Leviathan (Lost Civilizations: 2)

by Vaughn Heppner

  “Those are eyes of Gog?” Captain Graz asked.

  “In essence, yes,” Auroch said.

  Captain Graz sadly shook his head. “The end will happen in an hour, maybe less.”

  Adah forced herself to stand. The pentekonters were four bowshots away. Men strained at the oars. Bow-armed pirates stood at the prow. Above the sound of surf came a regular crash of cymbals, urging pirate oarsmen to greater efforts. The fiend raced to the prow, and shook his huge sword at them.

  “We’d better wake up the others,” Adah said.

  Auroch shrugged. He seemed pensive, moody. “Don’t you have oars?” he asked Captain Graz.

  “A few. They’re used for harbor work. I’m uncertain if I could make the sailors row.”

  The sailors in the waist watched the approach of the other ships. Their hands hovered near their knife-hilts as they whispered fiercely among themselves and eyed Auroch.

  Captain Graz said, “Zem told them that the pirates are our friends. Notice how they keep near his corpse. They plan to show the fiend they acted under duress.”

  “That can be changed quickly enough,” Auroch said. He strode and jumped into the waist.

  “Wait!” Adah said, who shook Lord Uriah awake.

  Auroch strode among the smaller sailors, bulling them aside. They retreated, the way hyenas retreat from lions. “Pick up that corpse,” he growled.

  Their eyes slid away from his.

  He pricked a sailor with his cutlass.

  “Do it yourself,” snarled the sailor.

  Auroch smashed a fist into the sailor’s face. The sailor crumpled. Auroch lifted the man, and heaved him into the sea. “Now, Zem,” he growled, “or more of you are going overboard.” He pointed at various sailors.

  Sullenly, afraid of the huge half-Nephilim, the sailors complied. Soon Zem’s corpse floated in the sea.

  “What was that about?” Lord Uriah asked.

  Auroch gave him a terse account.

  Lord Uriah studied the pirate pentekonters and the fiend. He adjusted the borrowed cloak he’d slept on, belted his longsword and then strode into the waist. Despite his age, he shimmied up the mast. Atop it, he scanned the sea, disdainful of the mutinous murmurs of the sailors below.

  “The legends say,” Gens whispered to Adah, “that Lord Uriah is almost impossible to kill. Unfortunately, that doesn’t apply to his companions.”

  After a time, Lord Uriah returned. His white-bearded face appeared thoughtful. With his deep tan, he looked rugged, handsome and decisive. “That way,” he told Captain Graz, pointing south.

  “What did you see?” Graz asked.

  Lord Uriah shook his head. “It isn’t by sight that I’m instructing you, but by hope and faith.”

  Captain Graz blanched.

  “I don’t understand,” Auroch said.

  Lord Uriah smiled serenely. “At times, a chance must be taken on a gut feeling.”

  “Did you have a vision, Lord?” Gens asked.

  Lord Uriah shook his head.

  “Then it’s madness to turn south,” Auroch said. “The wind, as soft as it is, will slacken in the sail if we go that way. The fiend will capture us sooner, rather than later.”

  “South is our only hope.”

  “Listen to him,” Zillith said. “For sometimes a gift of intuition is given a person. You know within yourself when the gift is given, but usually say: How can I know for certain? The answer is you can’t. But Lord Uriah has cultivated such gifts, and even more, he’s learned to act on them. If we’re to escape the fiend, we must turn south.”

  Captain Graz cursed under his breath, but he obeyed. Sailors adjusted the sail at his direction, moving reluctantly. The Falan hove ponderously to the south. Pirates had put up their sails again. They adjusted the sails, and assisted by the serpentine banks of oars, their ships drew closer....

  In no time, arrows hissed at the Falan, but fell short.

  “We should force our sailors to row,” Auroch said.

  Lord Uriah examined the men, shook his head. “It is better to sail a little farther than begin a war aboard ship that will result in our capture.”

  Auroch studied Uriah, “You, sir, are a mystic.”

  “I’ve merely learned to look closely,” Lord Uriah said.

  Amery sucked in her breath.

  “What is it?” Adah asked.

  “Ships,” Amery whispered. She pointed in the distance.

  “Bah!” Auroch said. “They’re too far to help, even if they’re friends.”

