The Shattered Trident, page 23
part #4 of The Endarian Prophecy Series
Carol spread her arms wide, unleashing an apocalypse such as Kim could not have imagined. Fireballs crackled through the air as lightning, wind, and hail the size of melons pummeled the new swarm. The deck and hull of the Saimniece and the Milakais distorted. Thousands of needle-tipped pikes sprouted from the wood, forming protective barriers around the small groups of survivors. But those magical spears did not remain motionless. Like the spines on the back and tail of the porcupine, these thrust themselves into the monsters that had survived the journey through the supernatural cataclysm to reach the ships, directed by Carol’s borrowed visions of the moves the sea monsters would make. Three of these beings dived at Kim, only to impale themselves upon the living pikes.
Kim became aware of several wakes streaming out and away from the ships. It became clear to her that whatever sea monsters still survived had determined that their chance of victory had vanished and their survival now depended upon retreat.
It had been years since Kim had heard her brother’s laugh, but as the monstrous screeching of the horse-heads died away, Galad’s hearty guffaws turned her head toward him. The Endarian prince stood tall amidst a forest of wooden spears, his sword lowered, laughing, the time-mists around the two battered and misshapen sea vessels dissipating.
But since she had knelt by John’s corpse inside the Endarian palace, no mirth or relief could find purchase in her soul. Kim merely hung her head and wept.
26
Zvejys Fishing Village of Klampyne, Whale’s Mouth Bay, Continent of Sadamad
YOR 415, Mid-Summer
Kragan stood at the end of the pier, watching as the distant storm clouds parted to reveal a sky of royal blue. Even the time-mists that had blocked his view of the two Endarian galleons dissolved. The quantity of magic he had felt Carol unleash had put a tremor in his hands that he had failed to still. Despite the inner voice that told him that she must have exhausted herself in the destruction of his resurrected swarm of sea-dragons, he dared not confront her. Not now, without Kaleal’s might to augment his. Not until he had acquired more fragments of Landrel’s Trident.
Kragan noticed that he had been rubbing the scar of his missing right ear and lowered his hand, a scowl curling his lips. Turning away, he walked back toward the shore, where his company of guardsmen awaited him.
Then Kragan led his company of warriors through the deserted streets of the dead village and out into the marshes. It was time to make the long journey north to the seaport city-state of Vurtsid to retrieve another fragment of Landrel’s Trident.
Arn’s visions dissolved, although his reentry into reality left him wondering whether he was still living inside a dream. The sky was brilliant blue, the time-mists were gone, and the twin ships had sprouted spiny branches that held the impaled bodies of the sea monsters. Even the stiff breeze and the sea spray failed to drive the cloying stench from the remains of the dead.
Beside him Carol lowered her outstretched arms and, as she did so, the spikes that had grown from the hulls and decks of the twin galleons retracted, depositing the bodies of the creatures on the upper decks. Arn took a single step forward and turned to survey the scene, not bothering to brush at the goop that covered him from head to heel. From where he stood, he had a clear view of both ships. Whereas the original crews from both galleons plus the company that had accompanied Carol and Alan aboard had numbered 107, Arn now saw fewer than half that number, although some additional crewmen might have survived belowdecks.
Of Carol’s party, only Carol, Arn, Alan, Kim, Galad, Katrin, Bill, Quincy, and perhaps three dozen more of Alan’s Forsworn remained standing. The torn body of Captain Kumstelis lay where it had fallen from atop the aftcastle onto the main deck. The Saimniece slumped low in the water, threatening to overturn the battered but seaworthy Milakais should the Saimniece succumb to the call of the depths. It was time to gather the survivors aboard the vessel’s sister and scuttle the Saimniece. But before he joined the others, Arn had one more task to accomplish.
“Gather everyone aboard the Milakais and prepare to cut the Saimniece free,” Carol called to Alan. She gestured toward the spot where Charna lay pinned beneath the bulk of a dead horse-head. “And take the she-vorg with us.”
“I will be along shortly,” said Arn.
Seeing a frown of concern furrow Carol’s brow, he placed a gentle hand on her forearm. “Trust me.”
