Overkill

by Steven Shrewsbury

Gorias sighed. “You grew up all right by the look of ya.”

  “We were part of the aristocracy and my education, while granted by wealth, expanded my mind. I was an apt pupil but didn’t want to be a soldier in an army that never killed anyone. In the navy, well, I could be King.”

  Nykia stepped near to Alena and whispered, “I can’t add it all up yet either.”

  With a slight nod, Alena kept her central point on the exchange.

  Gorias asked Rosman, “I don’t suppose yer gonna be a nice fella and just tell me what this is all about, huh?”

  “You’ll kill me no matter what.”

  “True, but we can do this the easy way or the hard way.”

  Chin jutting, the Admiral scoffed. “I won’t break under torture.”

  Nykia walked over. “They all say that at first, but they always talk, elsewise, who’d use torture?”

  Gorias shrugged. “You misunderstand me, Princess. I’ll get no jollies over seeing this prick suffer. Dead is dead and he can do no more harm.”

  Rosman eyed Nykia. “You, a princess? Please. They better drop the ban on magic and call in an alchemist. They’ll need one of those to get a pearl necklace out of a boar’s nutsack.”

  Right on cue, Nykia leapt at him, punching Rosman across the jaw, but only earning his laughter and Gorias’ disdain as he shoved her back.

  “A princess? The future Queen?” Rosman continued laughing as he spoke, near to the point of being unable to talk. “My word! Such a prize for stiff Garnet you will be! All covered in ink and the vaginal secretions of your mistress. Oh yes, I know about your bitchly nature, little sow. Queen? You’re not even a proper cumal wench.”

  “Shut up,” Nykia raged and Gorias pushed her back into Alena’s restraining grip to her elbows.

  “You? On the throne of Transalpina? Producing what? A brood of piglets? I’ll gladly die to not have to see that.”

  “Let me go,” Nykia struggled with Alena’s hold. Garnet’s guard did let her free, but Gorias stopped her from attacking Rosman, his left arm up between them. “You’re Vincent’s bitch. He’s hardly a man.”

  Rosman replied, “But his wanker only has to work once to produce offspring better than anything to crawl out of that awful thing between your legs. Who knows what the future holds?” Again, he looked away from them to the open sea, but quickly back to Gorias.

  Nykia still spoke, though. “They’d never have accepted you as King no matter who you killed or married.”

  Gorias conceded. “Yeah, true, there’d be a fight at the sword rack among the Appra sisters to see who gets to die assassinating you first.”

  Humor draining from his face, Rosman hissed at Gorias, “To be so strong and yet so stupid.”

  Gorias squinted at the Admiral. “Something is amiss here.”

  Rosman grinned. “You can sense it, can’t you, old sinner?”

  “Somethin’ about ya makes my skin crawl and it ain’t the usual thing I get near members of the aristocracy.”

  “Top show to you then, old sinner, for that, your long life and senses.”

  “Someone in Transalpina trades the pirates sacred oils, a slew of it, for tiny vials and then a huge portion of dragonfire. I know that this fire is kept animated only at Pergamus.”

  Grinning still, Rosman scoffed. “What an old wives tale. Pergamus indeed.”

  “The ol’ gals got it right and ya know it. Not many around would know or believe such a thing. That’s how deception comes so easy to this generation.”

  “If you say so.” Rosman feigned an innocent look.

  “What I wanna know is who is doing that, and what do they want the damned dragonfire for?”

  The Admiral looked off, serenely watching his vessel die.

  Alena stepped up and suggested, “Who in Transalpina can have that much oil on hand? How can they get rid of it and not be noticed?”

  Nykia offered, “There are many dissidents in the land, dividing favor for Queen Garnet and her sister. These are those that traded with us. It wasn’t personal to Gramma, just for the money. The fools in Albion pour it down a hole to feed a god that isn’t really there. It’s so pointless.”

  Gorias rubbed his left eye. “But the dragonfire deaths in Transalpina aren’t even close to the Queen. Somebody is rubbing out castellans and those kissing ass at court. A good blade does that just as well. Why all the high drama with the fire? Seems like alotta trouble to go through for what other means can accomplish.”