  “Maybe not,” Lord Uriah said.

  Above them, the slith gave a great cry, and behind the fiend roared orders. Pirates prowled among the rowers, and Adah heard leather striking naked flesh. The pentekonters closed more. Arrows soon thudded into the Falan’s curved stern-wood.

  Auroch took up his bow and knelt behind the stern, aiming at the pirates. His arrow fell short.

  “You’re shooting against the wind,” Adah told him.

  Auroch threw down the bow in disgust.

  Captain Graz lashed the tiller into place, and stepped behind the stern-tail to avoid enemy arrows. He held a cutlass. “What now?” he asked.

  Lord Uriah peered into the distance they headed. “We play for time,” he said.

  Arrows smacked into wood. Below, in the waist, the sailors whispered urgently among themselves. Time inched by. Adah yearned to let her arrows fly. But they had a handful of bows compared to the well-armed pirates, and it would be madness to expose one’s self.

  “The other ships draw closer,” Amery said.

  Adah saw biremes in the distance, with their sails down. The biremes rowed toward them. The patrolling ships were still a long way off. She hoped the people in the biremes recognized their plight.

  A javelin thudded into the stern. It was sickeningly close to the tiller.

  “Traitor Auroch!” the fiend roared. “I’ll eat your heart!”

  “Not before I send you to the grave,” Auroch muttered.

  Several sailors with drawn knives had been ready to cut the ropes that held the sail.

  Lord Uriah drew his longsword, and roared, “Touch the sail, or the sheets, and you’re dead men!”

  Auroch glanced around the stern-tail. He darted back and said, “They’re swinging grappling hooks”

  Adah heard a distant trumpet blast from the biremes struggling toward them.

  At that instant, a metal hook thumped onto the Falan’s gunwale. Pirates cheered. Lord Uriah leaped into view before them. He hacked once, twice, three times. Bows twanged. The rope parted. Lord Uriah grunted, and spun back, with an arrow in his shoulder.

  “That was bravely done,” Auroch said.

  Lord Uriah nodded as Zillith yanked the arrow, and tied a bandage into place. He lofted his longsword at the sailors in the waist, to prove he could still deal death if they tried to mutiny.

  “Here come more hooks,” Gens said.

  Auroch roared, leaped into view and used his cutlass to deflect several. He darted back behind the stern-tail before the pirates could pierce him with arrows.

  The fiend roared at his oarsmen to pull harder.

  “Look!” Amery said.

  The biremes moved faster than before. The pirates could surely capture the Falan, but soon after five biremes flying the White Hawk would smash into the smaller ships.

  “The biremes can’t keep up that speed for long,” Captain Graz said. “Their rowers will soon be winded and useless.”

  “How much do the pirates fear Gog?” Adah asked Auroch.

  “Perhaps in direct relation to their distance from him,” Auroch said. “But the better question is: How much do they fear the fiend?”

  One of the sailors below gathered his courage. He sawed at a rope. It parted, and wind spilled from the sail. The Falan slowed.

  “Knave!” Captain Graz roared at him.

  The sailor laughed, jumping to another rope. Arrows hissed from the pirates, giving him cover.

  “What now
?” Auroch asked.

  Lord Uriah had taken off his cloak and bunched it tight. “Our timing must be perfect. And the sailors must be kept from us.”

  The rope the sailor sawed on parted. The sail flapped uselessly. Grappling hooks thudded onto the gunwales, this time too many to cut away.

  “The pirates lack rowboats, and are moving fast,” Lord Uriah said. “When they’re almost upon us, dive as deeply as possible. Stay down as long as you can. They’ll pass, unable to stop right away. In the time it takes them to come back looking for us, the League biremes may have chased them away.”

  Adah felt her ribs. This was going to be painful.

  Gens eyed the pirates. He looked pale as he said, “Get ready. The fiend is about to board.”

  Arrows hissed into wood, which helped to keep their own sailors from rushing them. Adah heard enemy oars, and smelled the rowers’ sweaty stench.

  “Now,” Lord Uriah hissed. He dashed to the gunwale and dove headfirst.

  Adah followed him. She took a deep breath, which hurt her sore ribs, and cold water slid over her head. She sank, holding tightly onto her breath. Grueling time passed. She floated upward. She waited, waited. Her lungs burned and her ribs ached. At last, she kicked, gasped for air and dove down and away. She surfaced once more, daring to look around.

