Overkill

by Steven Shrewsbury

  Gorias released him and stepped away, looking at the pirates and nodding. They were overjoyed to see him, but they didn’t let the petty officer of the navy ship go.

  As the pirate Allard handed Gorias a skin of wine, the petty officer straightened up and said, “We are naval officers entitled to fair and equitable treatment under the edicts of the mariner’s code.”

  Wiping his bearded face with the back of his hand, Gorias raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?” He dropped the skin of wine, and squared his shoulders. Gorias took out his member and started to urinate on the petty officer’s bleached trousers, then said, “I think all of our copies of that book are lost as sea.”

  The pirates roared with laughter as Gorias shook off. One of them chirped, “I can’t read anyway, sir. Shall I be scourged for my stupidity?”

  Gorias wore a dark smile. “Nay, but these two, well…” Gorias looked up on the yard arm, and saw that the sailors had strung up Savage Chad of the pirate schooner. “Cut him down.” He faced the officers and then faced their vessel, burning in the night, mayhem ensuing as the masts across the way collapsed and men burned. “You came to steal what we stole. You shed first blood, but never let it be said I am really unfair.”

  One of the pirates grinned. “Yer a prick, Gorias!”

  Not disagreeing, Gorias said, “But a fair prick. Since these two perfumed crap-bags are here…”

  The Admiral cleared his throat and said, “I’m a sailor. I desire to die like a sailor.”

  “I have no time to take you to a whorehouse and let you suffer for years of syphilis.”

  The pirates roared with laughter, shouting out various methods for him to die and Alena drew her hand across her throat, smiling.

  Nykia held up the petty officer by his right elbow and asked, “What about piss-pants here?”

  “Don’t rush me,” Gorias mumbled and gave the Cytaur nearest him a brief look. The creature surged with anger or at least he took it as such. .

  Gorias, however, yawned and sat down on the deck and took up the skin of wine. As he watched the neighboring vessel burn, Nykia crawled up beside him. She looked at the flaming ship.

  “Want a drink?” Gorias asked.

  Nykia eyed him, took the skin of wine and drank.

  “Are you taking me to the Queen?” Nykia asked Gorias, offering him the wine skin.

  Gorias didn’t wipe the blood from the end before he drank. He swallowed and answered her, “Only because we are bound there as well.”

  “Yeah?”

  “I’m not sure what to do now.”

  “You killed all of those men?” she asked, taking the skin of wine back to drink.

  Gorias nodded. “Yeah, Alena helped and the Cytaur things. That big one fought like a sonofabitch. Gimme a thousand of those fuckers and I could lay low any kingdom, by God.”

  “How many?”

  “How many what?”

  “How many did you kill?”

  Gorias took the wine and upended it. “I don’t keep count.”

  CHAPTER X

  Going to Pieces

  Orsen Riva lay face down on the middle of the stone circle when he heard a voice say, “Get up.”

  A female tone, his mind buzzed, surely not the goddess come down to speak with him? A strumpet from the port city out here at a religious site? He found amusement at this idea, simply that he’d spent too much time around La Gaul to think of that. Then again, she wouldn’t be alone, probably in the company of a thug wanting to get his rocks off. A man like that would strike down a small man blubbering over his religious state. Could it be his goddess?

  No, his logical mind said, that rang impossible because he started to accept that his true goddess was just another rock dressed up and polished by Niva. This person also couldn’t be Ernytel because it sounded a great deal like Alena.

  Up to his all fours, Orsen glanced to where the voice originated, did a double take and got over his shock of thinking it really was Alena, back so soon from the sea. The woman near him stood just as tall, built exactly alike and dressed the same as Alena, but sporting fairer locks, tied back.

  “Who are you?”

  “Get up, Orsen Riva,” the gruff tone returned, and the woman’s right boot rustled in the grass, ready to kick him in the rump if he didn’t stop pointing it in her direction. Orsen moved to not provide such a target. Again, he came near to tragic laughter, thinking she would assault him for no reason. He had no conflict with the Queen’s guards.

