fools.”

  Alena rubbed her fingers hurriedly as if they’d exorcise her tear. Her sex quivered again. Had Gorias noticed she was a virgin at such an age? Had he cared?

  *****

  Somewhere in his concussed mind, Gorias heard Nykia’s voice say, “Boy, we’re in a world of shit now.”

  Gorias opened his eyes and felt hundreds of years younger. The reason for this proved obvious when he looked down at a body barely past puberty and running with a gaggle of other longhaired youths like himself. The moon, giant in the sky, stared down like the eye of God on that night when they all ran in the wild hunt.

  He recalled the day well, very cold for the time just before spring, and the boys wore only their boots, trousers and a sleeveless tunic. Weaponless and freshly scourged by long reeds, the dozen youths sprinted across a broad field full of creeks, tangles, waterways, and crags in search of the other side. All around them echoed howls, whistles and animal sounds. Gorias wondered how many really were animals or just the other older warriors out to educate them. He reckoned the animals had lit it out by the time the warriors picked out a good spot to spring traps on the young boys on their mission in man-making.

  Gorias loved that time, though some hated it. The training and regimen that came before this day, he loathed at first, but it hardened him, as it should. Many broke and couldn’t make the grade, like Svien the redhead who had just caught his leg in a snare near Gorias and wailed for his mother. That was gonna hurt when the taskmaster beat him later. No mothers. Gorias didn’t fear calling on his mother in distress. She died on the day he was born.

  He leapt over a crag and rolled, but Haaken, the boy with white-blonde hair and low hanging balls, hesitated. Up from the muck in the crag loomed a hirsute warrior and grabbed him by the ankle. Down into the muck sank Haaken. He cried out, but tried to suppress it, then cried again as he realized the hunt ended for him badly.

  A few others were picked off as well, but Gorias ran on. He smelt the warriors, their musky stank, men who needed to aim better when wiping their backsides. He knew them there as clear as if they were on fire. One stepped out from behind a tree, throwing a bolo at Gorias legs, so the youth leapt, dropped, rolled and struck the warrior in the groin before twisting away and going on with the hunt. A low groan echoed from the man he struck, along with laughter from his fellows that one of the young’uns had bested him.

  On and on they ran until they were but four in number. Gorias didn’t looked back as another fell, but that one cussed up a storm, angry at his falling. Gorias saw a series of trees and darted away from his fellows. He let the two left run into the open. One fell in a trap, not seeing the false ground before him as such…the other tripped, watching his friend fall. Soon, a warrior was on him, hog-tying the boy and hooting like an owl.

  Gorias ran out from behind the tree and launched himself, drop kicking the warrior in the head. Not a small lad, near to six feet tall at thirteen years, Gorias’ boots knocked the warrior askew, sending him tumbling into the trap the other youth fell in.

  “Help me!” the hog-tied youth implored Gorias, but La Gaul didn’t. He never looked back as he reached down and scooped up the three-headed morning star the warrior abandoned as he fell.

  On he ran, seeing the hedge that denoted the end of the run. Gorias cursed, knowing that would be a trap as well, for the hunt was meant to exhaust the body and mind, to see that last easy obstacle and gleefully fall into the arms of stupidity. He ran on a diagonal line, away from the hedgerow, toward an ancient spruce tree. The moonlight shone bright and any watching could see his moves. He ran right for the tree then stopped.

  The skirting of the wilted spruce trembled.

  “C’mon out and fight, ya fuck!” Gorias howled.

  Though the combatant hiding under the spruce skirting probably knew better than to let the challenge of a lad bother him, this night the stout killer Garretson rolled out of the tree. A shorter man than most warriors, Garretson was built like a tree trunk and could throw an axe damn near through an oak. Garretson smelled of whiskey, Gorias noted instantly, cocking his body back to hide the weapon he’d grabbed. The stout man took two shaky steps and Gorias understood his advantage.

  Garretson growled, “You come here, little prick.” In one hand he held a wooden board, just right for slapping down teen youths on a man-making trip, and in the other an almost-empty skin of liquor. Gorias didn’t expect him to overhand the skin at him, but he dodged the blow, seeing the board swipe across the night coming on, fast.