Then he walked to the hatch, scraped the bottoms of his boots on the second rung, and climbed into the semidarkness below.
“Trust me.”
Arn’s tone, the intense blaze in his eyes, and the tension in the muscles of his lower jaw placed a doubt in Carol that those two words could not counteract. She watched Arn disappear through the hatch into the ship’s interior, her heart catching in her throat. Knowing that what she was about to do was a violation, Carol shoved aside her revulsion and did it anyway.
With a subtlety that she had mastered through long hours of practice, she touched Arn’s mind. Not at a conscious level, which would have made him aware of her presence, but with a technique that let her access his senses and feel his emotions.
She felt his boots slip off the bottom rung to land with a thump on the decking in the ship’s berth deck. The sunlight filtered in from above to cast shadows that moved with the motion of the wounded ship. Arn surveyed his surroundings, studying the corpses of dead horse-heads and the remnants of the hammocks they had destroyed as they plunged down from the upper deck. Aside from the creak of the wood and a sloshing sound from the closed hatch that led down to the ship’s hold, silence reigned.
Arn’s gaze settled upon the spot where Slaken had stuck in the deck’s planking. Carol sensed the way the black haft called to her husband, felt his need for the weapon that would shield him from the vision-storm that threatened his sanity. When his fingers curled around the knife’s handle, Carol’s connection to her husband’s mind winked out.
The sense of loss that accompanied the sudden separation leached a chill into Carol’s breast. Holding back the tears that tried to breach her resolve, she set her jaw and magically cleared a path through the gore that covered the Saimniece’s upper deck. Then she strode to the hatch that led into the aftcastle. She walked into the great cabin, plucked the Scroll of Landrel from its place on the shelf, then returned to the cabin she and Arn had shared.
Arn met her at the door, Slaken in its sheath at his side.
When he enfolded her in his arms, she returned his embrace and kissed him. Despite the filth that covered them, it felt almost as it had each time in the past. Almost, but not quite. Carol felt the black knife’s handle press against her, as if it were trying to push her away.
They entered the cabin, gathered their two bags of belongings, and carried them onto the Milakais, where they met Captain Tekelas, her blue eyepatch covering the socket that was missing the eye she had long ago lost to a fishing hook. As soon as they were across the gangplank and safely aboard, she signaled for three of her surviving sailors to cut the Saimniece free and shove off. Carol summoned a water elemental, altering the currents to propel the dying ship to a safe distance away. Then she snapped the Saimniece’s keel, breaking the ship in half.
For several moments Carol, Arn, and the other survivors of the sea battle watched as the once-proud vessel sank beneath the surface and disappeared into the depths.
“Captain,” Carol said, turning to face the Endarian, “take us into the bay. I need to go ashore.”
The captain yelled, sending a handful of sailors scurrying up into the rigging to unfurl the sails. As the ship tacked into the bay, Carol led Arn, her two siblings, Galad, and four of Alan’s Forsworn up onto the forecastle of the Milakais to stand at the ship’s prow. Two more of her brother’s followers ushered Charna forward, the she-vorg’s wrists and ankles in chains.
Despite having survived what Carol knew had been Kragan’s best shot, Carol took no chances, standing ready to shield the craft from magical attacks.
Arn turned his attention to Charna. “Where is Kragan now?”
“Ah, my protector,” the she-vorg crooned. “It must make you feel good to have saved my life?”
Carol saw Arn’s eyes narrow.
“I can change that at any moment,” he said. “Where is Kragan?”
Charna, a smile curling her lips, lifted her manacled arms to point north, toward the mouth of the bay. “He has been moving away from us for some time. You are far too late to catch him.”
Carol detected no deception in Charna. The she-vorg believed everything she said.
Lensing the air, Carol brought the distant shore into focus. The houses of a good-size village stretched out along the shore, with narrow streets stretching inland. Dozens of fishing boats were docked along a lengthy pier that stretched out over the water. Odd piles of rubbish lay along the docks and on the pier, but she was too far away to make them out.
What stood out most starkly was the lack of any movement within the town. It appeared bereft of life. Had Kragan held the villagers hostage prior to taking flight? That would just slow the wielder down.
