The Lethe: Chapter 1 (Revised)
"Arrival"
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The world sunk into shadowy oblivion and black glass. Dark plumes of scarlet flowed outwards, obscuring the ever-dwindling beams of blue light that filtered down from above. Water condensed and something exploded. All around, the ocean filled with squirming limbs and red algal blooms. Everything sunk. Down into the darkness, and down into the cold depths. The bright world fast faded, and they were left with only darkness.
Kelrynn was dying. He had felt it coming. He sunk swiftly into the ocean, scarcely moving a limb. Blood poured from just below his chest, and with a numb, shocked hand, he clutched at the new arrow planted in his side. It had been fired so forcefully as to lodge the rings of his chainmail deep within his abdomen. The grotesque realization scarcely registered in the soldier’s mind. His fuzzy focus narrowed on more important things.
Other limp bodies sunk around Kelrynn. Some were contorted and broken and peppered arrows, others were burnt beyond recognition. He didn’t know who they were, whether he knew them or not. He didn’t know if they were like himself, armored and civilized Neists, or if they were those masked barbarians that had fought so hard to end his quest. He decided it didn’t matter much. They would all die in the same grave.
As the dying soldier hit the soft, grey sand at the bottom of the shallow bank, a face began to appear in his mind. I should be praying. He told himself. Pray to Neia. Beg for forgiveness, for sanctuary. But he couldn’t pry his mind away to begin reciting prayers. That face pushed down, a friend, a foe? Is that Rer? He wondered, as the edges of his vision blackened and were enveloped by shadows, giving light only to this strange face. It was a hardened face of a Neist, war-scarred and tinged red. His eyes were a piercing, impassionate jade. His blonde hair enwreathed his head as an ethereal halo. Angean? He almost spoke the name, but his lungs burned, and only the slightest trickle of bubbles released from his lips. Were they worth it? Worth more than me? More than our sun? The drifting face gave no reply. Cold, black tendrils reached up around the wounded man’s legs, then arms, then torso. The face shifted and twisted- it was no longer Angean, but a black hole lined with thousands of needle-like teeth, leaning in towards the soldier.
It was long as an eel, with dozens of grasping tentacles that ended in suctioned points whipping through the water. It already had other bodies in a few of them. The monster eel wriggled with a predatory excitement. Grasping for the iron axe sheathed on his side, Kelrynn Solvain gritted his teeth. His vision was fading. Ever a soldier. He stopped praying. I hope there are flowers in heaven.
With a sudden, arcing jerk of his arm, Kelrynn Solvain hacked through the water with the axe. It bit deeply into the monster’s slimy side, and a blossom of purple blood unfolded into the foul water. The cursed creature howled with pain, which gurgled into an inhuman roar that shook the water around the soldier. He swung the axe again, and again, and again, leaving gashes and gouges all along the eel’s neck and long body.
Purple ooze enveloped the soldier Kelrynn as the giant eel bled and died, its trunk-like neck slowly drifting upwards. With a satisfied nod, the young monster slayer let his bloody axe drift into the writhing ocean. He stared wistfully at the filtered, blue light, at his old hope and dream. We were so close. Then, Kelrynn Solvain died.
He sighed in sea air, then let it escape his lungs in a soft whistle. The weather-worn ship rocked gently, but the mood amongst the crew was electric and jovial since they saw the flickering, blue lighthouse glittering on the horizon. They were close. After the amateur crew’s long journey across the Kuratyr ocean, Angean was certain that they would kiss the sandy shores of Estria as they docked, despite their superstitious and racist fears. The torman scoffed as he leaned over the wooden railing. He looked down. The rippling phantom of a reddish-skinned, clean shaven figure stared back. Even though the warrior knew well that little white and red scars laced his face like chain links, he saw none of them there. He only saw a soft face staring back with wide eyes. Art-sick and scared.
“That’s enough time off, now.” A slightly-breathless voice yanked the torman from the ocean. “We’ve inventory to check and barrels to seal, An’. The waves will still be there when we hit Dra’angel.”
Angean turned his head slowly to look down at the young liaman behind him. She was from the South of Idraheim, but had been to the Great Desert of Estria so often that she spoke almost always in the desert-folk’s strange Dunespeech. “Will do, Cap’n.” Angean forced himself to adopt an Eastern drawl on the last word.
The sailor scoffed. “Be quick about it, An’.” She patted her hands off on her workman’s breeches, then turned about to step further up the ship.
