Wit'ch War (v5)

by James Clemens

  “So the mer’ai have always done,” Pinorr said. “And not just from squalls cast by angry skies. When the Dark Lord came to Alasea, they fled that storm, too. While protecting you, over half our fleet was vanquished by the forces of the Black Heart. Thousands died so hundreds of mer’ai could escape. In old songs and tales, we still remember our dead, and we don’t fondly reflect on your people, our ancient slave masters. It will be hard to convince the others to rally to your banner now.”

  Kast spoke, coughing a piece of bread loose from his throat. “It was not the mer’ai that slew our people. It was the Gul’gotha—and it is the Gul’gotha we intend to fight. That is what we must remind the Dre’rendi.”

  Pinorr leaned back on his bed. “The Black Heart has not disturbed our fleet in centuries. As long as we keep to the Blasted Shoals, his forces leave us in peace. But now you ask us to expose our throats again to the teeth of his monsters. For what end? So some snip of a girl can fetch some book?” Pinorr stared at Kast, who had finally pushed away his stew bowl. “I’m afraid your journey here, Kast, will prove fruitless. I doubt the high keel will grant you his forces.”

  “What if I can convince Ulster? My brother’s position as keelchief may help sway the other chiefs.”

  Scowling, Pinorr looked away. “Ulster will not help. He is not the boy you left behind, Kast.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “After you left, Ulster bore the brunt of your father’s ire. As the only remaining son and heir to your family name, he was driven hard by your father, his head filled with dreams of glory. Your father would brook no failings from him. Eventually something broke in the boy, and he grew into a hard man, bereft of compassion, a lover of easy cruelties. He is no brother to you now. Remember that.”

  “I cannot believe these words,” Kast said.

  Pinorr saw the mer’ai girl slip her hand into Kast’s, comforting him. It seemed that more than magick bound these two. “I’m sorry, Kast. I tried my best to guide Ulster after your father died, to mentor him in the ways of stewarding a ship. But I believe what broke in him will never heal. He now bridles against my counsel, turning his resentment for his father against me.” Pinorr went on to explain about the recent attack on Sheeshon.

  Kast’s face was red with anger by the time the story was finished. “How could my brother grow so craven?”

  Pinorr shook his head sadly. “Let it go, Kast. It’s over. With Sheeshon choosing Ragnar’k as her champion, I don’t believe Ulster will press the blood duel now. He’ll be glad to forget his threats.”

  “For now,” Kast said grimly. “But what of later?”

  “We’ll cross those rough seas when the winds blow us there,” Pinorr answered, waving away Kast’s concerns. “I only tell you all this so you will understand. The Dre’rendi are not likely to consider your request. There are few who will even listen to you.”

  “But your people swore oaths,” Sy-wen argued and pointed toward the faded tattoo on Pinorr’s neck. “For your freedom, you promised to serve us one last time. Now is that time. We call you to honor your ancient debts.”

  “Those are old oaths, faded and forgotten like the dyes on my wrinkled neck. None will place much strength on such vows.”

  Kast’s face remained ruddy with an inner fire. “You’re wrong, Pinorr. The Dre’rendi have no choice.” He related how the tattoos held magick in their ink, how Sy-wen had bent his will to her desires. “The tattoos bind us to the mer’ai. If they have a need of us, we will be forced to serve. Trust me; I know.”

  Pinorr fingered the old seahawk on his cheek, his eyes wide. “So they would enslave us again.”

  “That is not our desire,” Sy-wen persisted. “Or even possible. Each of the mer’ai can bond to only one of the Bloodriders. As I am bonded to Kast, I can command no others. Such a magick would not allow us to enslave your entire people. You outnumber us tenfold.”

  Kast supported her. “They’d rather have the Dre’rendi as allies, not slaves. The mer’ai have as little interest in us as we do in them. They only ask us to honor our ancestors’ oaths and to unite against a common foe. Afterward, our two peoples can part ways with our old debts paid.”

  “That is, if any survive,” Pinorr replied under his breath, remembering Sheeshon’s words of doom.

  Kast leaned closer to Pinorr. “There must be some way to convince our people, to get them at least to listen.”

  Pinorr sighed and contemplated their words. Kast, with his eyes afire and his brows fierce, reminded the shaman of the younger man’s father, his old friend. The flame of the high keel still burned in this elder son. Pinorr had never been able to refuse the high keel anything, especially when the man’s blood was aflame.

