Combatant: The Revelations of Oriceran (The Kacy Chronicles Book 3)

by Anderle, Michael

  It seemed the giant had come to a conclusion. The Rakshaak bent and grasped Allan's ankle with his long skeletal fingers. He lifted Allan upside down, letting Allan's head bump against the stones. The Rakshaak began to walk, dragging Allan behind him.

  Toth barred Jordan's chest as she let out a moan of frustration, her fingers curled around Toth's forearm, squeezing. The three of them moved forward as one.

  "What do we do now?"

  A wind swept through the hall from a break in the wall up ahead. The Rakshaak casually dragged Allan's body to the break where he unceremoniously and without any warning threw Allan from the hole.

  Jordan screamed and ran forward.

  Toth cursed and bolted ahead of Jordan.

  There was a loud crackling sound, like firecrackers going off, as their fields broke. The Rakshaak turned his shoulders toward them sharply just as Toth barrelled into the monster, and shoved him from the hole. The Rakshaak fell, his legs and arms splayed out in surprise as he grappled at the air, searching unsuccessfully for something to grab. The Rakshaak bounced off the side of a jutting stone with a dull thud, sending his body pinwheeling into the water.

  Toth's wings pressed tight to his back as he dove after Allan's falling body. Jordan leapt to follow. A high-pitched scream sounded off in her brain, and her hands flew to her head as her vision went fuzzy. The world spun, and Jordan fought for control, her eyes locking on the blurred shapes below her.

  Allan fell like a sack of rocks and splashed into the churning waves just as Toth reached him. Toth's wings snapped open and beat madly in an effort to keep from following Allan underwater, and the Nycht’s arms and face were submerged as he reached for the man. Allan partially surfaced as Toth heaved on him, but with the field of protection broken, the caustic magic that permeated the island threw Toth into disorientation.

  The waves churned and smashed against the stones, as though they wanted to jerk Allan from Toth's grasp and claim him as their own.

  Jordan fought to focus properly. Water is bad, air is good. She repeated this like a mantra to help ignore the screaming sound echoing around in her head.

  Toth floundered below her, losing the battle with the water. Swaying back and forth, his wings beat out of sync as a wave slapped over him and Allan. Both men disappeared under the surface—one limp, and the other flailing what seemed like more than one set of batwings.

  Jordan dropped to the water's surface, her flight erratic and verging on out-of-control.

  "Hand," she panted, reaching down to Toth. "Grab my-" she lost her words in the effort to stay dry and airborne.

  A strong hand wrapped around her forearm, and her fingers locked around it, holding fast in a way she'd never held onto anything before in her life.

  Forward, came a whispered thought around the edges of the awful screaming. Eohne's voice.

  Away from the island.

  Jordan pressed forward, heart pounding, teeth gritting, wings working. Dragging them to sea and away from Trevilsom.

  The strange chain of human, Nycht, Arpak moved forward as Jordan heaved Toth and Allan's bulk through the water. Bubbles churned up in front of them. She tried to lift her cargo over them, but the weight was too much; it was all she could do to drag them and avoid the treacherous stones.

  Foot by foot, they sliced forward through the salt water.

  The screaming in Jordan's mind began to ease. She could finally hear her own breathing and the breathing of Toth below her. Her stomach clenched when she realized she could not hear her father's breathing. Stealing a quick glance down, she saw the gray face of her father, his head tilted back against Toth's shoulder, his eyes closed.

  Toth's teeth were bared in a grimace of effort.

  The space between the jutting stones widened, and the way became less treacherous. Jordan's mind cleared as the island grew small behind them. She became conscious of her body again—the ache in her wings, the stinging burn in her lungs. Still she dragged without stopping. She cast around and behind her for Eohne, but the Elf was nowhere to be seen. Mist had swallowed up even the island, so that the threesome was lost in a sea of dark water and fog. The haunting shapes of tall, sharp rocks, too sharp to stand on, loomed from the mist. Jordan dragged Toth and Allan around them, trying hard not to let them hit anything.

  "Eohne," she tried to yell, but the name came out on a gasp.

  Straight ahead, came a whispered command. The way is far, but you are strong.

  "Jordan, I'm sorry," Toth panted.