Carol wondered what form Kragan had now taken. Without Charna they would have little hope of finding him. Charna’s eyes said she was counting on that advantage to keep her alive until an opportunity for escape presented itself.
Off the port side of the ship, the sun sank lower in the west, partially masked by billowing thunderheads on the horizon. The Milakais should just make port before sunset. And if the harbor was deep enough, they would anchor a short distance from the fishing village docks.
Once again she looked around the ship, making a rough count of the survivors. Roughly twoscore of her original party, Charna, Captain Tekelas, and seventeen sailors. Seeing Kim leaning against the rail, her head bowed, her brunette hair draping her face, Carol moved over to put her arm around her sister.
Kim stared off into the distance, her eyes unfocused, feeling as stiff as if she had been carved from ice. Carol’s sense of her half sister’s loss shamed her, making Carol’s worries about Arn seem pitiful in comparison. Kim pulled away, wiping her tear-streaked face with both hands as she turned.
The princess glanced at Galad, who stood looking out over the bowsprit at the distant village, his matted waist-length hair swirling around his shoulders in the wind. With that look, Carol felt her sister gather her strength, her face slipping into a mask as stoic as that of the Endarian prince.
Carol’s thoughts turned to her responsibilities to her people, and not just the ones she had led upon this daunting quest. The company had known the risks involved and had all volunteered. But she sometimes felt that she had abandoned the people of Areana’s Vale and the remainder of Rafel’s legion. Her decision to appoint Hanibal as steward and place him in charge while she was gone had angered Alan. She had even had second thoughts about that choice. But Hanibal had been the best commander left alive after the battle, and the legion respected Battle Master Gaar’s son.
With the sun sinking below the western horizon, bathing the fishing village in orange, Carol found her attention pulled to the lakeside hamlet the Milakais was approaching. Rather than being desolate, the quaint village glowed with a warm color. She found the eerily welcoming scene disconcerting.
Perhaps her interpretation of the sight was affected by the knowledge that, despite their losses, they had beaten Kragan once again. Her attention was drawn to the scroll in her right hand, and she noticed that it had also picked up that sunset glow. As she hefted the twin dowels around which the parchment was wrapped, she had the strange impression that, despite all that Arn had already learned from this document, more of Landrel’s secrets remained hidden within.
Carol felt Arn slip his hand into hers. Whatever their individual traumas, tonight she would sleep with this man in that empty village, thankful for whatever brief respite might await them.
She squeezed Arn’s hand, feeling the strength and determination in his gentle response. With the salt breeze in her face, she could almost ignore the blood and gore that coated their bodies. Yes, there was good reason for the empty village they were approaching to welcome their arrival. There they would rest, recover, and reorganize for their continuing mission. In the days to come, this little town would launch Carol, Arn, and company to find Kragan and end his reign of terror, forever.
If need be, they would chase him to the end of the world.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I want to express my deepest thanks to my lovely wife, Carol, without whose support and loving encouragement this project would never have happened.
I also want to thank Alan and John Ty Werner for the many long evenings spent in my company, brainstorming the history of this world, its many characters, and the story yet to be told.
Many thanks to my wonderful editor, Clarence Haynes, for once again helping me to refine my story.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Richard Phillips was born in Roswell, New Mexico, in 1956. He graduated from the United States Military Academy at West Point in 1979 and qualified as a US Army Ranger, going on to serve as an officer in the army. He earned a master’s degree in physics from the Naval Postgraduate School in 1989, completing his thesis work at Los Alamos National Laboratory. After working as a research associate at Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory, he returned to the army to complete his tour of duty.
Richard is the author of several science-fiction and fantasy series, including The Rho Agenda (The Second Ship, Immune, and Wormhole); The Rho Agenda Inception (Once Dead, Dead Wrong, and Dead Shift); The Rho Agenda Assimilation (The Kasari Nexus, The Altreian Enigma, and The Meridian Ascent); and Mark of Fire, Prophecy’s Daughter, and Curse of the Chosen in the epic Endarian Prophecy series. Richard lives with his wife, Carol, in Phoenix, Arizona. For more information, visit rhoagenda.me.
Richard Phillips, The Shattered Trident
