by Brian Keene
Wagnar noticed the wet breeches of one of the sailors who had just come from the hold. He elbowed his brother.
“Either that man has soiled himself or we are taking on water.”
“We’re taking on water,” Harkon confirmed. “We must send these dogs to their gods with haste, lest we all feed the sharks. We’ll sink before long.”
Javan looked up at Rogan. “You wanted a glorious death?”
Not looking back, Rogan snapped, “Shut your ass.”
“On my word!” Captain Huxira shouted, and then paused, his eyes wide. “Look at them!”
The attackers were heavily muscled and black as coal; clad in little more than loincloths. Each bore hoops of gold and other decorations in their noses and ears. Ivory teeth flashed savage grins. The ebony warriors raised their bows, but unlike Captain Huxira’s crew, didn’t hesitate. They unleashed a volley of long, flaming arrows, and seconds later, crackling orange flames greedily engulfed the mast.
“Damn you, dogs,” Rogan barked. “Release!”
The stunned crew unleashed their arrows, but a second volley was already soaring towards them. The sky rained feathered shafts, and sailors on both sides dropped to the decks.
Javan, crouching, noticed that even as the smaller boats strafed the bireme, the larger galley bore down on them.
Hefting a spear, Wagnar leaped over a wounded sailor and roared an Alatervaeian battle cry. Muscles and tendons stood taut, and he projected a ferocious image. Smoke from the burning sails obscured him for a moment.
When the smoke lifted, he lay jittering on the deck, a gray arrow jutting from his eye.
“Wagnar!”
Enraged, Harkon sprang to his brother’s side. His huge hands cradled Wagnar’s head. His brother’s blood and brain matter oozed from around the arrow shaft and ran between his fingers.
“Brother,” Harkon whispered. “You have left me here alone.”
“Focus, Harkon.” Javan coughed as the smoke reached him. “Make sure he did not die in vain.”
Harkon raised his head and stared at the youth. His red-rimmed eyes burned with bloodlust and vengeance.
“I swear this to thee, Javan,” he seethed. “These waters will run with their blood by the time this day is done. My brother shall be avenged.”
“Then, for Rogan—and for your brother, make it so.”
The fires raced up the mast. The smoke grew thick.
“Captain,” Rogan commanded, “get some men on those flames. Quickly, now!”
Huxira panicked. “They are already below, bailing the seawater rushing through the hull. I’ll have some others to attend to it.”
A spear slammed into the boards at the old man’s feet. Captain Huxira scrambled backward. Rogan yanked the spear out and hurled it back at the warrior who’d thrown it. The shaft buried itself in the man’s chest, and he toppled into the water. Rogan spied another small boat approaching on a collision course from the north. The grinning pilot didn’t turn or slacken his pace. Cursing, Rogan grabbed Javan and wrestled him to the other side of the vessel as the Pryten reaver rammed into them.
The black men on board the reaver leapt into the air with cat-like grace. A dozen of them boarded the vessel, swinging great curved swords and hiding behind long, oval-shaped bronze shields. The bireme tilted and swayed from the blow to its side. Below decks came the sounds of cracking timbers and bones, and the screams of the dying.
“They are well trained,” Rogan observed, picking up a bow from a fallen archer.
One of the pirates hacked the head from a sailor. He raised his eyes and glared at Rogan, just in time to have an arrow sprout from his throat.
Quarters were too close to reload the bow, so Rogan swung the shaft up, snapping it off on the jawbone of an attacker. Trying to unsheathe his sword, Rogan needed more time as another man came after him. He seized the fighter’s nipple ring and yanked it from the dark flesh. The wounded savage wailed in agony, allowing Rogan to free his blade.
Javan drew his small sword as well, throwing an elbow into the spine of Rogan’s new opponent. Nearby, Harkon raved, swinging his sword in wild, sweeping arcs as the berserker bloodlust seized him. With each pirate’s head he sent spinning into the frothing waters, he shouted his brother’s name. The element of surprise was against the bireme’s crew, and the corsairs had the upper hand, but Rogan, Javan, and Harkon killed a dozen of the attackers in an instant. They swung hard with their heavy weapons, splitting shields and skulls. Heads and limbs dropped from torsos, and blood jetted across the wet boards.
