“You have been punished,” Dagon said. “Both of you displeased me. Now you will serve with zeal, or I shall do more than lop off a hand or mark a cheek. Do you understand?”
With a bloody rag held against her cheek, Nyla nodded and managed to say, “I understand, Lord Dagon.”
Dagon booted Ut in the side. “Do you understand me?”
Ut looked at him with bloodshot, weepy eyes, and the cannibal nodded miserably.
“Good,” said Dagon. “Then leave my tent and consider yourselves fortunate that I have not taken your lives for such wretched service. Next time, I shall not be as lenient.”
As Nyla strode away, and as Ut stumbled, cradling his arm and lost hand, Dagon drove the scimitar into its scabbard. He had made enemies of those two. He knew that well. But he did not think either of them would survive the Isle of the Behemoth. The cruelty had one purpose, to fool Gog if his father should have witnessed the action through a vision.
Dagon wanted to look around, to try to discover in some fashion if Gog watched him. But he knew that was impossible. The next few days—ah, either it would bring him unbelievably glorious rewards or he would have wasted decades of secret preparation.
Dagon slumped onto the throne, trying to still the seething in his gut, trying to ready himself for the great ordeal to come.
-18-
Tenderly, Nyla touched the trident-shaped scab on her cheek. It would leave a scar, and for that, she hated Dagon. She wanted him dead, but she feared him more than ever now. He was unpredictably savage, a true child of Gog.
It was morning and she stood outside the stockade. Drizzle moved like a haze across the beach. She had a cowl thrown over her head and listened to the groan of wood and stretched ropes. Reavers floated the massive galley through the dug channel. They dragged the vessel to a hastily built wharf.
Compared to the low pirate galleys of Shamgar, this was a monstrous ship of war. Those galleys were open vessels, the gunwales a foot or two above the sloshing sea, with one man per oar. Those rowers kept bucklers and scimitars at their feet, grabbing them when grappling hooks crunched onto a rich merchant tub. Those galleys of the Suttung Sea lacked a ram, and had a half-deck over the sand kept in the galley’s bottom as ballast. The ballast helped keep a galley upright.
The long-dead shipwrights of this galley had designed the monstrous vessel for an entirely different purpose. They had meant to destroy enemy vessels with a heavy bronze ram or sweep enemy decks with arrow engines. Then the galley would have crashed alongside an enemy, and the captain would have sent howling masses of soldiery to finish the foe. The gunwale towered eleven feet above the waterline, with a complete deck built above the ship’s innards where the rowers toiled. By the benches and the ancient oars yet in the locks, Nyla had estimated five rowers per giant oar. The vessel had likely needed three hundred rowers and deckhands and it had hosted one hundred marines. Dagon had half that number, the majority of them Rovian captives.
At Dagon’s orders yesterday, reavers had torn out the ancient and now useless arrow engines. In their place were modern ballistae, an ingenious device. Twisted sinews provided torsion power. A swivel mount allowed a brigand to aim the heavy wooden construction, release a latch and hiss a javelin with considerable force. Nyla had witnessed a demonstration. The galley possessed three ballistae, each placed at a strategic location on deck.
The miserable morning progressed as men and beasts tramped across the gangplanks. Soon Dagon strode forth with a silvery shield and his huge scimitar. His scarlet cloak flapped in the breeze and the drizzle fizzled into gray overcast. It had been enough to dampen his fur, and he smelled like a wet dog.
“Hurry,” he said.
Nyla ran to the great cave bear. The giant beast fitfully slept under a leather awning. Her Thag-skin of theltocarna pressed against her side. Once it ran out…would the cave bear remember its former love, or would that love turn into hatred? Nyla drew a needle-sharp knife and carefully opened the Thag-skin. She smeared the point with oily theltocarna, twisted the skin shut, stuffed it in her sash and stepped behind the great beast. It was like stepping behind a sleeping mammoth. How had Gog ever enlarged a cave bear to this unnatural size?
Nyla parted fur and pricked the beast with the knife. She jumped back as it lifted its head with a roar.
“My darling,” she crooned.
The beast’s bloodshot eyes glared at her as drool dripped from its cavernous jaws. It breathed heavily, the odor meaty. With a grunt, it heaved upright.