  Unless…

  “What do you want with me?” Orsen sat back on his backside, giving the woman only a slight glance. He’d surmised she truly was one of the Queen’s guards, Alena’s sister, easily, by her clothes and appearance. Just what one of them would be doing in Mysoline he couldn’t grasp; aside from maybe, a few trailed them, spying on him and ready to strike him down for his secret dealings with Mavik. This idea bubbled in his brain and Orsen understood death came to find him now in this place of empty stones, devoid of gods and him without a goddess.

  “I’m Milli. I’m here to remind you that the Queen blessed you with a mission.”

  Her words provided a bit of light to his situation and he fought the urge to smile at her. Milli didn’t restore him to good feelings by a long shot, nor could she have restored his fallen faith in an instant, but she made him more at ease since she obviously didn’t come there to kill him. He pondered light, flames or simple annihilation that awaited him beyond his demise. Orsen hoped for the latter.

  “I provided you with Gorias La Gaul. The circumstances of his current state are beyond my control.”

  “The Queen required you near him, to be her eyes in all of these associations.”

  He wondered what she understood about their situation and decided against telling any grand lies. “Gorias was abducted, taken away by the pirates. Your sister is on a naval vessel with a traitorous Admiral, I hear tell, going after them, probably to slay them all in due course.”

  Cold and relentless, Milli pressed on. “Why didn’t you accompany Alena on the ship? Did you know of this Admiral’s treachery?”

  “No, but I stayed back with the army. It was pointless to go on.”

  “Why?”

  Orsen threw up his hands and let them drop on either side of him. “It’s a matter of faith now for me. I’ve lost mine and thus, a reason to carry on with this great enterprise for anyone.”

  “Your religion and faith aren’t my concern, nor should you be so fragile as to fold because you are feeling queasy over the afterlife. You have sworn an oath to the Queen and will follow on with it until the end of your life. That was in the pledge, or weren’t you paying attention?”

  “I need to pray and can’t find the words.”

  “A man can only say so many prayers.” Milli’s voice returned icier still, her disgust rising to the point she walked in a circle and returned to where she started. No mercy dwelt in her eyes or mannerisms, all cold and rigid.

  “It takes a strong man to make them, to pray in earnest through a broken heart, one stronger than me…”

  A growl in her throat, Milli reached out, grabbed handfuls of his shirt and brought him to his feet. “Stop that this instant! I don’t want to hear of matters of any heart, least of all yours. Listen good, little one, and remember your oaths. You will be going on another trip soon.”

  “Am I?” Orsen couldn’t shake the big girl’s grip so he stopped trying. “Tell me all about it.”

  Still holding him fast, fury barely contained, she said, “I’m going to give you another chance at your faith.”

  “Yes? This should be splendid.”

  Milli’s nose came near to smashing into his as she yanked him in close to her face. At that angle, Orsen noted her nose crooked a little, as if broken and re-healed badly. “Yes, if you are unlucky, you may get to see if there is a god. Come with me now or you’ll find out in three seconds.”

  *****

  Rosman seethed, his look fixed to Gorias as the old warrior to
ok a small walk around the perimeter of the deck, swords in hand like he had decided to cut the air itself. “What of me, hero?” Rosman called out, his face churning from boredom to curious wonder. “Will you keelhaul me? That’s the warrior code, true?”

  Gorias didn’t regard him when he said, “Don’t rush me.” Under his breath, he let go, “What the fuck would you know about a warrior’s code?”

  “Will you make me walk the plank?” Two of the pirates wrestled him back to the mast as he taunted Gorias, shoving his back into the wooden pole. “What sort of vile buggery do you have in mind for me?”

  Sheathing his swords, Gorias replied, “Nothing so droll, ya mouthy ass. Even under wraps ya keep talkin’ crap. What gall ya got.”

  Eyes widening, Rosman offered with a grin, “You will face me in single combat? Yes, you’d enjoy that, swaggering man of the battlefield, a chance to slay a man of the Navy, not skilled with blades like yourself. That would make you appear like such a big man, no?”

  “No, ya can shitcan all that talk. Please don’t confuse me as a man of honor. I don’t confuse you with one.”