  She shook her head. It wasn't the time for words, and certainly not for an apology from the Nycht who had risked his own life for Allan's.

  She shot Toth a look of pure adoration for what he had done. Toth's hair was plastered to his head, his temporarily useless wings were folded tight and behind him like a strange fin, helping to make Jordan's job easier.

  Jordan's throat felt like it was icing over as she pulled for breath.

  "Slow down." Toth coughed as a wave hit him in the face. "Conserve your energy," he spluttered.

  But Jordan couldn't slow down. Everything in her was driving to pull Allan and Toth as far from the island as they could get. An empty sea was better than those screaming voices and nightmarish prison guards. Her heart hammered in its cage, throwing itself wildly around in her chest. Still she dragged, her wings burning.

  Steer left, came Eohne's whispered voice. Jordan dragged the men to the left. Now listen.

  Jordan's ears strained for something other than the sound of waves, her own heavy breathing, and pounding pulse.

  The unnatural sound of water beating itself against a hull came faintly through the mist. Jordan aimed for it. Hope rose swift and sudden in her heart. That’ll be the sailor Eohne asked to pick us up!

  "Do you hear that?" Toth panted, heaving Allan higher on his shoulder.

  A shape loomed from the fog. A small ship.

  "Hey!" Jordan yelled, her voice cracking. That one short word seemed to knock the wind right out of her. She stopped trying to talk and focused on breathing.

  Men's voices speaking rapidly in a foreign tongue sliced through the mist. Jordan pulled Toth toward the rear of the ship. A heavy net splashed into the water in front of her face, making her gasp and almost lose hold of Toth.

  "Grab on!" cried a loud, strong voice from the deck of the ship. The silhouette of three men appeared over the ship's railing.

  Toth tried to release Jordan's arm, but she resisted letting go. The state her father was in was making her irrational with fear for him.

  "Jordan, it's alright!" Toth smiled up at her. "I've got him."

  The reassuring smile from the Nycht, even while under desperate circumstances, buoyed her heart. Jordan released him.

  Toth locked an arm around Allan and with the other, grasped the netting. He nodded to the men on the deck, and they began to heave Allan and him up out of the water.

  "Mon dieu!" came a cry from one of the men.

  Jordan hovered, flapping clumsily, watching as the men were safely brought on board.

  One of the sailors held an arm out to her, beckoning. "It's alright. Come!"

  With barely enough energy left to keep her aloft, Jordan let herself drift toward the rope ladder leading up to the crow’s nest. She hit the ropes like a fly caught in a spider's web and clung to them, bouncing. Her wings went limp and her chest heaved but there was no time to rest. She crawled down the rigging, her muscles trembling with exhaustion.

  Strong hands helped her to the deck.

  "Is this man Allan from Virginia?" A sailor with a strong French accent braced his hands on both sides of her shoulders. It seemed he was almost bellowing into her face. His expression was clouded with concern.

  "Yes, yes! You made a deal with Eohne, to pick us up." Jordan bent over as she rasped the words out, thinking she'd never been so weak and fatigued in her whole life. Even speaking seemed too much of an effort. But her father needed her. She straightened, gulping in air. She shared a look of relief with Toth
, who snapped his wings out, sending a spray of water in every direction.

  "Eohne? Who is Eohne?"

  "The Elf from Charra-Rae." Jordan passed the sailor and made for where her father was being lifted from the deck and taken toward the stern. Toth held Allan's shoulders, cradling his head. "Where are you taking him?"

  "Captain's quarters." The sailor followed her. "Wait. Who is this Elf? We know no Elf."

  Toth and Jordan shared a look of confusion. How can these sailors not know Eohne?

  "Where is she?" Toth's icy eyes scanned the fog, but it was useless. There was no horizon to search; everything was shrouded in mist. The Nycht's brow wrinkled with concern.

  "I thought she'd be here." Jordan followed the men, pushing her damp hair out of her face. Her whole body itched with salt. "I heard her voice. She directed us to you."

  A sailor dashed ahead and opened the narrow door to the captain’s quarters. "Put him on the bed."

  "Where is your captain? He will know about Eohne." Jordan scanned the face of the sailor, taking him in properly for the first time. He was young, probably not much older than she was. His brow was furrowed with concern as he watched the sailors and Toth settle Allan onto the wool blankets. He seemed very invested in what was happening with Allan, for someone who they'd never met before.