  “That depends,” Rosman said steadily. “On what one chooses to achieve with the fire, in the end.” He turned to look at them each for a moment. “Humans are such feeble fools, present company excepted. They have ostentatious ideas, but are effortlessly swindled by those superior in breeding and aptitude.”

  Gorias rolled his eyes. “He talks a lot for an innocent guy, huh?”

  “If given a boon of power, they will indeed use it toward their dream, but along the way, the human emotion of revenge is too great to pass on. Plus, the dragonfire deaths keeps one on their toes, no? Keeps them praying to the goddess?” He spat out a single fake laugh. “Such scum you are. It is not a wonder a third of the stars of heaven fell at your creation.”

  Gorias stepped back, looked at Alena. “He ain’t the Admiral.”

  The Cytaur moved closer, hooves emitting deep thuds on the deck, his eyeball scanning Rosman, up and down, over and over. Nostrils distended, the Cytaur stopped and didn’t blink for a full minute.

  Gorias broke the silence by saying, “See? Even the Cytaur knows.”

  His face momentarily screwed into an acerbic expression, Rosman soon scoffed at Gorias, “You mean to leave my fate to cattle on two legs?” The Admiral spat at the Cytaur, who didn’t react to the slur. “To the privy pot with you, freak. You’re not even worth making a good jacket. You and your kindred, all dumb, soulless beasts created on the whim of some Nephilionic idiot.”

  The Cytaur’s nostrils squished in and out once, the long horns gripped in his thick fists bounced off his sides.

  Smelling trouble, Gorias’ eyes narrowed at Rosman. “What would you know about such things, more than lore?”

  “The angels who fell crossbred with fair women; the others may have humped cows like the mother of this eyesore.”

  The Cytaur stepped between them, his eyelid dropped near to closed as he scanned the Admiral. Huge jaws parting, a sound not unlike a man underwater drawled out. “I don’t have a soul, so when I close my eye forever, it’s done. You? I can send you to Hades, a place prepared for the Devil and his angels.”

  Gorias stepped in fast, hands out to grab the Cytaur’s wrists, but his move couldn’t stop the creature’s momentum. The Cytaur swung its two horns out and then stabbed them down, the one on the left entering the Admiral under his left collarbone and then stabbing into the mast behind Rosman…the other horn jamming directly through the Admiral’s heart, also protruding out his back with a splash.

  While the Admiral’s face registered inconceivable shock, it was all of them looking on that soon shared this expression, for the wounds created by the Cytaur all bled an inky, black essence.

  The Cytaur stepped back, pulling the horns with him, astonished by what it saw. The pirates holding the Admiral released him, staring at the wounds and the black ink solution running out.

  Alarm fading, sneer returning, the Rosman’s lips peeled back from his teeth, which started to drip a black fluid. “Stupid beast, indeed.” He turned his gaze to Gorias and the pirates. “All of you.”

  *****

  Thynnes and his men lined the docks of Mysoline, some stowing gear, others praying, many more gaping at the Cytaurs being taken up the planks to power the sister ship of the Bahamut, the Kamira. When a courier rode up astride a white horse, dressed in togs of the police of the capitol city Qesot, Thynnes wasn’t impressed. However, when he read the dispatch, Thynnes told his men to load up on the ship and he’d join them shortly.

  The General and Colonel Schou walked to one
of the cargo depots. He stopped before entering the long warehouse, seeing ten horses hitched up outside and a beat-up coach. Thynnes walked over to the coach and opened the door. Within was opulent beauty, cushioned interiors and a velvet plush place to lie while the stage moved on.

  “Nice, scent, huh?”

  Schou stood rigid, nose wrinkling. “That smell familiar to you, sir?”

  “Yes, she is…yes, it is, Colonel.”

  He walked back to the door and it opened inward fast. They were met by two tall figures in dusty, hooded robes. They motioned him to come in.

  Schou drew his sword, but Thynnes waved him off. “No fear, son,” he chided Schou and walked in, unarmed.

  Though several shutters stood open, letting the sunlight lighten the room, a single lantern on the table was all Thynnes needed to know royalty existed here. At the table, on a chair modified with a purple cushion, sat Queen Garnet, sipping from a ceramic bottle, munching a tiny cake with a frosted top. All around her and behind the Colonel by the entrance stood those in grimy robes, who shed them promptly, revealing ten of Alena’s sisters, all near copies of herself in size, bearing and armaments.