The scarred torman stepped away from the railing, and dejectedly turned back towards the masts of the wooden vessel. The white, three-fold sail cut the sunlight sharply into shadows on the deck, where sailors swarmed the masts like ants. On deck, several tormen and liamen- the Idranian gender-castes for warriors and travelers, respectively- were tying down blocks of cloth-wrapped books with pale rope, and others were slathering tar across the dry hull of Larissa’s Rage. Angean gave a few curt nods as he passed, some of which recognized him. A swinging masting above nearly caught the warrior as it came free from the rope netting to its side- he was barely able to duck his head out of the way in time. After a moderate exchange of swears, curses, and spit, Angean had to dig his chin to his chest and duck into the constricted hull of the ship.
The wooden planks that made the floor of Larissa’s Rage sagged down with theatrical weariness. They groaned in protest with each heavy step. In the low-lit hold, Angean had to palm the web of ropes along the right wall- the ship was shaking, and despite the long journey north, he hadn’t quite gotten his sea-legs yet. “Hard to teach an old dog new tricks…” The torman grumbled under his breath, until he finally found the section he was looking for- a rusty, steel door, hidden behind a splintered wall of upright logs and fishing tackle. It opened for a shadow of an inch, then stuck on whatever had fallen on the other side. Grunting, the large torman rammed his shoulder into the old door once, then twice, hearing something shatter beyond. Finally, with a third slam, Angean tumbled through into the poorly-lit cargo hold.
The hold was in a state of absolute disarray, and the tall mercenary had barely any room to walk amongst the dozens of collapsed boxes and barrels. He cracked his back, then his fingers, and set himself to work.
Angean found he enjoyed being a sailor, and would miss it when he finally arrived at the Coin City by the day’s end. Sailing was different from his actual profession, but similar in the right ways. It was marginally less bloody, but still had the repetitive, physical practice that the Imperial Knights’ demanded, and there was a similar amount of situational companionship. Angean truly felt it was a shame that so few of his people took to the sea. Most had a pathological fear of deep water, which is why he had been the only one to volunteer. Well... Angean smiled. Apart from Jero. But his lieutenant, Jero Khan, was always alongside him. And the other poor soldiers disguised as sailors aboard the Larrissa’s Rage were all but dragged to the docks, kicking and screaming. They were “knights” in name alone, the most honorable among them scarcely squires, and the rest distinguished bastards and capable disgraces. Angean shook his head. He wouldn’t want to be here with anyone else.
Hours had passed sorting and re-sealing barrels and crates of parchment and books, when he heard cries from above deck. The ship jolted to a stop. Two columns of Angean’s careful stacking collapsed comically onto the ground about him, and the tall torman himself was barely able to stay afoot. At first, he was irrationally angry with the situation- he had worked hard to stack those books!- yet he then remembered where and who he was. The old mercenary’s jade eyes sharpened and died out. The person who stepped out of the cargo hold had eyes like a cat, sharper than any blade. Indeed, it was a knight who stepped back into the ship’s middeck, as sailors scurried about in frenzied fashion, lowering sails, dragging cargo back down, and preparing to change course.
Angean shot his arm out and yanked a dark red-skinned sailor out of her hurried gait. Unfortunately, the sailor wasn’t one of his men. “What’s happening?” The knight then remembered the sailor’s name. “Guleed. The cook, no?”
The tanned liaman cast half the shadow as Angean, and gave a flustered nod.
“Good. Who or what has fucked up?”
“Ah, right. The scholar-boy saw a ship up ahead, closing fast.” Guleed drew back her composure as she spoke. “Not unusual by the coast, but he’s saying something about a mage or some such.” The cook pried her shoulder out of Angean’s vice grip. “Go to the captain, sell-sword. She’ll know where to put you.”
She scurried off towards her station before the warrior could ask any more questions. “Hmph.” Angean scoffed and twisted his head, taking long, feline strides towards the bow of the ship.
The captain was standing at the front, her right palm on the back of the dark oak figurehead- a vertical piece curved into the lunging torso of a lioness with bared teeth. She slung her mind with her gaze, both of which pulled towards Dra’angel. The shoreline was barely visible- a yellow-white line bisecting the horizon, interrupted by white cubes that signified buildings and safety. Before that, however, the dark silhouettes of three metallic, foreign ships, sleek and smaller than the Larissa’s Rage, blocked their path and were moving to flank. Angean felt himself tense involuntarily. The air smelt like smoke and burning leather.
