Edge of Destiny (27 page)

Eir perched a hand over her eyes and saw it—a hundred yards beyond the bow, a black maelstrom. A wide, roaring pit opened in the choppy seas, and water rushed down into some black abyss. “The lair of Morgus Lethe, champion of Zhaitan.”

“Aye. That maelstrom swirls above a deepwater drop-off, where the sea falls away to a bottomless rift. It’s a maelstrom that drags ships down. Beneath that vortex lie a thousand wrecks, home of Morgus Lethe’s undead navy.” Captain Magnus lifted his ear, listening to the slap of waves before the
Cormorant.
“They’ll hear our bow wave, see the shadow of our hull. It’ll bring them up.

Captain Magnus spun the wheel, and the bow shifted to point south of the whirlpool. Sails bellied full as they tacked into a run. “Split up the barques,” the captain commanded, “one north and one south.”

“Aye, Captain,” Snaff and Zojja chorused. They closed their eyes, and red powerstones gleamed in their golden laurels.

In the boiling wake of the
Cormorant,
a pair of asuran barques rode low in the water. They seemed to be heavily laden cargo vessels, ripe for the picking. In fact, they held a surprise—one linked to the golden laurels on the asura’s heads. As they sent impulses from the powerstones, one barque veered north and the other south.

Caithe called down from the crow’s nest, “There’s something shifting in the maelstrom!”

Eir went to the starboard rail and stared down at the green-gray waters. They sloped away into a deep vortex. The heart of the whirlpool was black, but in the swirling waters, Eir glimpsed shadowy figures. An emaciated arm, for just a moment, and then what seemed a knobby spine, and then a skull draped in ratty hair or seaweed or something. These shapes were distinct only a moment, pressing against the spinning membrane before vanishing again.

Captain Magnus shouted, “Fighters to the rail!”

Seamen stepped forward, cutlasses and cudgels raised. Rytlock dragged Sohothin from its stone sheath, and Garm shouldered up beside him.

Eir meanwhile brought her bow into position and nocked three arrows. She trained them on the waters that sucked away just to starboard.

There were more glimpses—here, a half-rotten leg, there, a battered rib cage, and then across the inner curve of the whirlpool, a long line of skulls pressing up through the film of water and rising. Vacant eye sockets gushed brown water.

Eir released the bowstring. Three shafts whistled away to crack through three decaying faces. Still, the creatures rose, fletchings jutting from nasal cavities and cheekbones. The monsters emerged from the whirlpool as if the water had no grip on them. They rushed the gunwales of the
Cormorant,
and their skeletal fingernails clawed its boards. With daggers in their rictus grins, they climbed.

Eir released three more arrows, which snagged in three more skulls without destroying the monsters. Eir slung her bow on her shoulder and pulled a great mallet from her belt. “Here we go.”

With a gurgling roar, the first line of rotting creatures reached the rail.

The crew of the
Cormorant
replied with a roar of their own. They attacked, blunderbusses blasting and cutlasses swinging.

Heads rolled from shoulders, but bodies climbed on. Sailors hacked hands from wrists, and arms from shoulders. The bodies merely fell into the whirling soup as more Orrian undead emerged.

Rytlock rammed Sohothin into one, lighting it like a lantern. Fire sizzled in its eyes, and it plunged away into the water. Sohothin punched through the rotting chest of another undead, roasting its heart, then slashed down the midline of a third.

Beside him, Garm bit the head from a skeleton and spat the skull into its body. The decapitated creature plopped down into the whirlpool. With a sick growl, Garm chomped the rib cage of another creature and shook his head, ripping the bones apart.

The
Cormorant
was pulling clear of the maelstrom, but the sea beyond boiled with even more undead.

They lunged up en masse, clawing toward the rail.

Three swift strokes of Eir’s mallet reduced three of the foes to greenish paste on the side of the ship. Then she stepped back. “Keep them pinned down,” she called to Rytlock and Garm. “I’ve got to help Logan guard the asura!”

The charr and the wolf tore through many more.

Eir retreated to join Logan beside Snaff and Zojja. “How’re they holding up?”

“See for yourself,” Logan said.