  Thynnes stepped forward as his Colonel took a knee. “Queen Garnet,” he grunted a little. “A pleasant surprise.”

  “I do so like to travel,” she said, her voice stronger than he recalled. “So many think me a relic in my tower. Oft, I travel unaware with my girls here.”

  “They would surely see you safely along.”

  “They do,” Garnet affirmed and daintily wiped her mouth. She extended her right hand and Thynnes stood, walked over and bent down to kiss her signet ring. “Now, General Thynnes, can you guess why I’m here?”

  “I doubt it’s for the local cakes, however good they are.”

  “Not bad, but not as good as the ones Alena makes. She’s a wonderful girl, don’t you know?”

  “She has my respect.”

  “But I don’t see her here.”

  Thynnes stood, sighed and relayed the story to the Queen. She listened intently, a few times shooting dagger looks to the girls who exchanged looks when their sister was mentioned.

  “So, you think the Admiral up to no good?”

  “Vile witchery is closer.”

  “And Alena is on the Bahamut?”

  “Yes,” Thynnes reaffirmed.

  “Lord La Gaul with the pirates?”

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  “I’m about to set things right, ma’am.”

  Garnet rose and Schou bowed his head. Thynnes remained at attention. “I expect no less. All of these players are very important to me.”

  Thynnes nodded and spoke low. “I understand, ma’am.”

  Her voice rose and she explained, “I am here to view some horses and take in the countryside. I do so tire of palace life, but in these days of traitors, one can never be too careful.”

  Thynnes eyed the girls. “Might I suggest a simple test of loyalty?”

  Garnet blinked. “After what you explained of these copies, go ahead.”

  Thynnes held out his hand to the Queen. “Your hair pin?”

  The Queen pulled loose her coiled locks and handed Thynnes her pin.

  He took the saucer from her table and dumped the partially eaten cake off it. He held his large hand over the dish and pricked his middle finger. Red blood dropped on the saucer. He turned to Schou and motioned for him to arise and come on over. He stabbed the Colonel with the pin, getting red blood.

  “Ladies?” Thynnes said, wiping the pin on a flap of his shirt exposed from the mail.

  Ten girls offered their long fingers to Thynnes and all ten bled red.

  “Well, that’s good,” Thynnes remarked to the last girl, probably the youngest he guessed by her expression. “I’d hate to have to kill one of you.”

  Garnet sighed. “I don’t doubt my girls but this deviltry won’t do.” She then extended her hand to Thynnes. “I won’t be known by any to not be myself.”

  Thynnes jabbed the Queen and the Appra sisters all gasped at once, but Garnet bled red, too. “Ma’am, I suggest you get back to the palace.”

  Garnet held out her hand and one of the girls quickly applied a small wrap to the spot. “And I suggest you cast off and don’t fail me.

  *****

  Though the rest backed away from the bound up Admiral who bled black, Gorias stood his ground, disengaging his swords.

  Flanking Gorias, but back a few yards from him, Alena and Nykia took up defensive poses. Alena shot Nykia a look, almost comical. Gorias knew this was no time for disgust at raw fighting tactics versus well-trained warriors.

  Confusion spread as all had no idea what they faced. All eyes soon focused on Gorias, his blades at the ready.

  Eyebrows high, prim as ever, the Admiral clucked, “Still think I might tell you something?”

  “No,” said Gorias, stepping forward and leading with his right sword, slicing the Admiral’s left arm off at the shoulder. The abrupt move made a peculiar sound, like a boot pulling from mud. Gorias quickly followed this move by striking off the Admiral’s other arm. Both limbs fell to the deck, and everyone save for Alena and Gorias jumped back. Black ooze bled from the fresh wounds, and Rosman didn’t show a clear sign of being in any pain. “You see, Alena, the dead know nothing, or the copy of a dead man won’t talk much.”

  Rosman started to laugh, but Gorias crossed his swords and sliced the head from the thing lashed to the mast. The head dropped with a plop to the boards, soon followed by his legs, in three pieces each. Gorias then chopped the torso in half and it fell from the bindings.