  Amery was nearby, treading water. Not far away, was a pentekonter. Glaring pirates had bows at the ready. The huge fiend held a spear.

  “This way!” Lord Uriah cried.

  The fiend’s spear flew at Uriah with unnatural speed.

  Lord Uriah dove out of sight.

  Adah watched, too in pain to do much else. Above them, the slith screamed, but no pirates followed them overboard into the water. She laughed when the pentekonters veered away. In the Falan, sailors pleaded for the pirates to come back. Farther off approached the biremes. The League ships weren’t going to be too late at all.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Nar Naccara

  Do not be quickly provoked in your spirit, for anger resides in the lap of fools.

  -- Ecclesiastes 7:9

  A bireme flying the White Hawk dug its oars into the water as it slowed.

  “What if they recognize me?” Auroch asked Lord Uriah.

  “You are my ally,” Lord Uriah said.

  For once, Adah thought, the huge half-Nephilim looked worried. How many times had he fought against League ships? Although curious, she didn’t ask.

  A rowboat approached, the oarsmen short and stocky men, with dark hair. A pair of soldiers in bronze breastplates, red cloaks and open-faced helmets accompanied them. With their oiled, curly black beards, they reminded Adah of Captain Maharbal.

  As they helped the swimmers aboard, the soldiers studied Auroch closely.

  “We need to speak with your commander,” Lord Uriah said.

  “Admiral Nar Naccara?” asked the head soldier. His accent too was reminiscent of Maharbal’s.

  “Yes.”

  “First you must wash and prepare yourselves. The Admiral dislikes speaking with disheveled folk.”

  “This is important,” Lord Uriah said.

  The soldier snorted. “So is obedience to Nar Naccara.” He snapped his fingers at the rowers. They bent themselves to the task.

  Adah had listened, less than two weeks ago she realized, to Captain Maharbal explain the League of Peace to her.

  Even in the Further Tarsh of many years ago, men remembered the bene elohim and they remembered the Seraphs who had come from the Empire to search out First Born and their Nephilim children. Temples to Elohim flourished in Further Tarsh, and temples flourished in the colony cities that had become wealthy like the mother city. Men from the colonies had gone to the Merchant Council of Further Tarsh, there to speak with the Chief Priest, Melcart. The old priest had waxed eloquent on the need to watch and suppress the terrible Gog, who had entered Shamgar.

  Melcart the Priest had given this warning. In time, Gog would try to control the Suttung Sea, just as his unbearable father, Magog, had long ago tried. These days, however, there were no Shining Ones. Now, the people of Further Tarsh would have to fight the supernatural beings alone.

  The Merchant Council had pondered the Chief Priest’s words. They didn’t want outright war, for the pirate lair would be difficult to attack and raze; besides, they had wares to sell, and ships to maintain. Why did they want war?

  They didn’t, but at Old Melcart’s insistence, priests had been sent to the colony city-states to stir them to action. The priests had gone to Nabdalsa, Thala and Mago to the north, and to Jugurtha, Bomlicar and Carthalo to the west. The priests of Elohim had proven successful, because the people in the younger cities still feared the outlying Huri, and kept powerful armies to augment their fleets. Because of that, they weren’t as concerned with profits, or the lack of them, if war came against Shamgar. Clamoring delegations raced to Further Tarsh. War, they agreed, would be a hard decision, but only fools waited for thieves to flinch them. Therefore, the cities formed a league. The League ships would prowl the sea-lanes to stamp out piracy. And, it would ensure a battle-ready fleet for the day Gog moved openly.

  That had been over fifty years ago. The League had shrunk since then, for Gog hadn’t moved openly. Merchants grumbled at the levied taxes and lost profits. Still, piracy was down, so the special biremes were maintained. And not all the piracy committed in the Suttung Sea occurred near Shamgar. In the north, desperate ex-slaves and runaway debtors formed corsair companies. Savage Huri sea-tribes also tried their hand at piracy.

  Dishon and Pildash had never joined the League of Peace. They were closer to Shamgar than the others were, yet sometimes their merchants prospered because of the league galleys.