  The sails unfurled and the pirate vessel started gradually to move away from the smoking Bahamut. A few pirates took time to curse the dying ship as it rode the waves, flames running across it out from its center. On occasion, a flaming human form would make it to the deck and collapse. Gorias absently wondered where those sailors hid, but decided he didn’t care so much.

  “That thing might float for some time,” said Gorias to no one particular, his right boot striking the edge of the ship. “The hull isn’t ruptured.” He exhaled and turned, frowning at the eyes all on him. “What a damned waste of material and men, huh? Cryin’ shame for those with tears.”

  Hands bound and his waist hastily strapped to the mast, the Admiral watched his vessel smoke and turned to the other man left from his crew. After this single look, the man stood taller. Rosman then turned the opposite way, his eyes aiming north and to the open sea.

  Gorias left the pirates to their rigging and stretched his legs with a walk further down the deck. The pirates melted away from the sector of the deck the tall man trod. Gorias came near to walking into Alena. She crossed the rear deck and threw herself at him, half hugging him, but drawing back fast, slapping his arms hard, her head shaking from side to side fast.

  “What? Ya thrilled they didn’t kill me?”

  “I could never make myself believe that you’d die easily.”

  Gorias stared deep into her gleaming eyes and turned to face the sea instead. “It took guts to get on the Bahamut along with all of those guys.”

  Alena joined him watching the burning ship. “They are men from my navy, from my homeland. That didn’t take courage. Usually, such men are honorable, all sea dog jokes aside.”

  “Kinda looks bad now.”

  “True, but I’m sure many of the sailors were just following orders.”

  “Yeah, but that’s a shitty excuse for bad behavior. I ain’t gonna argue about my actions. People die. It’s a part of life. The last part.”

  Again, she turned to him, beaming. “I’m glad to see you.”

  Nykia stomped past, shouting orders to the other pirates and stopped to hug Gorias’ left arm, then moved on down the deck.

  Alena’s smile faded and she focused on the flaming Bahamut.

  “Many men died because of these assheads in charge, doing bad things, so I’m short of sympathy for men doing their duty for bad folks right now.”

  They took a few steps and stopped at the sight of the brooding Cytaur.

  The Cytaur let the long horns in his grasp rest on the deck. He took many breaths and didn’t face anyone on the ship.

  Nykia stepped up to the creature and showed no fear. “The Navy used you, not us, understand, Cytaur?”

  Gorias thought the Cytaur bore a malevolent eye, but he felt no threat in the lone creature. He did note the pirates pointing at the Cytaur and whispering, saying words like, “unnatural” and “monster” many times.

  One young pirate with a dirty-blonde ponytail mumbled, “I’ve never seen such a thing.”

  An older pirate, balding and red-faced from the sun stepped up and spoke loud enough for even the Cytaur to hear. “I have. They lived in lands beyond the hills of the Varangians, far to the east of here even beyond the territories once occupied by the Kolbias, Karelians, and the remains of the Tavastians.”

  Nykia wondered, “Once occupied, Allard?”

  Allard nodded. “The current King of Albion slaughtered those tribes. Anyway, down the river Lyrcenda dwell a people called the Kalevalans who once were assailed by Taurons.” He looked to Gorias. “You know what they are, right?”

  Gorias cleared his throat. “Taurons. They are bigger than the Cytaurs, more human in appearance about the face, but similar in body style and an assload more aggressive.”

  At his words the Cytaur turned, his single eye focused on Gorias.

  Gorias went on, saying, “The Taurons were killed off, for the most part, when they turned on the peoples out there. The Cytaurs were naturally docile.” He then turned his head, staring at the streaks of blood on the horns the Cytaur held. “Most of them, anyways.”

  The Cytaur stepped away from them, obviously wanting space.

  Gorias leaned over and Alena drew close to hear him whisper. “His manhood still swings long, even if he’s castrated.”

  “By the way that he fought,” Alena confided. “I’d guess they didn’t quite cut off all of his balls.”

  When the pirates laughed at Alena’s words, the flat of Gorias’ right hand slapped over his heart. “Balls are in here, too, ya filthy seadog bastards. Alena here has a hairy set in her chest.”

