Leviathan (Lost Civilizations: 2) Page 8

  “It does seem awfully lonely here,” Joash said.

  “This place is cursed.” Herrek pointed at Gandvik Rock. “Can’t you feel the doom? The sooner we sail from here, the better.”

  Shore parties were formed. The Elonites stretched their legs on solid ground. Soon, many of them explored the mountain. Their laughter and good cheer was muted, however, being sea-weary and wary of this oppressive place.

  Lord Uriah used the relative emptiness of the Tiras to hold another meeting. Maharbal, Herrek, Joash, Zillith, Adah and Lord Uriah met in the Captain’s quarters, around his oaken sea chest. The hardened bread laid out was untouched, although several of them drank the Captain’s ale.

  “Lod hasn’t returned,” Lord Uriah said, beginning the meeting. “The question is: What should we do now?”

  “Wait for Lod,” Adah said, her face tight. “You know he’ll arrive sooner or later.”

  “Given he’s still alive,” Lord Uriah said.

  “He’s alive!” Adah shouted, rising from her stool. “Lod lives! You know he lives.”

  Zillith took Adah’s hand, stroking it and nodding to her that everything was going to be all right.

  Joash was beginning to feel jealous of this Lod.

  For a moment, Adah relented. Then she jerked her hand away and glared at Lord Uriah. “Lod lives,” she said, with conviction. “We’ll wait until he arrives with Irad.” She sat down.

  For a while, no one spoke.

  “Let us agree for the moment that Lod still lives,” Lord Uriah said. “Should we wait as Adah suggests, or should we try to send one or two of our number into Shamgar?”

  Captain Maharbal shook his head. “Too risky,” he said. “Lod must have been in Shamgar for over a month now, or at least three weeks. If he’s been caught, Gog will be ready for others. If Lod is holed in one of his allies’ fortresses, then any one or two of us would be useless.”

  “It wouldn’t be useless to know the situation,” Adah said.

  “No...” Captain Maharbal said slowly.

  “That isn’t our goal,” Herrek said. “Stopping Tarag is.”

  “Stopping the evil ones from achieving their quest is our goal,” amended Lord Uriah. “Tarag is simply one of several First Born.”

  “He’s the active one,” Herrek said firmly. “He’s the one who entered Draugr’s Crypt and stole the adamant armor and weapons. They obviously need the adamant, thus, if we stop Tarag, we’re that much further in stopping the evil scheme.”

  “At least, you hope so,” Zillith said.

  Herrek slapped the sea chest. “I know so!”

  “No,” Zillith said, “theatrics do no good. Facts are what we need. You believe what you say, my dear Herrek, but you don’t know for certain. What we need is certainty.”

  “What facts we do have point to Tarag being the most dangerous First Born,” Herrek said.

  “Herrek’s right,” Captain Maharbal said. “Consider: Yorgash sent slith to the steppes. Jotnar sent his sons to Tarag. Tarag took Draugr’s adamant armor and weapons. Everything we’ve seen points to Tarag of the Sabertooths.”

  “We must defeat Tarag,” Herrek said forcefully. “Therefore, we must sail to Further Tarsh, send to Havilah Holding for fresh horses and warriors and then find and slay this unholy First Born.”

  Lord Uriah drummed his fingers on the oaken chest, with his weather-beaten features creased in thought.

  “To wait beside this forsaken rock will only sap our spirits,” Herrek said. “You’ve seen the Gisgo’s sailors. Let’s leave now, while we’re still hale and healthy.”

  “No!” Adah said, standing, her dark eyes flashing. “We must wait for Lod! Naram the Prophet said that when all else baffles us, we must find Irad. Which of you can tell me what the First Born quest after? None of us knows. How then can we act intelligently? I say we wait for Lod.”

  “Or, find Irad,” Zillith said. She lay her hand on Adah’s arm, and whispered, “I’m sorry, my dear.” She faced the others. “Lod isn’t as critical as finding Irad, and learning what he knows.”

  “How do we do that?” Captain Maharbal asked.

  “By waiting here,” Lord Uriah said, quietly. He gulped his ale, and then poured himself more.

  Herrek clenched his hands into fists, but controlled his tongue.

  “And we do nothing more?” Captain Maharbal asked.

  “What more can we do?” Lord Uriah asked. “You yourself said it would be useless to enter Shamgar.”

