Overkill

by Steven Shrewsbury

  *****

  “Damn, be careful next time, asshead,” Thynnes said in disgust to the sergeant. “Are their any more pirates you haven’t killed under torture?”

  “One,” the sergeant admitted with a shrug.

  Thynnes clocked the sergeant upside his head. “Shrug your shoulders at me, ya pissant. Stand at attention and mind your officers.” He pointed at two corporals standing on the dock near Alena. “Crucify him for a day. Let him think about his fuckin’ posture.”

  The sergeant’s mouth gaped, but he never begged for mercy. The corporals dragged him away by the elbows and Alena pondered the coming crucifixion of the soldier. He would be stripped, flogged and tied up by his arms on a phallic symbol, barely able to push up to breathe with his feet. A day would be torture. Two days may kill him. She recalled being given an afternoon of such an exercise as a youth during training. Alena sang songs the entire time.

  Thynnes shook his head. “The timber of these crappy puppies makes me wonder. War is a damned good thing, young lady. Every so often boys must learn to be men. We’ve went a long goddamned time without real action, aside from border skirmishes.”

  Alena nodded, her eyes momentarily watching Orsen out at the edge of the camp, scribbling on parchment. “The Queen fears intrigue in the transition to another on the throne won’t go smoothly in the next generation.”

  They walked down the pier away from the Admiral’s huge ships at the port of Mysoline. The night fading all around them, the screams of the last living pirate pierced the night by a bonfire not far from the docks.

  Thynnes grumbled, “Hope they let this one live, fucktwits.”

  The colonel near him offered, “You mother is nearby, sir.”

  Thynnes stopped. “Is she? Her skills at persuasion are better than the rack. Go fetch her and tell those assfaces to ease up on that last punk.” The General looked at Alena. “We’re on the same page, dear.” He then stopped and added, “I meant no offense.”

  Alena looked at the sea. “None taken. Many men don’t see me as a woman, not unless you have a tiny waist and tits like melons.”

  Thynnes coughed. “I’m long past sweet talk, but there are no women in our ranks. I don’t mind having one around.”

  “You respect strong women?”

  “Of course. Only a weak man doesn’t, but don’t get me wrong. I don’t want them amongst my men in case of war.”

  “My sisters and I are excellent warriors.”

  “You speak the truth. You are. I bet you would be incredible on the field of battle.”

  “Then why say things like you don’t want us in a war?”

  Thynnes frowned, but it presently turned to a cynical grin. “You’re a woman. I like to look at you. You smell of a woman, even if you have trail dust on you. If a brigade of ones like you came along on a long march, it’d be trouble.”

  “We could hold our own.”

  “I think you could, but I want no fighting or mischief amongst my damned army. We can think on women and go for them later, but it’s a distraction.”

  Alena now smirked at the general. “Send a hundred of your stout fellows to assail Queen Garnet’s tower. Not a one will live to see her on the top story. I promise you that.”

  Thynnes chuckled. “I have no fuckin’ doubt. I reckon Lady Garnet would rip my nuts off if I got close to her, anyhow.”

  “You know her?”

  He nodded. “Oh, for decades. I still see her at councils. I’ve seen you before at those things.”

  “You recognize me?”

  “You and your sisters are quite similar but only you have the red highlights in your locks.”

  She gaped at him as the soldiers came from the nearby hamlet with an elderly woman on a colt.

  Thynnes winked. “I’m old, like Gorias, but am not dead just yet. Ah, there’s my mother.”

  The men took the colt right to the man staked down to the ground by the fire. Alena followed Thynnes up to the scene and stood near enough to watch and hear.

  The elderly lady, wrapped in many layers of woolen cloth and a headscarf of shimmering fabric stood near the pirate splayed on the ground. The pirate, naked, was staked down, tied at his ankles and wrists. Blood ran from his nose and out from his crotch.

  “I’m Louthyn,” she told him and took the scarf from her head. Her hair, snow white, tumbled out, but Louthyn bestowed the soldiers dirty looks as she covered the pirate’s nakedness with her scarf. “There’s no reason to be animals here, is there?”