  Rubbing at his chin, Pinorr mumbled softly, “There may be a way.” He sensed that he was about to betray his people, to set them on a path of doom. Yet his heart told him to trust Kast.

  “How?”

  “It will take the dragon, the one named Ragnar’k. Are you willing to forsake yourself to him again?”

  Kast nodded. “If I must.”

  Pinorr turned to Sy-wen. “What I ask of you is much worse.” He told her what he needed accomplished. “Only your hand can do this.”

  The woman’s eyes grew wide with horror, but she nodded her understanding.

  “You must reach the high keel’s ship before the morning,” Pinorr finished. “Otherwise, if the fleet regroups after the storm, you will need to face the full council of keelchiefs, and there are too many like Ulster for any chance of them listening. But the high keel himself is a just man. If you catch him alone in this storm, he will listen. Convince him and the battle is won. He must understand the truth of our two peoples’ shared histories.”

  “But what of the storm’s fury?” Kast asked as thunder boomed through the planks, rattling the bowls on the table.

  “We will have to trust the sea gods,” Pinorr said.

  Sy-wen was clearly not as convinced, her eyes full of doubt. “You place too much trust in gods and ancient stories of dragons.” Her gaze flicked toward the tiny child playing with her toys. Drool dripped from the slack side of the girl’s lips. “If either proves wrong . . .”

  Pinorr stood. “I know what I risk.” He crossed to Sheeshon and gathered his son’s daughter up in his arms.

  The girl smiled up into his face. “Papa, where are we going?”

  “You’re going to fly, sweetheart. Fly with a dragon.”

  ULSTER SAT HUNCHED with Jabib and Gylt in the ship’s galley. The storm rocked the lanterns on their hooks, waving their long shadows over the walls. Thunder rumbled in a continual growl through the boat, erupting occasionally into fierce booms that shook their mugs of Tulusian kaffee.

  Every such burst caused Gylt to duck his head and glance nervously upward, as if he were about to be struck. “May the sea gods protect us,” he prayed, then waited for the echoes to trail away.

  Ulster scowled at his fears. “The gods do not protect the foolish. Only a well-manned boat will survive this storm.” He turned his attentions back to his first mate. “Who have you assigned to pilot, Jabib?”

  “Biggin, sir. He’s already lashed to the wheel. He’s a good man in rough seas.”

  “What about Hrendal?”

  Jabib shook his head. “He’s a better navigator, but he doesn’t have Biggin’s sea sense.”

  Ulster nodded, satisfied with his first mate’s judgment. Jabib knew the crew’s strengths and weaknesses better than he. “Good. With the rigging secured and the decks cleared, we should steer right through this storm.”

  Jabib’s expression did not appear as confident.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “The crew, sir. I’ve heard rumblings. They say your fight with Pinorr has brought this storm down upon the fleet. They believe the dragon was birthed by the skies to punish the ship and is being led by the spirit of your dead brother.”

  Ulster snorted. “That’s ridiculous. Kast never died. He just ran off
. The dragon and the girl are just some trick of his to rejoin the fleet. We’ll deal with him and his green-haired whore after the storm.”

  Jabib shrugged. “It’s just what I’ve heard. The men are scared by the storm’s size and spooked by the queer happenings on the deck earlier. Their talk grows stronger. Rumors abound. I’ve even heard some of the crew whisper plans of casting the shaman into the sea to appease the gods—”

  “That is not a bad idea,” Ulster grumbled.

  “But I’ve also heard the same threats against you and your brother.”

  Ulster pounded his gloved fist on the table. “What are you saying? Is it mutiny they want?”

  “It’s just talk, sir. But a show of strength by you . . .”

  Ulster pondered his words. “What do you propose?”

  “A demonstration of your love for the gods.” Jabib glanced about the room, then leaned nearer. “A sacrifice . . . by your own hand.”

  “And you think a spurt of goat’s blood will still the tongues of these whispers?”

  “No, but maybe something stronger will. The shaman’s child—her twisted face, her ramblings. She makes the crew uneasy. Mader Geel is the only one who will even look after the girl.” Jabib looked significantly at Ulster. “None will miss her.”