Another Pryten crept towards Captain Huxira. The pirate’s gold earrings glinted in the sun. He thrust his spear forward, but the old man dodged the attack and lashed out with his dagger, slicing the black man’s abdomen. The corsair drew back, and Huxira plunged the dagger into his side. The blade scraped against the man’s ribs. Whispering rumors of the Pryten’s mother’s heritage and how she’d mated with a goat, Captain Huxira twisted the dagger and opened his opponent up. As the Pryten died, the old man spat a wad of chewing leaf into his face. Then he reached for a leather pouch and stuffed more leaf into his mouth with bloodstained fingers.
The bireme listed farther to port. Racing flames licked at the fluttering sails. Billowing smoke filled the air. Several crewmen struggled to extinguish the fires. They scaled the burning mast and were shot down with arrows from the bowmen aboard the Pryten mothership.
Rogan slipped in a steaming pile of intestines loosed from the belly of another pirate, parrying a sword blow as he collapsed to one knee. Face to face with black legs, he hacked the ankles from his target in a clean swipe. The man toppled over.
With one vicious thrust, Harkon impaled two of the savages as they rushed him. He smashed a third man’s face with his shield, watching the pirate’s nose burst like ripe fruit, before retrieving his sword.
“My brother will meet you on the other side, dog.” Harkon skewered the man with his blade.
Javan felt a kick from behind as he slashed a throat. His opponent’s jugular vein sprayed blood. Falling to his knees, Javan turned and drove his blade into the groin of the second warrior. The man collapsed to the slick deck, a small whine escaping from his frothing lips. Javan yanked his weapon free and the wounded savage curled into a ball, hands cradling his flayed manhood.
As the mothership turned sideways in front of the bireme, Captain Huxira shouted more commands. He aimed the listing bireme at the long ship, even as he took an arrow in the shoulder. Grimacing, he snapped the shaft, spat another wad of chewing leaf, and continued his efforts.
Another corsair, so dark that the sunlight seemed to reflect off his skin, and taller than even Rogan, stood in the long aisle between the terrified rowing slaves. He laughed, tossing his beaded locks of hair as a second Pryten reaver crashed into the bireme, depositing a dozen more warriors. This time, they didn’t attack the sailors, but swung weapons at the chains imprisoning the rowers.
In moments, a dozen slaves were free. The pirates boarding the bireme handed them small dirks, and encouraged them to join in the fight against their oppressors. The slaves clambered to their feet, cheering their newfound saviors.
Rogan stepped forward.
“Back, you worthless fools,” he shouted in Albion, decapitating two of his own slaves in the hope of quelling the rebellion before it began.
The Pryten savage with the long, beaded hair laughed at him.
“Laugh now, mutt.” Rogan pointed his blade at the pirate. “For soon, you’ll only shriek.”
Rogan, Javan, Harkon, and two of Huxira’s sailors waded into the corsairs, slicing and stabbing, swinging and cutting for all they were worth. Huxira’s men were slashed to ribbons. Harkon and Javan leapt over their corpses. Consumed with fury, Rogan tried to reach the giant Pryten leader, who freed more slaves. Bodies fell into the ocean and more shark fins appeared as if by magic. The churning water turned red. The roar of warfare, the clash of steel, and the cries for freedom from the slaves rang in th
e air.
A rock-hard fist struck Javan in the temple, the blow knocking him to his knees again. The boy’s ears rang. The battle’s din became a slight buzz. He shook his head, trying to clear it, as a pirate hovered over him. The attacker raised his sword and brought it sweeping down, but Harkon parried the deathblow with a stolen spear. The bodyguard ripped the corsair’s sword from his hands and then thrust it back into the man’s belly. The pirate tottered backward in surprise, clutching the hilt. One of the bireme’s crewmen cleaved the wounded Pryten savage in half. Harkon nodded at the sailor. The sailor nodded back. Then Harkon helped Javan to his feet and danced away, consumed once more with bloodlust.
