King of the Bastards (3 page)

Amazed that the ship still ran level, Javan fought to gain his
balance. He swallowed down the fear in his throat, unslung his bow, fixed two
arrows and drew back, setting his eyes on the beast. All sound had ceased, save
his pulse, throbbing in his ears. His heart beat like a rabbit. He hesitated,
staring at the slender, tube-shaped head protruding from the beast’s bulbous
red torso. Two obsidian circles stared back.

“It looks like a banana,” he sputtered, “or a gourd with eyes…”

Teeth clenched, Rogan grabbed a spear from a stunned sailor,
reared back and threw it at the creature.

“Even a gourd with eyes still
has
eyes, boy! Let your aim
find them.”

Clearing his head, Javan drew in a breath and released. The steel
tipped arrows sailed toward the main body of the beast, striking just as
Rogan’s spear deflected off an area between its eyes. A high-pitched screech
ripped the air, not in pain, but rage. The creature’s maw opened, side to side,
like a split beak.

One elongated arm coiled around a young sailor and dragged the
flailing victim below the surface. When the limb emerged from the water, the
sailor’s struggles had ceased and the body hung limp.

Lurching forward on the swaying deck, Harkon and Wagnar hurled
spears at the monster. In response, one of its tendrils twisted around the
handrails on the edge of the boat, snapping them like sticks. Wagnar buried his
broadsword in the rubbery flesh. The steel sank deep into the tentacle, lodging
in the middle. Pulpy fluid burst from the wound. Ichor ran across the deck and
Harkon slipped on the boards, striking his head on the butt of an oar as he
went down.

Rogan watched the beast try to reposition itself to the east side
of the ship. Head swiveling, he assessed the situation, reverting to his days
as a battlefield commander.

“You men, help me with the grapnels!”

The sailors obeyed Rogan’s edict as the bireme went up on its
left side, nearly capsizing. More appendages thudded from beneath the hull.
Javan fired twice more at the eyes of the beast, missing again. He cursed his
faulty aim.

“My father would hang his head in shame were he to see this
display.”

“Tis not your skills, young master,” the toothless Captain Huxira
advised him, stabbing a seeking tendril with his curved dagger. “Tis the
pitching of this craft. Surely, the beast means to sink us.”

Harkon and Wagnar’s swords flashed up and down, glinting in the
sunlight. The brothers fought as one. Gore and fluids covered them but they
didn’t seem to notice.

“Javan,” Rogan called out, “to me.”

Javan ran to his uncle’s side, half sliding past him. “What have
you in mind, sire?”

Rogan grabbed the long, heavy grapnels. “If that sea monster
wants to hug us, by Wodan, he’ll feel my embrace first. AWAY!”

They released the grapnels. The long cords took hold of several
of the creature’s squirming tentacles.

“Pull,” Rogan implored all who could hear him.

A dozen men heaved on the lines.

Wagnar yelled, “Sire, we will flip over or be dragged down with
it!”

“Nay!” Rogan bellowed as the bireme leveled out, using the force
of the giant beast against it.

A few of the grapnels bit into the monster’s appendages, severing
them. The creature roared again, and several of the sailors clasped their ears.
Enraged tentacles slapped at the men, crushing and twisting. One appendage
coiled around a young sailor’s midsection, squeezing him in half, letting his
crushed upper half sag over, leaving legs to stand for a moment, not realizing
they were dead. Another snaked over Huxira, but the old man stabbed it with his
dagger and the tendril recoiled. The screams of a slave grew muffled as a tentacle
wrapped around his head and flexed, crushing his skull like an overripe melon.
His brains dripped from the arm as it sought out more prey. Still, he held his
oar and stayed at his post.

The bireme lurched again and knocked Rogan to the deck. He slid across
the ship and flipped over, almost going into the churning sea.

“Rogan!” Javan reached out for his uncle’s hand as if he could
breach the great distance for him.

“Stop crying, dammit,” Rogan snapped as he got to his feet. A
tentacle whipped by his head. He withdrew his broadsword and ordered, “Release
the grapnels again.”

The sailors released the grapnels and the beast’s embrace
slacked. It surged toward them again, long arms flailing, wrapping around the
ship’s hull.