  "I am Captain here," the sailor said without any offence. "Marceau sent me to see what could be done for Allan."

  "Marceau?" Jordan's mind whirled, and she felt dizzy as the ship swayed under her feet. "I don't know any Marceau. Was this pickup not arranged by an Elf? Tall, slender, long dark hair?"

  The captain shrugged and shook his head.

  Jordan squeezed through the men to get to her father's side. They moved away from the bulk of her damp wings, allowing her to sit on the edge of the small bed. Jordan put a hand over her father's forehead. He looked like death, pale and still, with his face relaxed, but his skin was warm to the touch. She pressed her fingers into his neck, and some of the panic eased as she felt the strong pulse there. She leaned her mouth close to her father's ear.

  "Dad? It's me, Jordan. Can you hear me?"

  No response.

  The men around her seemed to hold their collective breath in anticipatory silence.

  "Marceau said it could be too late." The captain's voice was soft. He addressed the other men. "Get us underway."

  "Wait. We're missing someone." Toth made for the door and turned back. "Can you wait? While I go back and search for her?"

  "Are you crazy? You wouldn't find a feroth freighter in this fog. If you stumble back into the vicinity of that island, it'll be over for you."

  "We found you." Jordan looked up at the captain, pleading. "Please? We would never have made it this far without her."

  "I'm sorry. We simply cannot wait."

  "Go then," Toth said, going for the door. "I'll track you down. If not, I'll take Eohne on to Rodania," he looked over his shoulder at Jordan, "and meet you there."

  Jordan's stomach clenched. The idea of being separated from Toth set her on the edge of panic. But they couldn't just abandon Eohne to her fate.

  "Wait, let me see if I can hear her." Jordan kissed her father's brow and followed Toth onto the heaving deck of the ship, ignoring the bemused looks the sailors shared with each other upon hearing these words.

  Jordan made her way to the prow and searched the fog and the waves. There was nothing but choppy seas and thick, impenetrable mist. She closed her eyes. Eohne? Are you there?

  No response. Jordan felt the ship rise and fall under her feet, heard water splashing against the hull.

  I heard you before. Talk to me. Where are you?

  "Not to interrupt, but what are you doing?"

  She turned to see Toth watching her, an eyebrow cocked. She flushed. "I heard Eohne's voice. While I was dragging you. She directed me here. How else do you think we found this ship?"

  Toth's lips pressed together. "But these sailors don't know her."

  "I can't explain that, but how could she have directed me here if she didn't-—"

  A thump against the hull made her pause and listen. The Nycht and the Arpak stopped breathing and strained their ears, then rushed to the railing and peered over. Gray and white-capped waves splashed against the hull in a relentless churning rhythm. A second thump from under the ship made Jordan and Toth glance at each other pensively.

  "I hope that wasn't a sea monster."

  A three-foot-wide bubble emerged from the waves, opening a tunnel like the one they'd passed through. The tunnel exited the sea at a sharp angle, and a voice echoed from its mouth, sounding like a person yelling from inside a well.

  "Perhaps a rope?"

  "Eohne!" Jordan leaned over the railing and peered into the tunnel as best she could. Relief flooded her already adrenalin-shot body. She heard Toth yelling for a length of rope behind her.

  The Elf's pointed face appeared briefly, but disappeared again accompanied by the sound of skin squeaking against glass as she slid backwards. "Who else?"

  Toth joined Jordan at the railing, and they were further accompanied by a bunch of sailors, crowding around them to watch. Toth lowered the rope into the tunnel. A couple of burly sailors grabbed the other end of the rope behind Toth and made ready to pull.

  "Grab on!" Toth yelled.

  Eohne was raised from the hole, clinging to the rope like a monkey. She looked pale, even for her. Jordan wrapped her up in a hug the moment her booted feet touched the planks of the ship. Eohne hugged her back, then released her and bent over the sea. The hole closed up with a splash.

  "Allan?" Eohne scanned the ship.

  "He's in the captain's quarters."

  Eohne nodded, worry marring her brow.