  Alena saw the pirate as a younger man, not even twenty years old. They probably saved him for last because of his youth. Tears ran down his face and he stared at the old woman. “Louthyn?”

  “I’m the General’s mother, honey,” she said gently. “I’m sorry these ruffians treated you so crassly.” She sent more sour looks to the soldiers and they backed off some. Her soft look returned when she faced the pirate. “What’s your name, sweetie?”

  “Declan,” he gasped.

  “Where are you from?”

  “Albion’s outer marshes, near Asgardian border to the north.”

  “How on earth did you fall in with these dreadful sea dogs?”

  More tears oozed from Declan’s eyes. “I was the youngest of a dozen boys. My mother died giving me life and I was raised by my only sister, Meghan, until she passed my fourteenth year.”

  “The others all had vocations? Farmer, soldiers, priests or smiths?”

  Declan nodded with vigor. “It’s like you know my life. Yes, I had no clear path.”

  “I’ve heard similar tales. There are too many people in the world these days. Perhaps the stories of the end of time are true? Who can say? But you fell in with pirates?”

  “The short of it, yes.”

  “Dear, there’s always a choice. You can join the army and have a life, but that may be another choice for later. Now, my child, tell me, you were indeed here to deliver dragonfire?”

  He nodded. “The soldiers here, they never even asked me that.”

  “That’s obvious. They want to know who you were bringing the dragonfire for.”

  “I’m just a sailor. I don’t know who was to get the dragonfire.”

  “I can understand that. It was silly to torture a boy over something he didn’t know. Tell me though, where did you get the dragonfire?”

  Declan swallowed hard. “Pergamus.”

  “Do you know the way to Pergamus?”

  Declan told her a long story about navigating by the stars, trade winds and certain islands that would lead you there. A soldier dutifully copied down the words on a parchment.

  “What island hides the pirate realm?”

  Declan stiffened, looking terrified, but when she stroked her withered hand over his sweaty forehead, he gave that up as well.

  “And you don’t know for whom the dragonfire is intended?”

  Again, he shook his head.

  Louthyn leaned down, kissed his forehead and stood. She faced her son and said, “There, was that so hard?”

  “Thank you, Mother.” Thynnes bowed slightly.

  She exhaled and then looked down at Declan. “Keep the scarf. Oh, by the way, he’s lying about the receptor of the dragonfire. He knows but won’t tell.” She gritted her teeth and said, “Crucify him, but use nails. He may find his tongue then.” And with that, Louthyn returned to her colt.

  Declan screamed as the men untied him and took him to a set of logs.

  Alena and Thynnes saw the Admiral and two sailors walking down the pier toward them. Nails hammered into Declan and he cried as Admiral Rosman saluted Thynnes. The sailors eyed Alena. Hands to her hips, she gazed away from them, back at the soldiers nailing Declan to two rude logs and propping him up as best they could in a ditch.

  “Admiral, glad to see you.”

  “General,” he replied, then faced Alena, eyes on her insignia and said, “Charmed, Queen’s guard woman.”

  Alena said nothing. Her eyes drilled through the Admiral, but th
e cocky man with the serpentine eyes looked back to the General.

  “Your ships at sea are in motion?”

  Rosman nodded once. “Messages are being relayed and in time, we’ll catch them.”

  “Good.” They stepped away from Alena, but she didn’t follow. She turned back to the crucifixion, executed not far from the place the errant sergeant was tied up. Alena wondered if the enlisted soldier would ever take his duty light again. She understood why they did what they did near him, so he’d hear the dying pirate cry. He’d hear that voice forever. Alena figured that time and wine would make the wailing Declan’s voice fade, in her mind, but that sergeant? He’d hear it on the day he died.

  The Admiral and Thynnes talked quietly and Alena walked to the crucified sailor. The soldiers finished pissing on him and walked away, leaving her alone with Declan.

  The boy wailed for a bit and then set in to a series of blubberings before falling silent.

  “Tell me a name,” Alena said softly. “And I’ll be merciful.”

  Declan looked up, blinked and coughed urine several times.