  Gylt spoke into the silence, his voice cracking with fear. “She is cursed. All know it, but none have dared confront Shaman Pinorr. Tales say the child was birthed from a dead belly. One just has to look at that half-frozen face to know the gods have shunned her.”

  Jabib nodded. “If you rid the ship of the child, the crew will see your strength and know you honor the gods. This will end their talk of mutiny.”

  “But what of Pinorr?”

  Jabib leaned even closer, his voice a hushed whisper. “In storms, accidents can happen.”

  KAST CREPT DOWN the passageway. The deck rolled under his feet, seeking to topple him. Barefooted, he kept his balance and snuck upon the guard stationed near the hatch to the upper deck. His many winters at sea among the cutthroats of Port Rawl had taught Kast the art of the assassin. His prey was no challenge, his eye pressed foolishly to the peephole in the door as he watched the storm’s first rally against the ship.

  Beyond the hatch, winds screamed like tortured spirits, masking Kast’s final steps toward the man’s back. Without pausing, Kast struck the man a sharp blow to his neck with the callused edge of his hand. His prey collapsed at his feet. Kast relieved the man of his sword, then hurried back five paces and waved the others forward.

  Sy-wen, her eyes wide with fear, hurried toward Kast. Pinorr, his face red from both exertion and anxiety, held Sheeshon in his arms. “We will not have much time,” Pinorr commented. “You must hurry.”

  Kast nodded. “The storm is fierce. Stay close.” Turning to the hatch, he threw open the latch, but the door ripped away on its own, torn free by the howling gales. The fierce winds fought to drag the lot of them onto the deck, but Kast fought the wind’s pull, legs braced, hands tight to the door’s frame. Only Kast’s strength kept the others sheltered within the opening.

  Behind him, Sy-wen hung from his right arm, her cheek resting on his shoulder as she squinted at the storm. Her breath was like fire on his neck. “I . . . I don’t think I can do this. The rain . . . the winds . . .”

  “You must,” Pinorr said.

  A huge wave suddenly crashed over the rails, a monster of frothing foam and swirling currents. It tore loose a set of lashed barrels and sent them crashing across the deck. Kast scowled at such poor preparations.

  He waited for the waters to sluice away and the ship to right itself. “Now!” he yelled and sprang out, keeping a firm grip on Sy-wen’s hand. Rain, whipped by the winds into stinging sleet, strove to hammer him to the deck. He sheltered Sy-wen under him. Before the fury of this storm, the small mer’ai woman would be nothing but a stray leaf.

  Pinorr had remained in the doorway, Sheeshon in his arms. “Hurry!” he called to them.

  Once far enough out on the deck, Kast swung around, pulling Sy-wen into his embrace. “Call the dragon,” he yelled as the wind tore at his words.

  Sy-wen seemed frozen by the fierceness of the warring skies. Lightning played in jagged spears across the underbellies of the black clouds. Thunder ached the ribs in their chests. “We can’t possibly fly in this—”

  As she resisted, Kast drew her fingers to his tattoo. “Ragnar’k can,” he said. “The dragon and I are one. We will not fail you. Trust me. Trust the dragon’s heart.”

  Her eyes were moist from more than just the rain as she glanced up at him. “I will trust my bonded,” she said, her words a whisper in the wind. “Both of them.” She gazed into his eyes, and for a moment, the storm’s howl vanished. It was as if they were alone on the deck.

  In the silence between cracks of thunder, she placed her palm upon his cheek and leaned up toward him, her lips brushing his ear. “I have need of you.”

  With those words of binding, the world around him vanished.

  SY-WEN SAT ASTRIDE the dragon’s neck as Ragnar’k awoke to the storm. The great beast bellowed at the skies, its silver claws dug deep into the ship’s boards. Sy-wen knew that no wind or wash of wave could dislodge the huge dragon.

  Its massive head swung in her direction. Red eyes glowed at her. Do we fly again? it asked.

  Yes, she answered silently. We must make for the largest ship.

  Ragnar’k sent his willingness to her in a warmth of bonded loyalty. His thoughts drove away the storm’s chill. He unfurled his wings.

  Wait, she urged him. We must carry someone with us.

  A rasp of irritation flooded her. You are my bonded. Only bonded shares the winds.

  I know, my dragon, but I have a great need and it is only a short distance.