Snaff and Zojja swayed hypnotically. Their eyes hung wide, and the red powerstones in their laurels flashed.

Eir glanced aft toward the two barques that her friends controlled. Both had sailed past the whirlpool, but both were now swarmed by rotting corpses. They clambered up the gunwales and vaulted over the rails and shambled across the decks—only to drop into a clever set of trapdoors. The spring-loaded hatches dumped the undead belowdecks and slammed closed again, ready for more. Meanwhile, beneath the planks, gears spun and bones splintered and meat ground into a gray paste, which oozed out the portholes. The two barques were golems of a sort, steered from afar. Instead of cargo, their holds contained powerful meat grinders.

Snaff and Zojja destroyed undead by the hundreds. Even Morgus Lethe could not hope to raise the chum that poured from the barques.

A nearby roar brought Eir’s attention back to the aft deck of the
Cormorant,
which now swarmed with undead.

Eir smashed one to the deck and spun to kick another in half and turned to fling a third over the rail. It was heavy work, like shoveling sand from a pit that kept filling.

Logan meanwhile painted blue aura in the air around the asura, making a shield that would guard them. He spun around and pounded skeletons like tent pegs. His hammer crashed into their heads and drove their spines down to scatter across the deck.

But wherever two fell, three more rose.

Worse, yet, before the bow of the
Cormorant,
another ship lurched up from the depths. It was a ship of the undead, huge and hoary, with black masts like burned-out pines and a riddled hull and sails hanging in tattered ribbons. It disgorged the sea from its decks and hull and rose up, tacking toward the
Cormorant.

Captain Magnus saw the ship and the monster at its helm: Morgus Lethe. “They’re coming alongside! Load cannons. Hoist grapnels. Prepare to board!”

As the undead ship hove up alongside the
Cormorant,
gunnery teams lit fuses and stood back. Cannons blew. They shot crystal orbs filled with acid, which broke upon the ship and sprayed out over it and ate at it. Still, the vessel bore on. Boarders hurled grapnels, the metal weights thudding to the decks and rattling as they dragged back to lodge in the ship’s rail. Heaving mightily, the men hauled the ships together.

“Board her!”

The men cleated off the lines and leaped for the deck of the undead ship, careful to avoid the spots eaten by acid.

Rytlock and Garm went with them, bounding side by side onto the enemy vessel. Their feet left solid wood and landed on rot and slime.

“Squishy,” Rytlock said.

Garm’s hackles rose, sensing enemies, though the deck was clear.

“Where are they?” Rytlock snarled, holding up Sohothin to light the darkness. “Show yourselves!”

The hatches flew back, and undead sailors stomped up in greatcoats emblazoned with ancient heraldry.

“Pistols!” shouted a nearby seaman.

The sailors lifted blunderbusses and discharged them. The shots ripped through the undead to pepper the waves beyond. Tossing aside their guns, they slashed with cutlasses. Though blades cleaved flesh and bone, the undead came on.

Fingers of death, cold as the grave, pierced the sailors’ flesh and ripped it warm from their bones. They screamed as they came apart. At the moment when each died, though, the screaming stopped, and what was left of their flesh turned gray.

The shivering cadavers then spun about to join the ranks of the undead.

“Not good!” shouted Rytlock, swinging Sohothin like a torch to keep the undead at bay. Garm circled behind him, snarling at the wall of monsters.

Behind the phalanx of undead, a figure strode down from the aft deck and crossed over amidships. The man was large and amorphous beneath a tattered cape—a norn warrior. He lurched forward on leech-covered legs and strode toward the fore of the ship.

“That’s him,” Rytlock said. “That’s Morgus Lethe.”

But to reach Lethe, they would have to fight through a wall of undead.

While the battle raged on both decks below, Caithe began her invasion from above.

She leaped from the crow’s nest of the
Cormorant
and slid down the ratlines, knocking off numerous undead on her way. Then she swung out onto the lowest spar and balanced lithely across it. The yardarm extended beyond the ship’s sides, nearly touching the boom of the undead ship. It was a simple thing, therefore, to walk out on a beam of solid wood and walk in on a beam of rot.