  The young captain made his way through the crowd of sailors. "Back to work, men. Get us underway!" He barked before stopping in front of the Elf. "You must be Eohne."

  The Elf nodded. "Who are you?"

  Jordan looked from one to the other. "I'm so confused."

  "You're not the only one," said Eohne. "This is not the sailor I made the agreement with."

  The young captain stepped back onto one heel and bowed with an elegant flourish of his hand. "Captain Segolan Torega of the good ship Le Monarque, at your service. The service my men and I provide for you today has been paid for by one Marceau-"

  A grating, deep-throated, screaming roar in the distant fog interrupted his explanation.

  Jordan's eyes flashed to Toth, and the two Strix shared a look of trepidation.

  They both knew that sound.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  "What was that?" Captain Segolan scanned the fog for the source of the menacing cry, his brows almost lost in his hairline.

  "Harpy." Toth and Jordan spoke together. Toth's voice was grim and deep, and Jordan's was full of dread.

  The captain looked askance between them. "They exist?" His brown eyes scanned the sky and his hair lifted in the wind. The ship had begun to turn.

  Jordan gripped the railing as the ship listed.

  "I thought they were monsters made up to scare little children."

  "They're very real, I can assure you." Jordan nodded towards Toth, who was checking that his weaponry was all present and buckled down properly. His leather armor was dark with wet, and his wings were still damp from the swim. "He fights them for a living."

  "Thank God we have you, then." The captain clapped Toth on the shoulder.

  The sound of powerful wings beating at the air made the group go still. Faces looked to the sky, but the fog was so thick that nothing was visible but a veil of gray-white swirls.

  A sharp, croaking cry carried clearly over the lapping waves, loud and threatening.

  "That was way too close for comfort," the captain said. "Top speed!" he cried to his men.

  "I don't suppose you have any crossbows or long-range weapons?" Toth cast about for just that. His wings snapped in and out in an attempt to dry them faster.

  "We have only six gun
s. We're a cargo ship, not a man-o-war." The captain looked pensive. "Cannons are built for firing on other ships or defending a beach attack; they would do very poorly firing into the sky at an enemy we cannot see."

  His words were choked off by another scream, this one further away.

  "Is it leaving?" Captain Segolan sounded hopeful.

  Toth shook his head, his body taut. Any weariness he'd displayed was replaced by a lethal focus. The mercenary had emerged. "Do not allow yourself to hope for that. When they find prey, they make concentric circles before attacking." He lifted an ear at another scream, this one closer than the last. "Pitch was too high for a female," he muttered, his lips barely moving.

  Toth eyed the crow’s nest and crossed the deck in quick long strides. The harpy's screams telegraphed its intention––an attack was imminent. Toth did not fancy protecting the ship from attacks that could come out of nowhere. He had to go out and meet the monster, make him sorry he ever thought about leaving Golpa, the caves at the north end of The Conca. Toth began to climb the rigging to reach the uppermost part of the ship, the best place from which to launch himself.

  Something whirred overhead, mere dozens of feet above the ship. Its sheer speed dragged the razored sound across their ears. The ship was moving faster too, away from Trevilsom. The mist had thinned enough to make out the dark shape with pinioning wings. The harpy passed overhead, banked, and climbed higher into the saturnine sky. Sailors winced as it released another threatening cry. The piercing scream seemed to come from everywhere.

  Layers of cloud boiled high over the expanse of churning waters as a barely visible shape circled back towards Le Monarque. Toth reached the crow’s nest as the harpy once again disappeared where the fog thickened. The Nycht's wings snapped open and he leapt from the small balcony, catching at the air with torpid beats.

  Jordan heard the sailors around her murmur with wonder at Toth as he gave a few experimental flaps of his wings. She narrowed her eyes at the Nycht as he climbed. Having seen him fight before, she thought that for all his obvious strength, his wings seemed leaden, almost clumsy. While he'd been there in front of her, the membranes of his wings glistened, and the dewclaws had small channels of water running down them. Jordan became keenly aware of how heavy her own wings felt. Her back and shoulders ached at the mere thought of launching herself into the air and working to staying aloft. The pit of her stomach felt heavy with dread; Toth was fierce and capable, but even he had his limits. How would he do against this harpy when he was clearly hindered?