  Gorias cocked back and threw down the morning star, wrapping around the board and pulling it back, disarming the drunken fighter.

  Astonished, Garretson grinned. “Sonofabitch.”

  Gorias snapped down the morningstar, freeing the board, and ran forward.

  Garretson, a wily warrior even when drunk, set his feet and lowered his shoulders.

  Gorias swung the morningstar, the long flails flying out. Garretson extended his left arm, partially covered in chain mail. The chains of the weapon wrapped around and the pointed ends stuck the chain mail. Garretson made a face. It hurt, but he was tough. Gorias figured he could take it. In fact, he counted on Garretson’s pluck, for the warrior took the shot and cocked his arm, disarming the boy. Gorias, though, planned on that, too, for Garretson flung him out of his grip, past his self and toward the tree.

  After a twist in mid air, Gorias flattened on the ground and crawled like a spider under the wilted skirting of the spruce. He quickly stood, and started to scale up into the pointed branches into areas Garretson couldn’t follow. Not that he would, for the warrior stood, watching Gorias climb, curious. Garretson smiled as the youth got upright and leapt over the nearby hedge, thus navigating the field of the wild hunt.

  Gorias lay on the other side, exhausted, seeing the campfires of the warriors and the shocked looks of the military men. They paused in their tales and drinking, stared at him and then stood. They all applauded. A few came over and picked him up.

  “This day, you have proved your worth as a man,” a hairy mammoth of a man called Tylr said, brushing Gorias off. “Thirteen winters you’ve survived, and now, it’s time to show us if you are man enough to keep training.”

  Another of the soldiers, this one with an officer’s rank, stared back at the hedge. “You worry not on the others with you?”

  Gorias sucked in air and then stood upright by himself. “They will survive it someday. I can’t help everyone.”

  The officer laughed. “Perhaps not good stock for a soldier, but a good warrior and tactician, this one.”

  Tylr guffawed. “Says you. He’s a fighter, like his father, the chief. He would be proud to know he made it across on his first try.”

  The officer took a drink off a cup of wine. “His father would be proud if he takes longer than a minute to screw the whore we have for the victory later on.”

  Gorias breathed regularly, and his body tingled, but no fear birthed in him about the prospect of testing his manhood for the pleasure of these savages. Besides, he’d been performing that duty with the daughter of the neighbor lady for a year. Surely, whatever whore they had in mind would be different than Jenna, the red-ha
ired lass near to his own age, but all the rest of it was gravy. He’d survived.

  Garretson shambled into view, rubbing his shoulder, laughing. “Gotta hand it to ya, ya young buck, good move. You’ll be all right someday.”

  Gorias nodded, no words spoken, as his father oft told him too many words amongst men showed a weakness. A great warrior like Garretson saluted him and didn’t take the loss personally. Gorias chalked it up like a man and the others drank to it.

  When he awoke, face cradled in the breasts of the pirate girl princess, he tried to remember the whore the warriors got for him. Reality jerked and his memory registered alarm as the boat was hoisted up the side of the pirate vessel on great chains. In moments, he was rolled from Nykia’s bosom and to the deck of the ship.

  “Belial wept,” one of the pirates said, mouth gaping as he glared at Gorias. “You have La Gaul with you?”

  Gorias rolled over and groaned, hearing Nykia say, “It was an accident, Savage Chad, but perhaps karma dictated it all.”

  Savage Chad grunted and then said with gusto, “Damn, we could use a man like him.”

  “Debna,” Gorias mumbled.

  Nykia and Savage Chad exchanged a look and then faced Gorias. She asked, “What is it? Who is Debna?”

  “The whore the warrior guild got me as a kid.” He coughed and tried to stretch. “Damn, I was big for a kid, but she had a cavernous vagina.” Gorias stood and all of the pirates drew steel, shocked at his size. His eyes set on the pirate captain. “Not a tiny box like Jenna the neighbor girl.”

  Nykia said, “This is Savage Chad, the leader of the pirate ships.”

  Gorias didn’t take Chad’s extended hand. “Well, there, Savage Chad, I gotta take a wicked shit. Ya gonna gimme a pot? I ain’t got sea legs for crap to hang my ass over the side.” He then stared at the others and then the deck around himself. “Where the fuck is my helmet?”