As the bireme slanted, Rogan leapt past the cringing sailors.
Sword held high up like a spear, he dropped onto the creature’s head, right
above its maw. The monster bellowed, infuriated at this intrusion.

“For Wodan!” he shouted, driving the blade deep into the beast’s
left eye, seeking a death stroke. The thing’s screams increased as Rogan shoved
the sword deeper, twisting as if he were planting fence posts. The hilt jutted
from the head, and the creature shuddered. Using the wound as a foothold on the
slippery hide, Rogan inserted a boot into the bloody gash and yanked his sword
free. Stabbing down again, he probed for the brain. Finding none, he dodged the
frenzied tendrils, still clinging to the monster’s head.

A great cheer went up from the sailors. Javan shook his head from
side to side.

Rogan used the beak of the monster as a stepping-stone, and
crossed over; thrusting the blade into the beast’s other eye. The creature
heaved backwards with a tumultuous splash. One massive tentacle gripped Rogan’s
waist, dragging him beneath the waves. The creature submerged and all that was
left was a mass of red foam.

The bireme rocked as the sailors ran to the side, desperate for a
glimpse of their barbarian leader.

The red water’s surface grew still.

“Oh goddess, no,” Javan whispered.

Then, from the crow’s nest high above their heads, a sailor
shouted, “I see him!”

Rogan surfaced, spitting water and shaking his mane.

Captain Huxira laughed, shoving his men into action. “Throw him a
line. The sharks will be out for a meal soon. The blood in the water calls to
them. Hurry now.”

Javan shuddered as Rogan was hauled back onboard. Sleek, angular
shark fins already jutted from the water, racing towards them.

“That took a lot of stones,” Harkon muttered.

“Or no brains,” Wagnar whispered.

Tired, but defiant, Rogan chuckled. “Harkon. Wagnar. You boys are
hardly alive. You haven’t even seen your twenty-first summer yet. I have seen
sixty
of them. Never have I been more ready to die, yet felt more
alive.”

Javan found a dry cloak in the back of the ship and slipped it
around Rogan’s shoulders.

“Sire,” Wagnar exclaimed, “never have I seen such a beast. Surely
Dagon sent it to impede us?”

Saving his breath, Rogan shrugged.

“Or perhaps Leviathan,” Harkon muttered.

The others blanched at the name, making the various signs of
their own preferred deities. Rogan eschewed such religious nonsense, but even
he turned grim at Leviathan’s mention.

“Speak not of the Thirteen,” Javan warned Harkon. “Lest you draw
their attention. They have many doors into this world. To speak of them is to
invite them entry.”

Rogan spat over the side. “The Thirteen need no invitation,
Javan. None of their kind does. If they want to come, let them come. I’ll face
them while the rest of you cower.”

The crew fell silent.

Huxira grimaced. “This creature that attacked us was just that—a
creature, rather than some demonic beastie. I have seen its like from afar, but
they never come this close to shore. Methinks this attack wasn’t chance. It was
guided. We are lucky to have our lives.”

“A guided beast?” Rogan laughed, but his response held no humor.
“Oh, bullcrap.”

Frowning, Javan looked up. Even after the battle, the huge lone
bird still circled in the empty sky.

And now there was something
else
in the distance.

“Sire,” he said. “Look.”

Rogan squinted at the stern of the ship, shielding his eyes with
his gore-streaked hands. “Ho! Crow’s nest! What is that on the horizon?”

The sailor perched high above directed his viewing glass to where
Rogan pointed. “Eyes of an eagle on you, my Lord. It’s a ship!”

“I deduced that, you donkey’s ass.” Rogan spat, still getting his
breath back. “Of what kind? Whose markings?”

The sailor concentrated and then looked down from his viewer.
“Hard to say sir, but it is moving very fast. A large galley. There are no
markings, no flag. I—” He raised his glass and looked in another direction.
“Sire! Off port! Another ship, but much smaller.”

“Get me a looking glass,” Rogan ordered one of the sailors, who
still appeared stunned from the fight with the sea monster. The young man swiftly
vanished and then returned with a long viewer.

Rogan looked skyward and again saw the large bird. “What is that
cursed thing up there, Javan?”

“At first I thought it an eagle, sire, but the tips of the wings
point at strange angles like those of a bat.”

“A bat? That size? Don’t jerk me around.”