The old warrior quickly approached the captain’s first mate- a spindly, freckled teen in oversized clothes, who was standing behind their pensive boss. They were talking worriedly with a familiar face, who turned and smiled wearily at Angean. “Good, you’re here. I think we’re in for something serious now, Angean.” Jero Khan said.
“I heard. Mages?” Angean grimaced down at the artificer. Jero was worse for wear since he left Dra’angel- judging by the dark circles beneath his otherwise pale face, trying to decipher his Commandment has taken its toll. Still, even now, the young scholar was wearing a fine black cloak and dark blue doublet, cinched together by golden embroidery. Comically overdressed, as always.
“Mages? Right. I figured something…” Jero tried to push the light blonde hair from his face as he dug around in his pocket, finally producing a small, glass vial. The liquid inside was murky and grey- and squirmed.
Angean recoiled a bit. “What in hell?” He swore as Jero put the thing back.
“It’s a tadpole of a native species. I assume.” Jero explained. “I’m not sure what they grow into, but they’re gathering around the deep water here in flocks- which tadpoles don’t do.” He furrowed his brow slightly, narrowing his bright, yellow eyes. “It seems like a purple mage of some kind. They draw together animals.”
“Islander pirates. By Valya...” The first mate swore, nervously throwing their head back towards the small, metal skiffs. “I’d heard a rumor that they’d found their way into the Kuratyr ocean. Slavers and pillagers, the lot.” They spat on the ground in a disgusted gesture, but their eyes only showed fear.
“Calm down, Rukil.” Jero held his hand up to the nervous first mate. “Xibrijan- who you call Islanders- use different boats. Larger ones, at that. Us Malafolk had to deal with them before the templars moved in.” The golden thinker then leaned back on the edge of the boat, delving into his thoughts. “But purple magic is rare, especially of this scale. Perhaps an exiled mage?”
“That doesn’t matter.” Angean growled annoyedly. “They’ll be on us soon. Rukil, do your men have blades?”
Rukil blinked surprised. “N-no. We’re a trading vessel…”
“Then it’s good mine are here.” Angean nodded towards Jero. “Go get Mastrus, Valakir, Han. Have them gather whichever weapons we brought with them from Frama. Tell everyone else to meet here.” Jero nodded vigorously and ran off, stumbling a bit over a length of tethered rope.
Rukil shook their head. “What do you mean weapons? I know you’re tormen, but…” The first mate took a step back from the mercenary. “Who are you?”
“An old warrior, is all.” Angean said dismissively, then stepped back to the captain, who had not budged. The ships in the distance had grown significantly, though they were all much smaller than the merchant galleon. Their rounded, metal hulls wove through the water like pillbugs, quickly closing the distance. “Captain. Captain Kaira.” The liaman didn’t budge, her eyes locked on the central boat. “Hey! Snap out of it now!” Angean lightly shook her shoulder, and the captain jerked her head away from the flagship.
Her breath came in quick bursts. “Those aren’t pirates.” Captain Kaira was finally able to say. Her jaw locked tightly for a moment, then she spoke. “Those are the Sons of Ra’Luth.”
Ra’luth? Angean frowned for a moment, but didn’t voice his question. “Doesn’t matter who it is, Captain.” The knight said. “Does this city have guardships?”
The captain nodded, then seemed to shake herself out of her stupor. “Right, right.” She turned to the knight commander. “If we can get within view of the port-spotters, Ra’luth’s men will give up chase. We can charge through them, but we won’t build much speed.” She grimaced, anxiously pulling at her belt. “We’ll need to defend our flanks. Make sure they don’t board.”
“Is that all?” Angean shook his head. “Don’t fear. My men can hold their ground.”
“So can Ra’luth’s…” Captain Kaira took a nervous breath. “We don’t have much choice, though. Get ready, An’.” And she then turned, standing up onto the back of the pouncing lioness figurehead. Her voice boomed. “Drop the sails, moor netting! Prepare oars!”