  A grumble, the equivalent of a dragon’s sigh, rose from his chest. Wings folded back down.

  Sy-wen raised her arm toward the opening to the lower decks. Pinorr and Sheeshon were still sheltered in the doorway. She waved to the shaman.

  Pinorr showed no fear as he scurried across the space between door and dragon. As the waves rolled the boat, he almost lost his footing on the slippery deck. Soon he crouched in the lee of the beast’s bulk, protected from the worst of the storm. “Can you manage?” he yelled up at Sy-wen.

  She nodded. “Ragnar’k will keep us both safe!”

  Sy-wen leaned down and accepted the small child from Pinorr’s outstretched arms. Sheeshon struggled and sobbed in fear, not of the dragon, but of the angry skies. Her eyes were wide as she stared at the lightning.

  Sy-wen pulled Sheeshon into the space in front of her and wrapped both arms around her. “Hush. You’re safe,” she soothed, but in her heart, Sy-wen was not so confident. With her ankles locked in the dragon’s folds, Sy-wen had to trust the strength of her own arms to keep the child atop the dragon.

  Sheeshon glanced up at Sy-wen. The girl struggled for bravery in the face of the storm. “Your big dragon has a funny name.”

  “Yes, he does.”

  “He’s gonna eat me,” the child said calmly.

  Shocked, Sy-wen stared as Sheeshon turned and patted happily at the dragon’s scaled neck, her actions so incongruous with her words.

  I will not eat her, Ragnar’k argued grimly. She’s too small.

  I know, my bonded. Ignore her words. She is addled. Still, Sy-wen shuddered. The child had spoken with such certainty.

  Suddenly the roiling clouds unleashed their fury. A crash of icy hail pounded down from the black skies, pelting the deck with a roaring clatter.

  Cringing from the stinging bites, Sy-wen leaned over the dragon’s shoulder and found Pinorr staring up at her. “Fear not, Shaman, I will get the girl safe to the Dragonsheart. Kast and I will convince the high keel of our urgency.”

  His face was still lined with worry. “You know what you must do.”

  Nodding, Sy-wen pulled back, her lips tight. She clutched tighter to the child. Sweet Mother, forgive me, but
I do.

  Pinorr retreated, bent against the hail. He fled to the doorway and waved an arm in farewell.

  Sy-wen turned toward the raging seas. Fly, she sent the dragon.

  Ragnar’k obeyed, wings snapping taut in the strong gale, catching the winds. The dragon released his claws, and the storm took hold of him. Ragnar’k sailed over the rail. Away from the ship, whitecaps blew up from the sea, reaching for them, struggling to tear them from the skies. Some waves towered as high as mighty cliffs. But the dragon sailed above their grasps.

  Lightning chased them across the sea.

  Ducking away from the thunder, Sy-wen considered ordering the dragon to dive under the furious sea to escape the storm’s brunt, but speed was essential. Flying was faster, and she feared the child’s panic if they fled under the waves. Sheeshon could easily drown—and that must not happen. The success of their mission depended on the girl.

  Sy-wen kept a firm grip on the trembling child. Sheeshon was mumbling something, over and over. It sounded almost like a child’s song, rhythmic and repetitive. The wind tore away most of her words, but occasional snatches reached her. Sy-wen pieced them together in her head:

  Dragon heart and dragon bone,

  only blood will shatter stone.

  Dragon dark and dragon bright,

  only pain will win this fight.

  Sy-wen pulled back, her mind working on the child’s rhyme. What did it mean? Her skin prickled with the words. As with Kast’s tattoo, she sensed old magick in the girl’s chant.

  Touching the child’s cheek, Sy-wen drew her attention. “What are you—?”

  Suddenly the world exploded. Time froze. Pain seared Sy-wen’s left side. Blind for an unknown length of time, Sy-wen came back to the world with a scream filling her ears. It took her a moment to realize that it was her own throat crying out. She stared in horror at the raging sea flying toward them.

  Under her, the dragon dove in a spiraling fall, head lolling on a flailing neck. Sheeshon was still clutched in her arms. The child struggled an arm free and pointed to the left. Sy-wen glanced and saw the smoking tear in the dragon’s wing. Mother above, Ragnar’k must have caught the edge of a lightning bolt! As she stared, other jagged spears pursued her injured mount.