  Alena drew out the pig sticker from her right boot and patted the side of his bloody leg with it.

  After a few minutes, Declan told her a name. Alena’s eyes widened. She nodded and stuck out her weapon. The tip inserted in Declan’s throat and after a flick of her wrist, his windpipe and veins ripped loose.

  The hanging sergeant gaped at Alena, and pissed himself.

  A few soldiers shouted in disappointment, then called to the General, complaining that she slew him.

  Thynnes waved them off. “He told us all he knew. The torment only pissed off the gods. Besides, what do you bastards expect from a weak woman?”

  She stepped away from the crucified man and walked into the woods. The soldiers giggled and elbowed each other, speculating that the tough girl was going to puke or pass water over her act. Alena ignored their stupidity and got her moment alone at last to open the pouch from Noguria. She took out one of the tiny glowing objects. Eyes focused in, the tiny sliver of glass was no bigger than a huge apothecary pill. However, within wriggled an object like a grub or worm…but it wasn’t alive, or at least she didn’t think so. The glowing thing was a tiny measure of dragonfire. She squeezed the surface of the glass and it nearly bent. Terrified, she returned it to the pouch, seeing dozens of the objects nestled in.

  Alena said to no one, “That’s what she tried to slap into Gorias’ face.” She pondered these and the name the dying man gave her.

  Real or not, Thynnes words meant nothing to Alena. She had a name, something they did not. She understood a grander plot more than a gigantic army. She walked away, staring at the sea, unable to suppress her grin.

  “You’ll want to know that name, won’t you, Gorias?” She said. “But which name to give you?”

  *****

  “It’s really you,” Nykia said to Gorias and walked near to him, hands up to his face.

  “Yeah, what’s left of me.”

  Eyes tracing every contour of him, Nykia replied, “Are you joking? You’re twice the man of any I can name.” She turned her head to the pirates exchanging glances. “Yes, I said it. Get over it, Allard.” Nykia faced him again. “Look at what you did on the shore, with the dragonfire, with the missile.”

  Gorias scanned the ship and the crew. He looked farther into the sea and saw an identical vessel further on out. “I survived. I usually do. Just because I don’t get myself killed I get called a legend? Whatever.”

  Her faced gleamed. “I haven’t been that excited in years. The dragonfire, it bathed you all over.”

  Gorias made a fist then opened his hand to remove his glove and patted his chest. “The wyrmling dragon armor protects me. My cloak is gone, I guess, belt too, dammit. Yeah, what were you doing with dragonfire?”

  “What were you doing with the army leaders of that land of frogs?”

  “Sun bathing, but we got to the beach early. Ya got yerself a stooge on board, Princess, or General Thynnes wouldn’t have known where you’d land or when.”

  Nykia’s glee faded to a grim frown. “You did know when we’d land?”

  “That was guess work, but I hate it when theories come true too easy. We didn’t know about the local traitors that would rise up, though. I reckon Thynnes’ troopers will torture any good info outta them.”

  Fists slapping her hips, Nykia said, “Damn. But we made the pick up in the exchange.”

  Eyes narrowing at her, Gorias asked, “What was the exchange for the dragonfire?”

  “Sacred oils for the Albion goddess Rhiannon. Each of these vessels holds a slew of it now.”

  “You’re trafficking in sacred oil to the Albionise priests?”

  “They buy from us as well as others and at a cheaper price than getting it direct from Transalpina. If the priests in Albion had the ear of their king too much, they’d want to crush Transalpina and take the means of attaining the oil from the mines at Lascaux.”

  “Wars have been fought over less. I’ve heard that when they pour the oil into the pit that the Albion goddess Rhiannon moans like a whore.”

  “Is Rhiannon really at the bottom of that well in Albion?”

  Gorias shrugged. “Dunno. Maybe something is. Seems like a lot to waste on something that isn’t there. She must give good results for being fed that stuff. What a weird world, huh?”

  “The Albion King isn’t a very religious sort, so he doesn’t care to send his warriors to dominate a culture over oils. Most kings don’t pay close attention to what the minor clergy are up to, though, unless it means to control the masses.”