Larissa’s Rage fell into action, faster than before. They had purpose, and confidence that fed off eachother’s bravado. Angean turned and moved along the rails to find his tormen clambering out of deck, bearing three oblong, canvas sacks. Jero and two others placed the sacks on the ground, passing out sheathed and oiled arming swords and unstrung bows. The other dozen soldiers knelt on the ground, hastily stringing the virgin bows and passing out their meager supply of arrows. Jero tossed Angean an unsheathed, heavier blade. Its iron, machete-tipped blade gleamed dully in the sunlight. An unspoken confidence seeped through the knight as he held the nicked, old weapon. Simultaneously, its familiar weight brought up a welling terror in Angean’s chest, a terror that had let him survive until now. The memories it dredged up made him all but sick. And he spoke- “Alright, men. This is your first test.” He held tightly onto the ropes by the mast as the ship began to speed up. “Find cover, and hold your arrows unless you absolutely need to use them! We’re defending, not attacking.” The ship shook, and wind shuddered through them. Angean turned around, and the ships that had been so far away before were minutes- no, seconds- away! “Go! We don’t want heroes.”
With that, the remaining Idranian knights scattered, finding their way behind crates and barrels of tackle, spreading out along the entirety of the ship. Angean pushed back towards the stern of the ship, kneeling behind the outcropped railings as he looked on towards their attackers. His heart raced.
The metal ships closed in. They were covered in rust and dark blue and grey barnacles on their sides, but they cut clean swathes through the water. On their decks, men and women knelt behind metal barricades, carefully notching heavy bows. They called out to each other in a foreign, flowing language and wore copper helmets over their heads. Then, as Angean was watching the two flanking ships come by, he heard a distinct twang.
The world blurred. Arrows slammed down onto the ship’s hull, and onto the railing, and caught in the mast. People screamed. The ship’s floor shook like a stampede rushing across its hull, the arrows peppering the side of the galleon like needles in a pincushion. Angean saw a sailor fall from the mast above, her body catching in the tangled netting above the deck.
The volley came once, then once from the other side, catching two of Angean’s tormen in the side. But Larissa’s Rage continued charging through the water, unhindered by the arrows, and the two flanking boats were left launching wild arrows against the wind. None of the knights had fired back. Good. Angean was impressed, and dove down back onto the main hull, risking the crouched dash out of cover to sidle in beside one of his knights- Han, an angular, bald torman with a mousy nose. While he had an arrow notched, his eyes were closed tightly. He was praying under his breath.
“Hey.” Angean shook him once, and the man started so much he barely kept hold of the arrow. “Han, it’s fine, we broke past. What’s it like down here?”
“Kilik and the Purdanese boy’re shot.” Han spoke swiftly, in a robotic, military response. “They didn’t try to board.”
“I know.” Angean felt a tactical worry begin seeping up, numbing his base fears. “There’s still the flagship. They’ve a plan.”
The flagship was moving forwards slowly, slightly larger and with a raised platform at its bow. Angean gazed at it, seeing three figures standing high on the brim of the vessel, their polished copper armor shimmering in the sunlight. The flagship was smaller than the Larissa’s Rage, but they weren’t moving out of the way. It would be a head on collision. “What are they doing?” Angean wondered aloud, as their ship began to pick up more speed, closing the gap faster and faster. His eyes widened. “They aren’t moving. Everyone, brace-”
Angean’s call was cut short by a sudden and loud screech of wood and canvas. Larissa’s Rage stopped instantly, and sailors and soldiers alike went sprawling across the deck, tumbling down. Angean leaned into the fall, rolling forwards and flat onto his ass, lurching for cover behind the wooden spar at the front of the ship. The wooden pole bent and creaked loudly, and Angean looked above to see the canvas foresail of the ship torn in half. He gritted his teeth. How the hell? He thought as he called back. “Up, men!”
It was then that he heard one of the armored men on the bow of the metal flagship speak. “Nictanas, nauvariel.” The words were not normal, and Angean knew that reverent tone, and could see the light purple, pearlescent glimmer in the air around the speaker- visible Lai. Magic. “Tyr Hectanas, xinlov!”
Angean shot a worried look at Jero, who was still pushing himself off of the ground from the ship’s end. The artificer’s face was a mask of confusion. He sputtered a bit, shouting over the wind and groans. “Mik arano, vyc-naldi.” The golden-haired sacriman desperately called out words in counter-aria to the purple mage, but the condensing fog of Lai only wavered a half-beat in response.
With a wave of his gauntlet, the armored mage shed the Lai from his body like sand, the shimmering magic falling down in waves into the water around the flagship. Then, nothing. The knights waited with dread for company, holding their own breath hostage. Angean held his blade in a vice-grip, only daring brief glances out of the cover of his spar.