  “But, to just wait, and do nothing,” Captain Maharbal said, shaking his head. “It makes me feel helpless.”

  “We are helpless,” Lord Uriah said. “We’re helpless until we know what the enemy plans. We attempt to gain an understanding of the First Born, and their quest. They do not yet march to war. If they did, then we would marshal our warriors and those of our allies, and fight the First Born outright. True, the Jogli Nomads stir. Let Caphtor and Ir deal with them. The giants gather, but not in army strength.”

  “How long will we wait?” Captain Maharbal asked.

  “Another week, if need be,” Lord Uriah said.

  “Very well,” Herrek said loudly. “You will wait. Why not send me back to Further Tarsh on the Gisgo. I can gather horses and warriors, and return here. We must be ready to strike once we gain the needed knowledge.”

  Lord Uriah said, “Once we learn the secret of the First Born, we may need two ships.”

  Herrek’s handsome features hardened.

  “Does anyone else have anything to say?” Lord Uriah asked.

  No one did. The meeting was adjourned.

  ***

  A heavy fog drifted in before dusk, and the next day around mid afternoon, it lifted just above the ship. The weak sun was unable to pierce it. The light was muted, the world almost shadowless like a waking dream. Boredom intensified the deepening sense of unease and resentment. Then the fog that had barely risen fell again several hours before dusk. It was like a twilight world underneath Gandvik Rock. Sounds were muted and spirits capped. Fewer and fewer people went to the gravel shore. Herrek, however, forced himself to camp on it for a night. Since he couldn’t follow Tarag, he fought against the mountain and against the Vergelmir Deep itself.

  Joash’s lessons became grimmer. Bruises arose, but he refused to complain. New muscles had hardened in his shoulders and arms. When he wasn’t swinging the wooden sword, he threw practice spears.

  “We will not waste our days,” Herrek had told him.

  When he wasn’t training, Joash was glum. Adah was moody, and there were no animals to watch. Gandvik Rock seemed sterile, and the waters between the granite arms were devoid of life. Not even starfish or coral lived here.

  Adah took to climbing into the Tiras’s crows-nest, and searching for signs of Lod. Days passed slowly. The fog kept them imprisoned in a bleary world. And always came the feeling that a dread monster lived just under the inky sea.

  On the fourth day, Joash’s arm was sore from the hammering Herrek gave him. He rested.

  As the fog thinned, Adah once again climbed the crows-nest. She shrieked. All heads whipped up to stare at her. The small singer pointed out to sea. “A boat!” she cried. “I see a boat!”

  Everyone ran to the railing. A small boat sailed toward them. In it were two people. One lay with a blanket over him. The other sat grimly at the tiller. As the boat entered the harbor, the man at the tiller collapsed.

  Chapter Eight

  The Way of the Shining Ones

  Your old men will dream dreams, your young men will see visions.

  -- Joel 2:28

  “Tell me again, pirate!” Captain Maharbal spat, his thick hand tight upon the dagger thrust through his sash.

  With his strange yellow eyes, the pirate glowered down at the Captain. The pirate was taller than Herrek, and more thickly built with olive-colored skin, herculean shoulders and dark, shoulder-length hair. Instead of the long robes worn by Captain Maharbal and his officers, or the simple loincloth
s and linen shirts worn by the sailors, the pirate wore a knee-length brown tunic. He had a broad belt with a big black buckle, and he had sturdy, oak-like legs. Still, the oddest and most peculiar thing about him was his strange yellow eyes. They suggested Nephilim blood.

  When Captain Maharbal and his sailors had lifted the two unconscious men aboard the Tiras, they’d recognized one as a pirate. His short sword and dagger had been stripped from him. Only on Lord Uriah’s insistence, had he not been bound with ropes or shackled with chains.

  The pirate was Auroch, an infamous reaver. He was self-named after the long-horned cattle that roamed the steppes. Auroch’s galleys were feared throughout the Suttung Sea. He flew a black flag with the red silhouette of an auroch head in the center. Auroch, it was whispered, was a noble from one of the Nine Cities. He’d broken certain warrior vows there, and had fled the headsman’s axe. His journeys had brought him to the swamps surrounding Shamgar. Auroch was renowned for saying that there, in those deadly swamps, he’d found the true meaning of life: that only drawn steel and a strong arm were worthy of respect, and with them should be taken gold, women and wine.