Wagnar, Harkon, Javan, and Captain Huxira gathered around Rogan,
watching the horizon with apprehension. The larger ship produced tiny ships off
its sides as it sailed toward them.

Javan gasped. “It’s a mother ship.”

Huxira leaned forward, his breath reeking of chewing leaf.

“They are not of Olmek-Tikal. What are they, King Rogan?”

Rogan frowned at the title given him by the descendent of
Atlantis. “The small vessels look like Pryten reavers. Notice the great speed
they exhibit and the way they harness the wind with their short sails.”

“Prytens?” Wagnar laughed. “Pirates? Those savages could in no
way be here. Their lands lie halfway around the world.”

Rogan’s countenance grew grim. “Those fools would have the sack,
but you’re right. It wouldn’t be possible for them to sail all this way.”

With diplomacy, Javan said, “A Pryten reaver could survive the
journey through these hostile waters if lashed to a larger ship.”

Frowning, Rogan considered this. He raised his glass to the sky,
seeking the bird again.

The man in the crow’s nest called out, “They are coming right at
us!”

Captain Huxira spat a wad of brown juice over the side of the
damaged craft. “A few pirate bastards? They will be sorry to tangle with us. Fix
bows!”

Harkon wiped the monster’s sticky blood from his blade. “A few
dozen Pryten savages will meet a harsh fate trying to board us. I’ll send their
balls back in memory of their dead Queen Tancorix to her daughter, Andraste.”

Despite the losses incurred during the sea beast’s attack, the
bireme sported seventy men rowing, two-dozen sailors, the two Alatervaeian
bodyguards, Javan, and Rogan.

As the ship took to battle stations and the sailors re-armed
themselves with bows, the man in the crow’s nest sang out, “They aren’t
Prytens!”

Again, Rogan raised his glass, muttering, “You wouldn’t know a
Pryten if you shat on one. Shut your fool mouth and abide by me.” He focused on
the men in the small vessels and his mind spun. “Donar’s balls, he’s right.
They are blacks from the dark kingdoms.”

Javan gripped his bow. “Those savages couldn’t pilot such vessels
so far away from home any better than a Pryten. It isn’t possible.”

“Unless they were hired, supplied, and helped. I was a pirate
amongst men such as these on the Ebony Coast in my youth. Don’t discount their
abilities based solely on the color of their skin and the gods they worship.
They are damned fierce warriors.”

“I will take your word for it, sire.”

“Then take my word for something else, as well. The captain was
right. That assault by the sea monster wasn’t random. Neither is this. We are
under attack and it’s anything but random.”

“But who could orchestrate such a thing?”

“Who indeed? But the more important question is why.”

“This is a transport ship we ride on,” Javan insisted, “not a war
vessel. Aside from the ram on the front, what defense do we have? They cannot
think we have booty.”

“Get it through your skull, boy. By Wodan, Javan, you may have
General Thyssen’s strength, but you think like a damned politician! Always
believing the best in folk—bah—that doesn’t even work on brats. The real world
is a different place. Those men aren’t after the ship or plunder. Thousands of
miles from home, they are here on a purpose. I told you that flying creature
above reminded me of Damballah?”

Javan nodded.

“These men are seeking a target. That’s why that creature is
circling us like a hungry buzzard. By magic or by stealth,
they want me and
that bird has led them to us
.”

THE DAMAGED BIREME
listed to the port side as its
inhabitants went to battle stations. Javan watched the sailors make quick work
of the sails, while others brought up more weapons from the cabins below.
Captain Huxira’s men were no strangers to warfare on the open seas. They moved
decisively and with astonishing speed, especially given the fact that several
of them still bled from wounds suffered under the sea creature’s recent attack.
Bows, short swords, maces, pikes, and small forearm shields filtered amongst
the men. Confusion and panic flashed on the sweaty faces of the rowing slaves,
toiling under the taskmaster’s persistent lash. Javan felt an unexpected flash
of pity for them. His uncle would have chided him for the emotion, but this
danger threatened the slaves, as well. Finally, his gaze came to rest on Rogan,
still tall, sturdy, and imposing in his advanced years, seething under his
wrinkled skin at the rapidly advancing smaller ships. His smile, wolflike,
terrible to behold.