A spray of saltwater flew above the bow, raining down in brilliant rainbows. There was a loud thud, and the deck creaked loudly with shifting weight. Angean felt the ship leaning beneath him, and suddenly fell up against the spar. The sailors of Larissa’s Rage gasped and began to pray. Angean turned to face the thing that had boarded on deck.
Its three black eyes were the first thing that Angean noticed, some preternatural intelligence evident through the swift, sharp turns of its head. The monster was as large as a horse and twice as wide, and bore two lightly armored soldiers on its back. It was reptilian but for its long, clawed forelegs, on which it raised itself on its knuckles like an ape. Angean’s breath cut off as he saw the thing’s long, wide snout, and wicked teeth. During his second Daronian Crusade, the knight had seen crocodiles in the Sandanese swamplands, and though the crocodiles were much smaller, Angean couldn’t help but draw the connection between the two.
There was a pause, as the creature’s near still, half open snout waved about. Its three eyes- one on each side of it and the third embedded in its bony crown, were cold and wild. The crew froze in bestial fear, but Angean looked up at the iron ship’s railing, and saw a half-dozen soldiers pulling back bows. No chance to negotiate, then… Angean hazily thought as he locked eyes with the beast. As if meeting a challenge, the giant lizard lunged at the old knight, throwing itself to the side as its jaw opened wide.
Angean threw himself back as the beast’s maw snapped onto the wooden spar, and he brought his blade up in one hand. His heart was trying to punch out of his chest as the monstrous crocodile ripped its jaws free of the pole, leaving a jagged, yellow fang embedded in it. Angean faintly heard a foreign command thousands of miles behind the reptile, and then the familiar twang of longbows cut through the air.
The knight’s reasoning faded, but he remembered tripping backwards and rolling reflexively back onto his feet. Wooden arrow shafts were sprouting from the ground he had just fallen from, and the old soldier called out in visceral fear- “The archers!”
The giant crocodile stumbled forwards again, its unsettlingly long forelegs grasping the spar and launching it. Angean ducked into its chest, just below its snapping maw, and wedged the wide edge of his sword into its stomach. Blue blood followed the wound, seeping between the thin scales on its underbelly. As the blade bit into it, the giant reptile reflexively recoiled up onto its stubby hind legs, and the mercenary kicked off and of its chest, yanking the blade out and pushing himself back enough to avoid the beast’s retaliatory rake. The beast flailed for a moment, unbalanced, then toppled gracelessly onto its back. One of the riders was crushed, while the other rolled off and hit the ground hard.
Taking a few defensive steps back and gathering his composure, Angean finally noticed the ongoing exchange of arrows between the two ships. A couple of the archers on the bow of the pirate vessel were doubled over or lying back- as were a few of Angean’s own men. The few arrows that hit the reptile’s hide as it deftly spun to its feet were deflected cleanly. “Aim for the archers!” Angean called out, seeing the beast’s head spin back around, low to the ground. Its previously obscured, finned tail swept across the deck, as it slowly ringed a long foreleg forwards. The tail flicked back and forth like that of an excited cat.
Its eyes had a malice in them, or so Angean thought. Steeling himself, the old knight pulled his bloody blade in front of him, breath coming in ragged bursts. There was a split of tension between the crocodile and the cornered warrior- the lightning strike of apprehension between two beasts fighting for territory. This is mine. Angean thought wildly, irrationally. He was the one who lunged forwards this time.
The brown crocodile’s head was deathly still, as Angean had seen its smaller cousins do in the past, and he aimed a feinting blow at the thing’s head. The machete blade swung, glinting through the red sunlight, but the beast recoiled with predatory speed. Iron harmlessly sparked off of the thing’s plated hide. Its head pulled back, then shot forwards, its mouth a jagged, vertical cut of dark red flesh and yellow teeth. Angean thought an arrow grazed past his shoulder, but his instant was consumed by the horrendous maw hurtling towards him. He froze.
An unexpected, blunt force impacted the deadman’s side. Angean didn’t feel himself fall, but only the throbbing pain a moment after he had hit the floor. Angean’s vision was bleary, but he stumbled behind a crate as he looked on to see a large torman with red-skin. His eyes bulged as he looked down at her, then in shock at the three-eyed crocodile. The jaw clamped directly around the man’s bicep- a bloody row of teeth clearly punching through either side of the arm. Then, the beast yanked back, pulling the knight away and swiftly rolling around on the ground- first with its hind legs, then the beast’s torso and head spun so quickly it was a brown blur for a moment. The rotation tore the soldier’s arm clean from its socket, and threw the massive soldier clean across the hull like a sack doll.
