Seven Princes

23

Dairon’s Spear sliced the open water. Vireon stood behind the great hawk fronting its prow, peering past the golden wings. The sixth morning broke clear and pristine over the purple sea, and Alua lay sleeping in the cabin. He inhaled the briny wind, tasted its salt on his tongue. Tapestries of blood and saffron hung along the horizon as the sky filled with daylight. The western horizon was flat and keen as a blade, while the eastern showed a thin line of coast, yellow and brown in the light of dawn.

Vireon had never ridden the sea before. It took no time at all for his feet to grow accustomed to the ship’s constant movement. He enjoyed the freedom of the waves, the ultimate rush of water toward mysterious sky. What lay beyond the endless western waters, across the unexplored realms of the Cryptic Sea? Perhaps continents and kingdoms undreamed of by Men or Giants… whole other worlds and civilizations. Or perhaps a vast wilderness ripe for the conquering… untapped reserves of game and alien creatures. For that matter, what strange lands lay beneath these ceaseless waves?

His mind fell into the green-black depths, and he thought of his father. Was Vod walking the bed of this very sea right now? Did he linger in some watery dungeon, chained there by the Queen of the Sea-Folk to fulfill her curse? Or did his body float among the fish and marine life that slowly picked his bones clean? Vod was likely dead. But like the rest of his people Vireon held on to the hope that his father would return from the sea eventually. Perhaps he did not truly believe it, but he kept it close to his heart anyway.

He had known Tadarus was dead the moment it happened. The bond with his brother had been forged inside their mother’s womb. That bond had carried them through twenty-five years of brotherhood and friendship. It was the core of their family, especially when their father grew older and began keeping to himself. At times Vireon still found himself wondering what Tadarus was doing, where he was at… then came the stabbing memory that he was dead. Vireon’s heart ached each time he remembered that Tadarus was forever gone.

Vireon’s thoughts inevitably fell toward Fangodrel and vengeance. No matter that he sprang from the same womb as Tadarus and Vireon. Even his mother had not wanted him. He was a freak, an abomination born of lust, torture, and cruelty. Fangodrel was the spawn of a "27itFansick society, and its taint had simmered in his blood like a disease. Until it consumed him. Somehow, he had remembered who he truly was and had murdered Tadarus. Somehow he had inherited the sorcery of his immortal grandmother. Vireon would kill him and the wicked bitch who ruled the jungle kingdom. Let her walls come crashing down as they had when Vod stormed her palace. Let her jungles go up in flames. Let her bones rot in the earth alongside those of the Kinslayer. When this was done, when the south was purged of its evil infection, Vireon would come north again and sit on the throne of Udurum. But not until then.

His thumb played upon the ruby-set pommel of the greatsword at his side. It had been made by his Uncle Fangodrim from Uduru steel and was nearly as long as Vireon was tall. A relic of Old Udurum, it bore the sigils and curling symbol-work of the old language. Sharper and more durable than any blade of iron, this was the blade that would take the life of Fangodrel. It was only fitting that he die by Udurum steel. No sorcery or summoned demons would save him. Vireon no longer saw the brilliant sun or the spectacular vista of the waves. He saw only the blood-red anger burning behind his eyes while the heat of the day beat upon his bronze shoulders.

The touch of a cool hand pulled him away from those invisible flames, and he turned to face Alua. The wind danced in her light hair, and her body was cool as the snow against his hot skin. He wrapped his arms around her. Along the length of the ship, crewmen crawled through the rigging, adjusting sails and plying the exact arts of their trade. At midship a mass of soldiers had come above decks for fresh air.

Five days now on the sea and they were all a bit restless. They brought horses up in pairs when the sea was very calm. The animals were not built for confinement on a sea vessel, even one as big as Dairon’s Spear. They were free spirits that needed to run and feel the green earth beneath them. Like Alua, his sweet snow blossom. He felt her restlessness too, in the nature of her touch and the softness of her voice.

Beyond the billowing triple sails, the lean hulls of the Cloud and Sharkstooth clove the waters behind and to either side. The standards of Uurz, Udurum, and Shar Dni flew from each of the ships. Vireon could just make out the tall figure of Tyro standing at the prow of the Cloud. He did not see Andoses over on the Sharkstooth; the Sharrian came and went, pacing the decks lower and upper. Of them all, Andoses was the most eager for war. It was the wish of his father he pursued. The livelihood of the Sharrian throne was at stake. Vireon sought vengeance; Tyro sought justice and perhaps glory; Andoses sought to secure the very future of the kingdom he would one day rule. As for young D’zan… the quiet boy wanted only to win back his throne. Andoses usually spoke on his behalf. And why not? The entire war, the alliance of kingdoms, was to the benefit of Shar Dni, which stood in the face of Khyrein brutality. As for Lyrilan the Scholar… Vireon liked the man, but did not understand him. He seemed interested only in writing everything down in that big book he carried. It reminded Vireon too much of Fangodrel and his obsession with verse. Yet jovial Lyrilan seemed nothing at all like the brooding Kinslayer.

Sharadza would understand Lyrilan, he thought. Where is my sister? When he had left Udurum, his mother was still worried for her. He had prayed to all four Gods that she return safely and soon. She should play no part in the bloody events to come. “When she returns, keep her safe in Udurum, ung n Uwer and up he told his mother. Shaira kissed his cheek and asked him not to worry.

Alua laid her head against his chest and looked across the sea. “So beautiful,” she said. “But I miss the woodlands.”

“So do I,” he said. He kissed the top of her head. His fox-woman, his sorceress. His strange and mysterious love. “But there are new lands to see. And after Mumbaza we will pass by the forests of the High Realms, which are deep and wild and full of hidden splendors.”

She smiled at him. “How much longer on these waves?”