  Gorias shaded his eyes a little and faced the other vessel. “Someone gave you a helluva lot of this stuff for the dragonfire?”

  “Yes.”

  “Kinda bad for the Transalpina economy if someone is shafting the market.” He dropped his hands and turned back toward the land. He couldn’t see the shore any longer. “Who the hell could give you that much oil, barrels of the stuff?”

  Nykia smiled again. “Someone with a large supply that had no more use for it.”

  Gorias shook his head. “I ain’t up on the politics, but I might be able to guess on it.”

  “A new goddess reigns over Transalpina, Gorias, and that goddess doesn’t need the sacred oils that make ceremonies so wonderful as in the past. The fools in Albion use the stuff like maniacs, bathing in it ritualistically, dousing children, but I’m no fool. The Albion military has developed a small projectile in glass, not as bad as dragonfire, but the same principle as you saw earlier.”

  “An explosion one can throw and have fire spread fueled by the sacred oils of the goddess?”

  “Well done! I knew you were sharp.”

  “Thinking is tougher than fighting. So tell me, who is the culprit? Are you saying the freaking Queen herself is behind it? She couldn’t know they are supplying their natural enemies to develop a weapon.”

  “Don’t disappoint me and be thick. My Grandmother has got on board with the new goddess, but she doesn’t care about such weapons of war or trade values. No, she has other things on her mind.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  Nykia winked at him as they gravitated down the deck away from others. “I’ll get to you in a minute. Who could possibly run a scheme like this, have oil stored, and the means to use dragonfire?”

  “The goddamn prognosticator, Yannick? Never trust a wizard, sweetheart.” Eyes closed for a moment, he saw the image of Niva’s guard, Dola, burning. He doubted Niva and Yannick were in any sort of bed together. Gorias figured exactly who that pointed at. He decided to play along and see where it all led and how much Nykia would lie or was deceived.

  “That’s the story, anyway,” Nykia shrugged. “I could care less who sells it or what they do with it.”

  “It’s dangerous stuff.”

  “Yeah, true.”

  As they walked to the poop deck, the pirate ship used its sails and headed out into the open sea. From
the bridge, Savage Chad promised they’d be out of harm’s way soon.

  Gorias stepped away from the rear and wandered over to sit on a bench near the opening to the lower deck. “Where are you all headed?”

  Hands on her hips, Nykia said, “Well, we are going to Albion to deliver the oil barrels. This ship contains the cargo barrels below that we got loaded up the coast before the dragonfire exchange could be made.”

  His look serene, Gorias wondered, “So you got in a couple boats and brought in the dragonfire?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why not make the exchange right when you loaded the oils?”

  She sat beside him, trying to contain delight at seeing her hero again, and hugged his arm. “Ever hear that it’s better that the right hand doesn’t know what the left is doing?”

  “I follow ya. Not all understand the mechanisms of this deal?”

  Head resting on his arm, Nykia said, “It’s better that way. Looks like we were suckered anyhow. The entire deal got fuckered up.”

  Gorias laughed once. “Such a mouth for a princess.”

  “Pirate bitch is all I’ve been for years.”

  “But I killed your mistress, Noguria.”

  Nykia’s smile faded and her eyes widened. “Yeah, and easily, too.” She looked up at him. “I expected no less.”

  “It wasn’t that easy. You belonged to her?”

  Nykia nodded, head down.

  Gorias assured her, “Not anymore.”

  She embraced his arm tighter, not caring if it was armor she felt. Her hand ran down and lay atop his huge hand. “I’m yours now.”

  “Pardon?”

  “The pirate way,” she winked, hand playing in his beard.

  “Aw, shut up.”

  Nykia giggled. “I’ve always been yours, Gorias La Gaul. When I got older I wanted to give you my virginity, to live with you in a castle forever, have your babies…”

  “Life isn’t like storybooks or tales.”

  “I know,” Nykia agreed, her voice sad. “I know you travel the world and had no time for this pirate girl or fallen princess.”

  “If I knew you were a prisoner of the Prytens, I’d have come back immediately, true story.”