The fires continued devouring the masts. The sails were fluttering sheets of flame. Only the main mast, with the crow’s nest at its top, remained unscathed. Despite the smoke and fire, Captain Huxira’s crew managed to fend off the pirates’ and slaves’ combined onslaught and stood their ground. Just as they thought the worst neared an end, the sailor in the crow’s nest shouted that more reavers were coming. Having drawn his attention, the leader of the corsairs threw a spear at the lookout. The missile impaled the sailor’s foot, and he plummeted from his perch. He slammed against the oars on the eastern side of the ship. One of the slaves tossed him over the side, into the waiting jaws of the sharks. The sea foam, normally white, turned pink hued. The rest of the freed slaves advanced on the bireme’s crew.
The vessel’s hull splintered on the aft section as more pirates boarded. Captain Huxira, still driving the shattered, flaming bireme toward the Pryten galley despite his injured arm, let go of the wheel for a second and swung a long sword, slaying two men before they skewered him on their spears. Then he grabbed the wheel again. Harkon and three crewmembers sprang to his aide, fighting valiantly, but were soon overwhelmed. Javan caught a quick glimpse of Harkon’s intestines slipping from a wound in his belly, and then the big man was crushed beneath more savages.
Captain Huxira closed his eyes and whispered a prayer to his god.
Javan closed his eyes as well, and held on for dear life.
Rogan was oblivious, the heat of battle consuming him. He killed slave and pirate alike, not wanting those still in bondage to join the growing throng of opposition.
The bireme slammed into the larger ship, ripping a hole in its side. Both the crewmembers and corsairs alike were mangled in the crash. The burning bireme rolled over, spilling the remaining inhabitants into the ocean. The sharks swarmed. Those slaves still in chains were eaten like dangling bait.
Treading water and clutching his sword, Javan searched for his uncle. A floating barrel of apples bumped into him, followed by a severed leg.
“Rogan?” he yelled. “Sire?”
There was no response. A wave crashed over him, obscuring his vision. Choking on bloody saltwater, Javan shouted again.
“Uncle?”
Something hard brushed against his boot. At first, he thought it was another barrel, but when he looked down, he saw a sleek, gray form beneath the surface. Javan held still, waiting for the shark to pass. Floating amongst the blood and body parts, he saw the mothership taking on water. Then he heard a savage cry.
Javan gasped, his eyes staring in disbelief.
Rogan rode the capsized bireme like a steed. He stood with his feet apart and his sword ready. The towering leader of the corsairs faced him, brandishing a curved blade. His beaded locks of hair matted with the blood of those he’d slain.
“You are finished,” Rogan roared, jabbing his broadsword at the great ship taking on water. “Your transport sinks to the bottom of these waters, and you shall join it momentarily.”
“My life matters not,” the pirate responded in the Albion language. “We were sent to make sure you die, old man. I have done my job.”
“Sent by whom?”
The black warrior looked up to the sky, pursed his lips at the giant bird, and then faced Rogan again. “That matters not, as well. We were sent to kill you. Under the blessings of Damballah, we have attained that. He will be happy for the blood spilled this day.”
Treading water, Javan reached the overturned bireme. Neither his uncle nor the black warrior noticed. A shark loomed beneath him, but then darted off to consume a floating, mangled corpse.
“I spit in Damballah’s face,” Rogan laughed. “Call your little god down and let him taste the wrath of one given life by Wodan.”
The leader grinned, tossing his curved blade from hand to hand. “Damballah smiles upon us, old man, for your death is assured. But before I let loose your entrails, since you asked—take this knowledge to your watery grave. In your kingdom of Albion, a true heir will soon rise to the throne. The first born of your loins is not Rohain, but Karac, whom you sired with a Nubian concubine of Zimbabwe.”
Javan gripped the side of the bireme and shook his head in disbelief. Another shark brushed by him, but he barely noticed.
Rogan blinked. “You speak madness! I haven’t bedded a black woman since before I wed Desna, my Queen. That was decades ago.”
“Indeed it was. Yet her son is the rightful heir to your seat. Even now, Karac moves to assassinate young King Rohain, and to bed your daughter, and to take what is rightfully his.”
“What’s your name, dog?” Rogan snarled; his forearms flexing as his grip tightened on his sword handle. “I would know before I feast on your heart.”
“I am Karac’s younger brother,” the man grinned. “My name is Karza. I am the one who is about to take your life. I am also a product of your loins.”