  Auroch of Shamgar, pirate, killer and feared swordsman, was primarily famed for a daring feat done two years before. He’d boldly sailed into Further Tarsh harbor, landed at the grain docks and fought his way to the Blue Temple. There, he’d butchered Elohim’s priests upon the altars. After ransacking the temple, Auroch’s reavers made good their escape.

  Now Auroch stood before a ship filled with Tarshmen. Nor did he stand humbly, but like a lord, a conqueror and a prideful man of war.

  “How did you come to sail alone with Irad the Arkite?” Captain Maharbal hissed. His youngest brother, a priest, had died in Auroch’s raid.

  Despite their hatred, Auroch had been gently revived, fortified with ale, bread and cheese. In his possession had been Lod’s signet ring, recognized by Zillith, Lord Uriah, Maharbal and Adah. Auroch had told them that his delirious passenger was named Irad the Arkite. He’d said that Lod had bidden him sail to Gandvik Rock, to take refuge with the people he found there.

  “Answer my question!” Captain Maharbal shouted.

  Auroch sneered at the smaller Tarshmen. “I should have known better than to trust Lod’s word.” He spat on the deck. “The cursed Lod has brought nothing but ruin to our city. Now, I’m ruined for having trusted him.”

  A tight grin spread across Captain Maharbal’s face. “It’s like I thought. You’re not from Lod.”

  Exhaustion showed in Auroch’s eyes. His sneer faded, as he wearily said, “You Tarshmen are all alike. You can think of nothing else, but of how to cheat one who has done you a service.”

  Captain Maharbal laughed harshly. “You dare to throw that in my teeth? You, a pirate who preys upon the weak, a reaver who boasts of his sword arm and the hordes he’s sent to the Reaper of Slain Souls?”

  Auroch threw back his massive shoulders. “The men of Shamgar do no less than the men of Further Tarsh.”

  “Filth of the sea!” snarled Captain Maharbal. “You’ll regret those words.” He snatched his dagger.

  “Wait,” said Lord Uriah.

  Maharbal paused. The sailors around him shifted expectantly.

  Auroch sneered, “O brave Tarshman, strike before you count your numbers and find that you lack enough men to feel safe before me.”

  “Do not hide behind your weariness, and then spout lies,” Captain Maharbal said, although he lowered his arm. “And do not worry I’ll use my men against you. If you desire, I’ll give you your dagger. Then we can see who’s bold and who’s a coward.”

  “What lies do I spout?” Auroch asked, hotly. “You Tarshmen have sewn up the markets. City after city refuses to trade with Shamgar. And why? Because the merchant-princes have formed the high-sounding League of Peace that keeps out their competitors. Your warships sink any ship not belonging to the league. Thus, you feel free to charge outrageous prices. Do not call us pirates, O Prince of Thieves.”

  “Bah! You spout evil Shamgar cant, as is the wont of wrongdoers who are at last captured. You, who’ve gloried in your butcheries, now claim the absurdity of having really wished to pursue peaceful trade. In your boldness, you’ve forgotten your sense of shame.” Captain Maharbal nodded. “Indeed, it is as you say, rogue, our warships sink the ships of Shamgar. Thus we free the Suttung Sea from the plague of piracy.”

  “We’re forced into our piracy,” Auroch shot back, “otherwise, we would starve.” He folded his muscular arms across his chest. “Our god was right. He told us we must work together to rid the Suttung Sea of your evil League of Peace.”

  “Your god?” Lord Uriah said, for the second time interrupting. “What god is this?”

  “The great Gog,” Auroch said. “The god I foolishly fought against. The one who even now readies himself to punish those unbelievers like I myself once was.”

  “He’s no god,” Lord Uriah said.

  “So Lod declared. And so we captains who wished to keep our independence dared believe.” For the first time, Auroch’s eyes took on a haunted cast. “Tell me this, Warrior, who but a god can foretell the future? Who but a god commands giants and fiends? And, who but a god dares to make a pact with the legendary Nidhogg?” Auroch nodded at their surprised stares. “It’s true, or so claimed Gog’s heralds. Nidhogg is real, not a myth. Gog has made a pact with him. In the coming battles Nidhogg will fight as Gog’s ally. Only a god could do that.”

  “He’s no god,” Lord Uriah said. “He’s a First Born, corrupted by the blood of the bene elohim. True, he wields supernatural powers, but that doesn’t make him a god.”