  Adah studied the Tarsh bireme. It was larger than a pentekonter, and decked. That gave the hidden rowers more protection. She wondered how smelly it was in the closed hold. As she climbed aboard, she saw vents, and heard the heavily breathing rowers. They’d rowed at ramming speed in order to chase away the pirates.

  Two small turrets, or castles, had been built fore and aft, so archers could rain fire at a grappled enemy. A large contingent of soldiers was aboard ship, and a tent at the stern held, most likely, the captain.

  Sailors mended clothes, or tended stone fire pits cooking fish. The fighting men played dice, or spoke in clusters under the twin turrets. It was crowded aboard ship. A few sailors went into and out-of the rowing hold, carrying buckets of water and baskets of bread, cheese and peaches.

  The Tarsh Biremes weren’t rowed by slaves, but by paid freemen.

  Adah and the others were given warm garments, along with watered-down wine, fresh bread and tasty cheese. As she ate, Adah noticed that soldiers spoke to the Falan’s crew. She wondered what the mutinous sailors told them.

  “Here,” said the same soldier who had picked them up. He handed a bottle of perfume to Zillith.

  Auroch scowled. “What’s that for?”

  The soldier had a pained look.

  “Well?” Auroch demanded.

  “I’m sorry,” the soldier said with a curt bow, “but Nar Naccara dislikes some of the offensive smells of the sea. You’ve forced me to plain speaking, but I suppose baths must have been a frill that you’ve forced yourselves to avoid. Maybe you took a religious vow. In any regard, I ask that you now avail yourselves of the perfume. Nar Naccara will soon wish to speak with you.”

  Zillith laughed, dabbing on the perfume.

  Gens shrugged as he doused himself.

  “Your admiral is a dapper fellow,” Adah said.

  “He enjoys his privileges,” agreed the soldier. “But, since he’s also one of League’s most gifted commanders, it’s a small price to pay.”

  Amery carefully sniffed the fragrance, nodded.

  “You too,” the soldier said, when Auroch held up his hands.

  Auroch shook his head.

  “Either do so,” the soldier said, “or I’ll call over some of the lads, and they’ll hold you down.”


  Auroch complied bitterly.

  “Why not rub some in that long hair of yours,” the soldier suggested. “It hasn’t been washed for awhile.”

  Auroch did so.

  The soldier laughed.

  “Some day, I may require you to rub dung in your hair.”

  “Maybe so,” said the unruffled soldier. “Now step sharply. We’re going to the Admiral’s bireme.”

  It wasn’t long before the rowboat bumped against the gilded bireme. Gold-painted edges gave it a kingly appearance, while the purple sail must have required a fortune. The soldiers, tough-looking men in polished armor, escorted them to the stern. There sat a grossly fat man on a cedar throne. He wore a bright red robe and a large purple cloak. His hugely fat feet were encased in slippers, sprinkled with diamond dust. Many costly rings dug into his pudgy fingers. He turned over a ripe peach, inspecting it. A high-peaked hat, with ostrich feathers, sat on his head. His face was perfectly oval. He had no beard or mustache, deviating from Further Tarsh custom. His small, dark eyes seemed to contain more cunning than Adah had ever seen in any hen-stealing fox. Here was either the world’s greatest merchant, or a thief from whom nothing was safe.

  “Ah, the guests,” said the fat man. He had a deep voice, filled with command and ease.

  “Admiral Nar Naccara?” Lord Uriah asked.

  “Hmmm, yes,” said the man.

  “I am Lord Uriah, the Patriarch of Elon. This is the Mother Protectress of Elon, Zillith. My great, great, great granddaughter Amery. Adah, a Singer who once called far-off Poseidonis her home. Captain Graz, the owner of the Falan that you have saved from pirates. And lastly, this is my newest ally, the former Lord Auroch of Shamgar.”

  The soldiers muttered at this.

  “I might add,” said Lord Uriah, “that Lord Auroch has served Lod, and he has fought against Gog in the recent, but too swiftly suppressed civil war.”

  “Hmmm. Indeed,” said Nar Naccara, who didn’t look pleased. He set aside the uneaten peach, and snapped his ringed fingers. Wooden chairs were brought, one for Lord Uriah, the other for Zillith.

  “Hmmm. I wonder how I can believe you.” Nar Naccara raised his voice. “Do any here recognize the Elonite Patriarch?”