Nyla stepped beside the beast, marveling once more at its sheer size. She stroked its flank, and the bear grunted again.
Nyla twisted away from its snout, almost gagging on its breath. She feared the beast, knew that its hate was a smoldering fire. Deep in its heart, it surely wanted to slay her, but the drug restrained it. She grabbed a fistful of fur and shoved the bear in the direction she wished it to go.
It gratified Nyla that Dagon eyed her beast, and it troubled her. The Nephilim would be difficult to catch unawares. It meant he realized she hated him for what he’d done. She couldn’t understand the Nephilim’s motivation for his brutal action. That made her extra cautious concerning him, but she vowed to make him pay.
Tall Radek proceeded with an orn, a black-plumed, eight-foot bird of savage disposition. Ut had already boarded with his hyenas. A golden eagle preened itself on a perch especially constructed for it. Most of the other beasts waited down below with the rowers.
The cave bear waddled up the gangplank, the heavy board groaning at its weight. The beast’s knife-sized claws clattered upon the boards and the deck ominously creaked at each step. Nyla could well imagine what it was like for those in the rowing hold, hearing the bear walk above them. Soon the beast lay down in the middle of the ship.
“You have one responsibility,” Dagon told her. “Keep your bear content as we cross. No matter what happens, keep it onboard and alive.”
Nyla bowed her head. She didn’t like the ‘no matter what happens.’ That sounded ominous. What secret did the Nephilim keep from them?
Soon the new and old oars stirred in the water. A drum boomed from within the galley and the oars rattled against each other, fouling. From the hold came angry shouts and more orders. After a time, the drum boomed again. Fewer oars collided with others, but it was enough to tangle them. A Rovian soon screamed as a whip slashed him. A third time the drum boomed, and now the oars thrust against the sea in near unison.
The great galley, the ancient vessel, stirred with a complaint of timbers. The drum kept booming and the oars continued slashing. The ship moved away from the wharf and toward the entrance of the bay.
Most of the reavers manned the oars inside the hold, along with all the Rovians. Beastmasters stood at the ballistae, each scanning the still waters. Dagon and another wrestled a creaking yardarm onto the main pole. The orn squawked, the hyenas whined and the cave bear rumbled with unease.
Nyla put a hand on its hot side. “There’s a good bear,” she crooned. “You’re fine.” She squinted. Far out at sea, a monster raised its slender neck. The creature watched only a moment before submerging.
Despite her resolve to see him dead, Nyla signaled Dagon.
“I saw it,” the Nephilim rumbled.
With the snap of cloth, the wind caught the lowered sail. The giant galley surged ahead and now they began to pick up speed, heading toward the ancient isle where the Behemoth was said to live.
***
Lod, Keros and Tamar toiled to finish the dugout canoe. They’d worked endlessly, chipping out charred wood. Their arms were sooty and their faces were streaked with grime.
High above an eagle soared, watching them.
“Look,” Keros said, pointing at the eagle.
Lod lifted his torso up from the dugout, with a stone-headed hatchet in his hands. “It’s a beastmaster’s bird,” he said.
“Look out at sea,” said Tamar.
Lod and Keros turned to where Tamar stared. Lod’s
gut clenched. In the distance, a massive galley struggled over long waves as it moved toward the isle.
Lod critically eyed the dugout. They’d burned and chopped out a good three quarters. They needed another day to finish the task. He glanced at the galley and looked back at the dugout.
“We must launch now,” Lod said.
“The boat isn’t ready yet,” Tamar said. “With those waves, we risk capsizing. And I don’t know about you, but I don’t think I could swim all the way to the isle.”
Lod muscled chest expanded. If it came to that, he could probably swim there. But it would exhaust him. With the eagle in the sky, Dagon might decide to try to intercept them. Then he’d be captured and fated for another stay in the Catacombs. Lod clutched the axe, frustrated, ready to hurl it into the sea.
Keros solved the dilemma as he attacked the inside of the dugout, chipping wood with his axe. “Let’s at least hack out this latest burnt part. Then we’ll have to chance it.”
Lod hesitated but a moment. Then he too attacked the charred remains, chopping with his flint axe, grinding his teeth in anger that Dagon had beaten him into the sea.