  “You speak as Lod did,” Auroch said. “Lod is bold and fearless, and even I would hate to cross blades with him. But now I, and the captains who thought like me, have been driven out of our fortresses and into the swamps. Now, we make a last stand with our ships.” Auroch made a sharp gesture. “Gog uses spells to awaken the swamp against us. He wields dire powers.” Auroch shook his leonine head, and stared to the east. “Perhaps Gog has already smashed those he calls traitors, the ones I called comrades. Perhaps Gog even now sails after us, after me!” Auroch put his face in his hands. “I’m doomed,” he moaned. “Doomed to face the scourge of Gog’s Defenders. Doomed to end my days in the terrible dungeons beneath the Oracle.”

  “Bah!” Captain Maharbal growled, stepping closer. “You’re a fine actor.”

  Auroch lifted his handsome head. “I’ve done as Lod bid me to do. Now Gog has marked me, and I’m doomed.”

  “If you feel that way,” Lord Uriah said, “why did you sail here? Why didn’t you take Irad back to Shamgar and beg for mercy?”

  Auroch shook his head. “I couldn’t return Irad to Shamgar, although I debated it with myself. Irad the Arkite is lucky, I told myself. His luck will see us through. And by his luck, I will yet survive and escape the wicked kingdom of Gog. Who else but Irad has survived four weeks in Shamgar’s canals as bait for the giant rats?”

  Joash had watched, and listened to the pirate. This one had slain his brother many years ago. This one had sold him in Shamgar. Because of Auroch, Joash had become Balak’s slave. Now, Joash gave an inarticulate cry of rage.

  Herrek dropped a heavy hand on his shoulder. “I know who he is,” he said quietly. “I know what he did to you. For now, however, you must hold your anger and let Lord Uriah play his game.”

  Joash ground his teeth in hatred. He wanted to use his sword and run it through the pirate. At last, however, he nodded.

  Auroch had given him a cursory glance because of the shout, and then he went back to talking. “Who else but Irad has slain a brutal Oracle Defender with a mere dagger and escaped the city? Who else slew a Nebo tracker when delirious, and then backtracked without weapons through the swamps and past the horrible beasts there? I, who barely survived the same swamps when well armed and supplied, know the near impossibility of such a feat. Irad the Arkite is lucky, as well as bold. I, therefore, could not bring such
a one back to Gog and to his baleful necromancers. But, now I fear that I have done this deed in vain. Irad is dying.”

  “My sister will save him,” Lord Uriah said.

  Auroch nodded wearily, but he looked doubtful.

  Lord Uriah turned to Captain Maharbal. “I believe this man.”

  Captain Maharbal scowled. “He’s a pirate, a killer from Shamgar, a brutal murderer who has slain Elohim’s priests. You cannot trust such a man.”

  “Lod did,” Lord Uriah said quietly.

  “So this one says,” said Captain Maharbal. “How do we know he speaks the truth?”

  “By the fact that he brought us Irad,” Lord Uriah said. “By the fact that he carried Lod’s signet ring.”

  Zillith had carefully inspected the one who Auroch claimed was Irad. By his accouterments, and looks, she had declared that the man was an Arkite. By praying to Elohim, she had soon declared to receive His peace on the manner. The Arkite was who Auroch claimed him to be.

  “Maybe Auroch simply lost his way,” Captain Maharbal said. “Or, maybe he brought Irad here for Nidhogg to feast on. Frankly, I find his tale of Gog’s pact with Nidhogg suspect. No one living today has seen Nidhogg. I believe Nidhogg died of battle-wounds many centuries ago.”

  Lord Uriah gave Maharbal a weary smile. “I understand why the merchants of Further Tarsh hate the pirates of Shamgar, and why they hate Auroch above others. In this instance, however, I think you must put aside your hatred and view the facts as they are. This man has done us a great service. We must not hound him, nor must you take out your reasonable revenge on him. Instead, you must reward him for bringing us the one who will help us save the Earth.”

  “Reward Auroch?” Captain Maharbal asked, in amazement. His sailors murmured angrily.

  “No,” Lord Uriah said. “We must reward a man who risked his life to aid both Irad and Lod. You must not let your hatred of Shamgar, or of Auroch, blind you to the truth of the deed just done. Gog unleashes his powers. Despite the terror of Gog’s powers, many of the pirates have dared to stand against him. That took courage.”