Looming dread and despair ran through the crew and knights. The giant lizard staggered back, arrows peppering against its underbelly, some sticking, others bouncing off. It still held the knight’s bloody arm in its jaws as Angean began to step forwards again. He only saw stars in the corners of his vision- he could still fight. An echoing, red-faced roar burbled up from inside the torman. Like the war rhythm of a dying drummer, the heavy footfalls of Commander Angean Loraveil galvanized the fear of the knights into rage. Arrows flew beside the Commander’s charge, stabbing true into the monster’s underbelly and battering its head to a defensive stance. He was joined to his right by another brave soul, skillessly bearing a virgin blade over his head as his high-pitched warcry joined the rising chants of the others. Angean barely noticed him, but the young boy’s spirit echoed the Commander’s rage as if in the great white auditorium at Rosenfane.
The beast struck out, and caught Angean on the shoulder with its claws. The cat-like warrior bent into the blow, causing it to only graze his skin, while bringing his bastard sword around in furious, two-handed abandon. The first blow deflected, the second struck below the thing’s jaw. It seared away ribbons of dark brown scales. The teen beside him, his sword guided by the luck of the skilless and young, blindly thrust his arming blade at the creature’s belly. It dug in, nearly up to its hilt, and everything changed. The great lizard brought its tail around, the finned thing smashing into both of the combatants, sending them sprawling across the deck. But it was dead, they all seemed to know it. The sheen of wrought iron gleamed from the beast’s stomach as it flailed about, dying loudly and pointlessly. The pain of the beast created an impassable barrier between the pirates’ flagship and the deck of Larissa's Rage, which looked not unlike a pincushion of steel-shafted arrows. The lifeless body of the crocodile’s handler flopped atop the dying lizard’s back- bent in unnatural ways, and littered with a half-dozen wooden arrows.
The giant crocodile’s death caused a stir of emotion and a strange pause in the battle, as Angean dragged the boy he had fought beside- Salik, that was his name- behind the tenuous cover of an unsteady crate that had slid to the portside railing. Salik was winded badly, and sweating, but otherwise unhurt. He was one of the younger tormen- a squire of some twice-removed side house of the Valentyr clan. “Damn good job.” Angean nodded his respect to the small, pale-faced boy, and peered out of cover. One of the copper-plated purple mages who was standing on the pirates’ deck before had collapsed onto his knees, the other two similarly dressed figures were desperately chanting. From beneath their visors, a deep purple shimmer came from their eyes, but Angean could now see the light purple Lai wavering around them.
“An’!” Angean turned his head towards the voice of Captain Kairi. The stout liaman was clutching desperately to the main spar near the center of the vessel. “It’s the murkings, stopping us from rowing in the water around the ship! Get your artificer, we can still break from this!”
The commander looked around desperately, then took a quick breath and risked standing straight up, to see over the crouched men and bodies on the deck. He quickly noted the golden hair and glittering garments of Jero Kahn on the starboard end of the ship, behind a sturdy pile of ropes. Ignoring his bruised body’s protests, Angean dashed through the deck, his nerves cracking at the occasional twang of a longbow from the pirates’ ship, before he stumbled beside the sacriman. His pale face flushed to a paper white, and he was hyperventilating. “Jero!” Angean growled in a much more aggressive tone than he had intended. “Jero, come back to me!”
The sacriman’s golden eyes slowly traced their way across the floor to meet with Angean’s sweaty, bruised face. “An… Angean?” He worked for a few moments to process who he was seeing. “Angean!” A light popped into his eyes. “Gods, Angean, you’re alive, thank Neia-”
“Yeah, yeah, praise gods and all the rest. Look, I need that brain of yours, Goldie.” The Commander placed a hand onto Jero’s shoulder. “We only have a moment until they move around that lizard, and we need to be able to row away by then. Captain thinks we're stuck ‘cause of something called ‘murkings’ in the water.”
The golden-haired artificer’s eyes narrowed in concentration. “Murkings? Sounds like an animal. Another being controlled, maybe…” His brow furrowed, and his expression creased like rice paper as his mind began to flip through scrolls and tales he half-remembered. “Around the ship?”