  The right hand started to move on the deck, making the arm crawl slowly and one of the pirates cried out for his god. Gorias hadn’t heard of that deity and wished him the best of luck. “Kick ‘em in the drink.” He waved his word, trying to remove the black substance before wiping it off on the Admiral’s right thigh.

  Many of the men aboard shrank from the task Gorias outlined, but after Nykia stepped up and booted the Admiral’s left arm into the sea, several more ran forward to help. In a moment, only the head remained, and it still smiled.

  From high in the crow’s nest a voice shouted, “Something coming up fast.”

  Allard offered, “Can it be another ship? Are we sailing in circles?”

  The pirate shouted, “Island, coming up fast!”

  Gorias looked over at Nykia, half smiling.

  Confused, Alena also demanded of Nykia, “How is that possible?”

  A small distance existed between the pirate vessel and the burning Bahamut, but north of them a jagged island loomed, coming up fast.

  Alena glanced on either side of the ship. “We aren’t moving that rapidly. How is that thing getting so near us so fast?”

  “Because,” Gorias said with resignation. “It’s moving, not us.”

  Allard shouted, “That’s impossible! Islands can’t float!”

  Nykia went to the edge, held the rail with one hand and raised a scope. “Damn!”

  Gorias turned from the sight. “It’s not an island.”

  While Alena registered terror at Gorias’ reaction, Nykia dropped her scope and declared, “It’s Pergamus.”

  “So you say,” Gorias mumbled.

  Nykia’s expression jerked from amazement to concern. “But it’s not supposed to be here.”

  “Nope,” Gorias replied, hands fondling the pommels of his swords.

  Mouth open, no words emerging, Nykia thought for a few seconds before she looked back at the sight again. “I’ve been there, Gorias. It looks just like that!”

  “I believe you,” Gorias replied, then folded his arms.

  A bubbly croak made Nykia and Alena jump back, for they knew in an instant the Admiral’s severed head laughed. The mouth opened, pitch-black goop running out, the voice croaking, “Tell them, hero. Tell them what I was…tell them what it is.”

  Gorias cocked his leg and kicked the Admiral’s head into the sea. Once
he turned around, again, all eyes focused on him.

  “The Admiral was a doppleganger of sorts, a copy made for the thing that powers the island. It collects souls of men, then makes a copy and sends them out to do its bidding. God knows how many are there in the world.”

  Alena asked the obvious question, “Why?”

  “Because it cannot leave the island, no matter how hard it tries, for all the magic and souls it collects. It sends out the copies so the humans it deals with will not double-cross the power, and it needs the souls anyway to maintain a veil of secrecy.”

  Nykia wondered aloud, “For what?”

  “Pergamus moves and needs power because it needs to hide. What it’s up to in Transalpina with dragonfire and oils, I dunno, but I do know this. Pergamus isn’t an island.” He paused as the pirate ship stopped next to the huge rock cliffs of the island. “It’s a he.”

  CHAPTER XI

  At Pergamus

  Allard stood by Nykia and Gorias, gaping as the island loomed next to the ship. The men scrambled as Allard shouted for everyone to hang on. Allard wasn’t the Captain of the pirates, but he started to act like one and they all obeyed.

  Confusion seized Alena’s face but it only took a moment for her instincts to understand the waves would near to topple the ship. She grabbed the mast pole as the waves caused by Pergamus’ arrival came close to capsizing the ship. Gorias stumbled and fell to the deck, Allard and Nykia crashing on his back and rolling off as the ship tilted by 45 degrees.

  On his own back soon after Gorias threw him off, Allard shouted, “This is goddamned impossible!”

  Gorias patted Nykia on the thigh as if in small apology for dislodging her a moment before. He rolled back over as the ship shifted the other direction. He thought Allard’s grasp of understatement a plus.

  Fists on the wet deck, Nykia exclaimed, “But it is Pergamus! It can’t be here!”

  In the minutes that followed, the waves calmed and the island stopped moving. Allard got up, looked over the side and rubbed his beard.

  Gorias said, “I wouldn’t grapnel to that thing. If it moves off fast again, we’ll be hauled along and torn apart.”