Eyes narrow, Rogan hissed, “You lie.”
“Try me and see…father.”
Rogan charged Karza. The warrior fought well, easily deflecting Rogan’s wild, angered blows. The black man was no simple pirate, but properly trained in the methods of physical combat. He warded off the old man and then kicked him in the stomach. Stumbling backward, Rogan crashed to the splintered deck. His breath whooshed from his lungs. Laughing, Karza thrust at him, but Rogan lashed out, forcing him back.
As Rogan rose up and charged his opponent again, Javan pushed himself out of the water and onto the boat. Swords clashed, echoing above the screams of the sharks’ unfortunate victims.
Javan knew that while his uncle’s fighting ability looked deadlier than ever, his stamina would eventually wane. Karza obviously understood this as well, and played the older warrior for time. They locked together in a dance, stabbing and parrying, thrusting and kicking. Karza’s fist crashed into the side of Rogan’s head. Rogan spun away, sucking in salty air and narrowly avoiding the curved blade.
Javan glanced down at the water. The upper half of Captain Huxira’s lifeless body bobbed on the surface. The old man’s cheek still bulged with a wad of chewing leaf. Javan reached out and closed Huxira’s eyes. Then he seized a floating bow. He had three arrows left in his quiver. Removing two, he snapped them down onto the cord of the bow and drew back.
“Goddess,” he prayed, “guide my hand.”
He loosed the missiles. Both arrows struck Karza in the back, below his shoulder blades, impaling his lungs—just as General Thyssen had taught Javan to do.
Staggering forward, Karza raised his sword. Blood spewed from his mouth as he coughed. Rogan renewed his attack. There was little power behind the corsair’s defense as Rogan slapped the curved blade down and raised his weapon again. The heavy broadsword bit into Karza’s shoulder, and both the curved sword and the arm that held it fell into the water.
Karza screamed.
Rogan laughed. “Some son of mine you are, must’ve been from what was left on the mattress.”
Javan expected Rogan to hesitate at slaying one of his own bastard children, but he did not. With a guttural curse, Rogan grasped Karza’s beaded hair and removed the pirate’s head, sawing through flesh and bone, slow. Half dead from the arrows, Javan wondered if Karza felt the sawing action meant to torture him before death. Rogan kicked the corpse into the sea and held the head aloft, bellowing with rage befor
e flinging it to the sharks as well. There was a splash, and then Karza’s head rolled upright, bobbing on the surface and staring at them with glassy eyes.
Panting for breath, Rogan crouched on the floating timbers, staring at his opponent’s face. Despite the warrior’s black skin, their profiles were the same.
“He’ll soon sleep in a shark’s belly.” Rogan looked to the horizon.
“He claimed you were his father,” Javan murmured, sucking wind.
“If he was a product of my loins…” Rogan shrugged, still watching the horizon. “Every man can have an off night, Javan.”
The great mother vessel sank fast and Javan picked off a pirate trying to swim to them for salvation. Then he fished arrows out of the water to re-supply his quiver.
Two more pirates tried to board them. Rogan kicked both back into the shark-infested drink. One of Huxira’s men grasped the side, but before Javan could pull him aboard, a shark pulled the helpless man beneath the surface.
“When the night swells come up,” Rogan said calmly as a deathly quiet started to settle in, “we are surely lost on this hulk.”
“Pray, sire.”
Rogan frowned and stared again to the East. “I should have stayed a pirate myself.”
Yet another hand arose over the side of the smashed hulk. Casually, Rogan chopped off the fingers and the body fell into the waters with a muffled cry.
Shielding his eyes from the waning sun, Javan looked west in the direction of their destination. “Perhaps we will make landfall, Rogan. We can’t be too far off from shore.”
Rogan’s brooding blue eyes glared at the bloody smears on the boards. “What if we do, boy? Does it matter? This Karac sent his brother after us. He wanted me dead so that I couldn’t come back seeking revenge or to reclaim the crown. So what if we make landfall? Can you row a hundred oars and return us to the coast of Transalpina or the northern way to our allies in Thule? Nay. We are lost.”
He paused.
“And if this dog, Karza, spoke true, then our loved ones are lost as well.”