Caithe reached the mainmast of the enemy ship and wondered at it, soft and slimy to the touch. “Weak points.” She drew an enchanted dagger from her hip and plunged it into the mainmast. It gave no more resistance than wet clay. She twisted the blade, wondering if it would—“Amazing!”

The mast severed and tilted outward and plunged.

With a great whoosh, the upper half of the ship’s mast dropped to the deck, smashing a dozen undead below. Staying in the tops, Caithe could cut down the mizzenmast and the fore and the aft—

Except that undead were climbing the ratlines toward her.

She winged a dagger at one of them, but the blade buried itself in the thing’s chest, and it just came on. That didn’t work. Caithe ran along the spar, slicing loose the lines that held the sail and gathering the cloth. She flung it around the ratlines, pinning the undead to it. She tied off her trap with a double-shank knot.

On the other side of the mast, though, undead had topped the spar and were treading toward her. Caithe approached, cutting more lines. The first creature grasped her shoulder, icy fingers piercing her skin. Screaming, Caithe wrapped one of the severed lines around its neck, cinched it, and kicked the dead man from the spar. It jolted out, hanged in midair.

This was fun. Why were the others so frightened?

Hauling on another line, Caithe swung away from the undead that reached toward her. She landed on the mizzenmast and cut it down as she had the main. Then she grabbed a line and swung out and around, back toward the bow of the boat, landing on the foremast. In moments, it, too, went tumbling. Now, only the aft mast stood, but no lines remained to swing to it.

Caithe leaped down from the spar, striking the deck and rolling. She came up, ready to run toward the aft, but a huge, fetid figure rose before her: Morgus Lethe.

He turned empty eye sockets toward her, and water streamed through his rotten cheeks. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“To the aft deck. I want to cut down the last of your masts.”

“Don’t you know who I am?”

Caithe lifted an eyebrow and said, “Captain Lethe?”

“The same.” He reached beneath his tattered greatcoat and drew forth a cutlass that dripped with black ichor. “I have a blade that sucks the life out of any living thing.”

Caithe nodded politely. “Only if you hit me with it.” She lifted her white stiletto. “I’m pretty good at killing things, too.”

Captain Lethe’s vacant eyes turned toward the blade. “I’m sure you are. But you can’t kill me. I’m dead already.” He lunged for her, his cutlass spattering black ooze.

Caithe cartwheeled away, careful not to let the ichor touch her. She leaped up on a nearby barrel and bounded out past a pile of rotten line. The black stuff spattered the deck just short of her and burned through.

The captain stalked forward, swinging his cutlass. “I’m your destiny, you know. I’m the destiny of all living things.” He lunged for her.

On the
Cormorant,
the battle had become brutal. Undead swarmed the ratlines and sails. The fight in the tops sent a steady hail of bodies down to pound the decks below.

Those decks were awash in monsters. Logan and Eir stood back-to-back, smeared with gray flesh and black blood. Logan still painted aura in the air around them, but the undead clawed their way through it. His hammer smashed them back, and Eir used axes to tear them limb from limb.

Between these two grisly defenders, Snaff and Zojja huddled, clinging to each other. Their minds spun as their meat-grinding golems ate up the things that swarmed their ships.

But perhaps Captain Magnus had it worst. The undead formed a thicket around him. His axe cut through arms like branches. All the while that he defended the
Cormorant,
he stared at the enemy ship, at the creature that marshaled these undead.

All would be lost if Morgus Lethe did not fall.

With a roar, Captain Magnus the Bloody Handed plowed through undead and leaped rail to rail and landed on the deck of the undead ship.

On the enemy ship, Rytlock and Garm fought a rotting host. The undead raked them with bony fingers and bit them with horrid teeth.

But the charr and the wolf gave as good as they got. Sohothin rammed into them and ignited their tattered flesh. Garm meanwhile clamped fangs on the monsters and ripped out their bones. Rancid meat spattered him. It clung and stung. No matter how many undead they slew, more marched up from the hold, barring their way to Lethe.

Garm suddenly howled, and Rytlock turned to see why. There, on the aft deck of the undead ship, Captain Morgus Lethe towered over Caithe, his black cutlass raised to strike.