Angean didn’t want to interrupt her lieutenant’s intense concentration, but he heard the giant crocodile’s death-rattle fall to a whimper, and boots were mobilizing on the flagship. From this angle, the Commander looked back to see the two side-ships were beginning to complete a hard turn, and the crew was cutting into the wind to flank Larissa’s Rage again. “Come on, we’re running out of-”
“Ah!” Angean tightened his grip on his blade as Jero’s face lit up. He reached into his doublet’s pocket and pulled out the vial of grey, squirming liquid. “Murkings! These must be it.” The artificer twisted his body to look over the edge, and picked up a stone, weighing peg and dropped it into the dark ocean. It was immediately enveloped, the dark water rippling strangely, and writhing, dark blobs popping up and wriggling at the surface beside the ship. “They’re around the ship, coating the hull.” He was almost satisfied with himself as he turned to Angean. “But to actually control them, it must be a Shamu Ritual- requiring two or more sources of Lai.” He looked around the side of the ropes, at the two copper-plated mages, chanting in tandem. “I just need to break their connection!”
“Wait-” Angean’s protest was cut short as Jero spun out of his cover, drawing a small, silver-gilded quill, and pointed its hollow nib towards one of the purple mages.
“Mik arano, vyc-naldi!” His voice called out in counter to the pirates’ own desperate song.
As he sung the reverent syllables in wavering tenor, the Lai that connected the two standing figures began to solidify, like water condensing on a spiderweb. It was dark purple, and ran from the base of each of the purple mages’ necks. Their chanting faltered, and Larissa’s Rage jolted forwards a bit. The liamen on the deck of Larissa’s Rage murmured in superstitious misunderstanding, and Angean turned to them. “All you able lot get to mid-deck, and man the damn oars!” The old knight’s barking orders sheared across Jero’s reverent melody.
“Sham kaius, vyc-nos! Sham grof’is, vyc-can!” Jero kept his chanting up as the crew exploded into action once more, stampeding loudly into the hull. Foreign orders echoed from the flagship, and its own oars dipped down as it began to turn away. The tether of Lai between the two purple mages was nearly solid now, calcifying into an opaque, dull web of stone.
Larissa’s Rage lurched forwards once more, its figurehead scraping against the iron hull of the pirate vessel. There were worried cries from the pirates’ deck, as both ships began to lurch to life, the murkings dispersing along their hulls. Jero walked to the head of Larissa’s Rage, the crowd of panicked sailors and mercenaries rushing past him to the mid-deck. Outstretched like some kind of divine ward, his quill shook in his hand as the same, purple Lai began to solidify around its nib. “Sham kaius, cys-vanos tis’kai!” Jero’s last note echoed in the open air as if in a wide cavern. The calcified web of Lai between the two chanting pirates’ caught, then tore apart like a frayed rope. Both mages cried out in what might have been pain, reaching desperately for their eyes as the purple light disappeared from their visors, but Angean didn’t have much time to see it.
Both ships lurched forwards, but the oars of the pirate flagship had managed to turn the metallic thing so that the collision wasn’t exactly head-on. Larissa’s Rage scraped off of the side of the pirate vessel as it barrelled forwards, a loud, metallic screech filling the air. As Angean looked onto the enemy ship’s deck, another man, who had stood back beside the iron spoke that might have been a wheel, locked eyes with him. A chill ran down his spine. The man was slender and dark skinned, and was covered in white and grey cloth that wrapped around his entire body, like a Purdanese mummy. His face was all but shadowed by a black, pointed hat, and a wicked, obsidian-black shortspear was balanced in his right hand. Time stopped. Angean had seen a man like this before. Just before the world changed. And the old warrior knew a terrible truth, despite this briefest contact:
I will kill that man, or that man will kill me.
And then he was whisked away as the oars of the merchant ship dug into the light, murking-free water. The pirate ship shook and nearly capsized behind them, as the massive merchant vessel budged it aside like a bushel of reeds, and it was joined in a slow, limping retreat away from shore by its two skirmishing vessels. The first few oar-strokes of the crew of Larissa’s Rage were staggered and uncoordinated, but after a long spat of angry curses and swear words, one of the crew members began a rhythmic, victorious song to match their desperate row into the bay of Dra’angel:
“And when we go, we go, we go!
‘Gainst darkened isle, veil and foe!
Blade and bow from port we sail!
Blessed we, the Valya Vail!”