  Her frown so deep the jovial nature of it drew guffaws from the pirates, Alena said smartly, “Keep talking like that, you’ll get me excited.”

  “Tell me I don’t know how to make a woman feel special.” He then walked over to where the pirates had covered Savage Chad’s body in a dirty sheet. Nykia knelt beside him, wiping the back of her hand across her eyes. “So Albion, is it?”

  Nykia nodded, not answering.

  “Rhiannon’s priests might feel shortchanged, part of their load at the bottom of the sea and all.”

  Alena stepped up. “Will they give us trouble?”

  “Dunno. Religious folks are screwy. They can be forgiving and then go to war damned fast. Who can say?”

  Nykia let out a mild sob and said, “Savage Chad was a good guy, not a proper fellow, but not evil. He was…”

  Gorias offered, “Just?”

  “He did good by us, fair. He deserved a better death than hanging by his own yardarm.”

  “We all figure we have a better death coming than what arrives, I suppose. Live seven hundred more years and see how many ways to die ya can imagine.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Folks in these parts don’t live as long as the ones raised in Shynar or spending time elsewhere. I dunno why, maybe it’s all inbreeding. A hundred years ago Garnet was a damsel. She’s gettin’ on in years now, but not feeble yet. I know gals back in Shynar that are 500 years old who still bear kids, and look half Garnet’s age. The world is screwy.”

  The pirates traded looks, unsure of his words.

  Gorias strode over to Rosman. “So what’s your story, Admiral? Were you a career military man, tired of a set ol’ life and deciding to upset the apple cart of the homeland? Don’t wear that snotty high-handed look. I’d say your time for dignity has passed.”

  His eyes scanning the warrior, Rosman replied, “Lecture me not of dignity or any matters of a higher sort. The Queen will not appreciate your slaying her sailors or sinking her ship, no matter what your standing in her heart.”

  “Who is gonna tell her? They’re all dead and who will believe the word of a pirate or a traitor?”

  The sailor near the Admiral swallowed hard, fully accepting his fate.

  Rosman still maintained his stern manner.
“You’re a fool, no matter if you won this battle with boldness or not.”

  Gorias stepped a bit closer, nostrils flaring wide. He shot the Cytaur a dour look and then faced Rosman again. “You think I don’t know things, but you really delude yourself…Admiral.” Gorias said the title as if he addressed anyone but an Admiral worthy of respect.

  This exchange made Alena frown.

  “Why do this? Why destroy half of the pirates, send the oils to the bottom of the sea? The Transalpinan navy isn’t known for acts of savagery.” Gorias pointed with his right index finger at the corpse of Savage Chad. “Why try to kill the Queen’s friends, bodyguard and heir?”

  Rosman turned his head, his slicked-back hair resting on the mast.

  Gorias frowned. “Still no words? They’ll wring them outta ya back in Qesot.” After a few moments, Gorias focused in on where he noticed Rosman looking. “Searching for something, ol’ son?” The horizon to the north on the sea lay blank and listless.

  Alena stepped up, anger in her voice as she said, “He’s not in charge of anything. He’s a pawn of Mavik and Vincent.”

  His resentment at being spoken to harshly boiling, Rosman’s eyes bored into Alena’s face. “A pawn? How silly, you ugly bitch. You think me a minor player in a game, not a tentacle of the board itself.”

  A pig sticker slid from Alena’s boot and she let the serrated tip rest in the cleft on Rosman’s chin. “I’m sure a little more scarring on him won’t matter to the boys back home. They won’t mind a few extra bruises or cuts.”

  His grin wide, Rosman said amiably, “Then by all means, go ahead, act like the man you wish you were.”

  “Alena,” Gorias gently pulled her hand away and stepped up closer to him.

  Rosman snapped back at Alena, “My father died on the Somme, serving his land.”

  Alena interjected, “And serving my father, General Appra?”

  Gorias muttered, “Lotta guys left babies behind, dyin’ on the Somme.”

  Rosman turned to Gorias. “But you survived, didn’t you? Always the hero, always the survivor.”