***
The gargantuan galley plowed through the Sea of Nur, propelled by a brisk wind. The boatswain had ordered all oars drawn within and the oarlocks snapped shut against the choppy sea. Freed of oar-work, a few reavers had climbed out the hatch until Dagon roared at them to get below deck and await his orders.
The seven-foot Nephilim paced the deck from ballista to ballista. The beastmasters nervously manned them, scanning the sea. Nyla soothed the bear. The great beast occasionally raised its head and grunted at the vast expanse of water.
Nyla rubbed the bear, leaning against its warm bulk. What had Dagon so worried? The long-necked monster who had watched them earlier was nowhere in evidence now. Did the galley’s size intimidate the sea beast? Could it recognize the ballistae for what they were? What did Dagon know that he hadn’t said? Nyla eyed a strange sack that Dagon had taken out of a strongbox as they’d exited the bay. The Nephilim had lit several lanterns afterward and hung them in various locations throughout the galley.
“To the north, Lord!” shouted Ut.
The beastmaster’s voice was hoarse, and he leaned heavily against his ballista. Ut wore a string around his neck, with a small sack dangling from his throat. Nyla was certain the sack contained his severed hand. That arm hung limply at his side, the end swathed in mummy-bandages. The left hand gripped the ballista’s firing lever.
Nyla marveled at the fact that Dagon allowed Ut behind the javelin-hurling engine. Didn’t the Nephilim worry that Ut would swivel the ballista at him and shoot the javelin into his back? It showed incredible arrogance on Dagon’s part, and that gave Nyla hope on gaining revenge.
“To the north,” Ut repeated.
Nyla scanned the distance. Her beast grunted and raised its head. There were more white spumes than before, little prickles upon the sea. Had the wind picked up over there?
“There!” cried the Eagle Master.
Nyla saw it for just a moment. It was far away, but it had a long neck. Then the neck disappeared. Bile rose in the back of Nyla’s throat. She found that her hands shook.
Tall Radek dared leave the javelin-engine and approach Dagon, who stared northward. “Lord, what was that?”
Dagon moved as if coming out of a mental fog. He cleared his throat, and he glanced about the deck at each of them. “The sea beasts are like crocodiles in that as long as they live they continue to grow. There is a story about this isle….” Dagon stared out to sea, squinting, as his scarlet cloaked flapped in the breeze.
“A story, Lord?” prodded Radek.
Dagon clapped a hand to his scimitar hilt. “None of us will live forever.” He gave a harsh laugh, and he whirled upon Radek so the tall beastmaster stumbled backward. “Gog cannot foresee all. It’s said the Baal-stolen flame radiates with strange power, blocking our sire’s extraordinary gift when his mystic sight tries to view things on or near the isle. The flame has also granted long life to some of these creatures. The Behemoth has gained its huge size by its long life, why not these sea monsters, eh?”
Dagon shrugged, and he strode quickly, making Radek scurry out of his way. The Nephilim picked up a leather sack, securing it to his belt.
“There it is!” screamed Radek, pointing north.
Nyla paled.
Water boiled before the sea beast in a white froth. The monster closed at an incredible rate, although it was still far off. At the end of the long neck, at least as long as a giraffe’s, was a huge head with great white teeth. The monster roared—the sound reaching them over the wind.
The beast submerged again.
“My lord!” shouted Radek. “We must turn around!”
Dagon glanced at them. “Nothing worth having is easy. But don’t despair.” He thumped his hairy chest. “No watery beast is going to devour me. Now man the ballistae. When the monster is in range, drill it with missiles. Use spears, darts, whatever comes to hand.”
“What if it smashes the ship, Lord?” asked Radek.
“What if we smash his head?” roared Dagon.
“There!” shouted the Eagle Master.
The sea monster rose in a swirl of water, about five hundred paces off and closing fast.
Nyla stood petrified. The monster’s hide glistened and looked rubbery tough. Its teeth glinted in the sunlight.
Dragon strode to Nyla, grabbing her shoulder, shoving her near a lantern.
“Pick it up,” Dagon snarled, “and when I say so, light these fuses.” He pulled out a sulfur-smelly ball of rags, twine and tar, soaked in liquid brimstone. “Make sure you don’t light the ball, but just the fuse.”
Nyla noted a hemp string attached to the rag-ball. “That’s going to defeat the sea beast?” she asked dubiously.
Ut swiveled his ballista and yanked the latch. A heavy javelin hissed out of the wooden groove and sailed the distance toward creature. The missile splashed into the water several feet to its side.
“Wind it back up!” roared Ut. His team of reavers frantically wound the levers that drew the cord.
The Eagle Master fired his ballista, and the missile might have hit, but it seemed that the monster changed course enough to dodge it.
“Don’t waste your shots!” bellowed Dagon. “Wait until it’s almost upon us.”
The monster sped at them, closing rapidly until it was two hundred paces away. Nyla noticed barnacles on its lower chest, and she saw what appeared as sharks swimming on either flank.
“Hold your fire!” shouted Dagon.
The sea monster’s eyes gleamed with malignant will as it picked up speed, a hundred paces away, ninety, eighty—
“Fire!” roared Dagon.
Ballistae rattled and javelins hissed in flight. Before they reached it, the monster submerged again. The water swirled and boiled where it went down and javelins plopped harmlessly into the water.
Reavers sweated as they rewound the ballistae. Beastmasters peered over the railing, hunting for signs of the sea monster.
Nyla’s shaking hands held the lantern, wishing she’d remained in Shamgar.
Dagon wiped sweat from his low brow.
The fastest reaver slid a new javelin into Ut’s ballista-groove.
The sea beast surfaced with a dreadful roar just behind the galley. Beastmasters shouted as they swiveled their javelin-engines. An iron javelin sank into the monster’s bulk. Another nicked its neck. The last caromed off its skull, leaving a red furrow.
The monster bellowed with agony.
“Light it,” said Dagon. “Now, now, before it’s too late.”
Nyla thrust the open lantern at Dagon. She made no effort for precision, too dazed, too sickened with fear to care. Dagon deftly twisted his rag, poking the end of the fuse into the flickering flame. The fuse hissed. Dagon roared, took three steps and heaved the ball. It ignited in flight, blazing, and it splattered against the monster’s rubbery h
ide. The effect was spectacular, amazing. Whatever compounds made up the fiery ball attached to its hide and burned with hellish fury.
The monster bellowed louder, its head thrashing back and forth.
“Quickly!” shouted Dagon. “Light another. Light it!”
Reavers hurled harpoons at the beast, sticking it, but with no appreciable effect.
Ut’s ballista rattled, and another iron javelin sank deep into the monster’s bulk.
The sea beast didn’t submerge as fires raged on its hide. It swam at the galley, seemingly out of its mind.
Nyla touched the lantern’s flame to a fuse. The fuse hissed. The sea monster crashed against the ancient galley, breast to stern. It roared in triumph as wood crumpled and almost everyone was thrown down.
Dagon staggered as he hurled the tar-soaked ball. With the fuse still hissing, the ball entered the monster’s fanged maw. The creature gulped, no doubt doing it reflexively. Then the sea monster stretched its neck as its eyes bulged. Smoke billowed from its jaws. The bleeding monster slid from the crumpled stern and into the water. Seconds later, the sea beast leaped for the surface, its great flukes flapping disjointedly. Now it bellowed. It was a sick, painful sound of anguish, with flames licking from its mouth. It splashed back into the sea, submerging even as the wave from its vast body struck the wounded galley, pouring water into the cracked hold.
***
Rough waves splashed into the dugout, soaking Lod, Keros and Tamar, and sloshing cold water around their knees. They dug their paddles relentlessly, struggling for the distant isle.
“Here comes another one!” shouted Keros.
Kneeling in the nearly-finished boat, his knees already sore from the roughly chipped bottom, Lod slashed his paddle into the sea, turning their sluggish craft so the prow aimed into the wave. It hit, lifting them and spraying him in the face, drenching his beard. Keros set down his paddle and frantically began bailing with an empty gourd. Lod hunched his shoulders and dug his paddle as hard and fast as he could, hoping to gain distance before the next comber rolled in. Tamar also rowed, shifting her weight now and again with expert skill. The waves looked smoother farther out to sea, more rolling instead of rising up as these did to dash themselves upon shore.
Behemoth (Lost Civilizations: 5) Page 18