“Another week at most.”

She leaned, quietly satisfied, into his arms.

He no longer asked her about her origins. She remembered nothing but the snowy wilderness, the wild summer hills, the flowing waters of Uduria… and the utter freedom of life without walls or rules. She did not recall her parents, or anything of her youth, did not even have a name until he gave her one. It seemed she had never been young at all, but always lived in ageless youth. Her companions were the foxes in the fields and sometimes the birds. She spoke their language but none other until Vireon had chased her and won her, and she had learned his tongue by sleeping next to him. What else might she be capable of? He had coaxed her to use her magical flame in the frozen mountain pass. She was learning to use it whenever necessary, as she had on the Khyreins who refused to die. She had no idea of the depths of her own powers. She only did what she needed to do, to protect herself and those she cared for… to invest life with those things she required for happiness and survival. He was learning to accept her for what she was, however baffling that might be, because he loved her above all other things. She was nature manifest in the body of a woman… as if created just for him, as no other woman ever could be. She was simply Alua, and he loved her.

When the war was done, he would marry her, and she would be Queen of Udurum. His mother would be happy. His first son would be named Vod, and his second Tadarus. He shook such thoughts from his head. In her presence, his mind often wandered to such domestic fantasies. Now he must concern himself with the war to come. His mind must be sharp and spotless, like the blade of his sword. Time enough later for the spoils of love. War did not allow for such tender things.

D’zan climbed up to join them on the foredeck. Lyrilan must still be below, scribbling in his book. D’zan greeted them with a raised arm; he still wore a bandage about his neck, but his wounds no longer bled. The poisoned daggers of his assailants had been tossed into the open sea. They were wicked and unsavory weapons. Let the ocean gnaw them slowly into sand.

“Shall we have another duel?” asked D’zan. Now that Tyro was separated from him on the other ship, he had turned to Vireon as his sparring partner. D’zan wielded his great broadsword with both hands, while Vireon used only a wooden pole, one-handed, to even the odds. D’zan fought with heart, but he had yet to avoid being disarmed by Vireon’s staff.

“Later,” said Vireon. “Breakfast first.”

The wind blew strong and cool across the forecastle, and a sailor’s song began on the rear decks. deem"

D’zan leaned against the rail. “I tire of these sea rations,” he said. “Can we not pull something fresh from the depths of the sea?”

“Perhaps a great whale?” Vireon smiled.

“Or better yet, a mermaid,” said D’zan.

They laughed, Alua with them.

Thunder rose from the water. The speeding ship must have struck a reef, or some underground barrier. Soldiers went flying across the middle and rear decks; barrels crashed against the rails; a horse panicked and fell on its flank. As the deck pitched terribly upward, Vireon grabbed the railing with one hand, his other arm tight about Alua’s waist. D’zan fell but managed to grab hold of Vireon’s lower leg. He held on to it like a child as the deck rocked back and forth violently. The Cloud and Sharkstooth came up alongside the Spear, overtaking her. From their decks, the soldiers and sailors were shouting, pointing to the water at the Spear ’s keel, screaming with terror in their eyes. In the mass of confusion aboard the Cloud, Tyro shouted orders at someone.

Now the Cloud and Sharkstooth raced ahead. A sound like the moaning of the earth itself bubbled up from the deeps, and a massive serpentine head rose above the prow. The sea-beast’s skull was triangular, finned with bat-like flaps of translucent membrane, and vast enough to swallow a whale. Its great black orbs were focused on the forecastle of Dairon’s Spear with a hideous intelligence. A deluge of sea-murk spewed from between its great fangs, which were white as ivory. Men screamed and called upon the Gods for help as the demonic head rose higher above the decks.

A fresh round of shrieks came now as the leviathan’s spiked tail rose from the sea and curled about the ship’s middle. It slid through a crowd of men with the speed of a hurricane, spearing bodies before it dove back into the water on the other side. Again it rose, and again, as more and more of its tremendous coils came rushing from the sea, encircling the galleon like rope about a toy ship. It smashed the yardarms to kindling, tore through the sails and rigging like paper. Two of the three masts broke beneath the beast’s scaly mass, splintering and thundering. Its bulk was thicker than an Uduru was tall, and its scales were black emeralds gleaming with the muck of the deep sea beds. Tiny coral colonies grew along its fishy spine. It squeezed the great ship the way a constrictor squeezes a rat before swallowing it whole.

Men died beneath toppling masts, or were crushed by the scaled hide of the monster. Some even died from fear looking upon the monolithic devil. It was like a Serpent from the tales of old, but legless and of far greater weight and mass. Long enough to wrap itself several times about Dairon’s Spear.

In the prow, watching the devastation of the ship’s middle, Vireon held the rail with one hand and with the other unsheathed his great Uduru blade. Alua and D’zan hugged the rail with both arms. They could do nothing but hold on for their lives as the ship broke in two, prow and stern rising toward the sky in opposite directions.

The hull burst, spilling terrified horses and men into the ocean. Some who clung to the decks sank spears into the scaled gargantuan, but it did not st it="0em" eem to notice. What it did notice, peering and scanning with those great black eyes, slitted nostrils flaring, was D’zan. Its breath was a wind reeking of rotted sea matter. A crimson tongue darted out like a tentacle, thick as Vireon’s waist. It slapped D’zan, who screamed and clung helplessly to the railing; the forked tongue wound about his body as the leviathan’s coils had wound about the galleon. D’zan cried out, but his words were lost.

“Hold on!” Vireon yelled to Alua.

With one hand steady on the railing, he raised the sword in his other hand and sliced through the tongue as it lifted D’zan into the air. The Yaskathan Prince fell toward the swirling chaos below. There was no midship now, only the wreck of the triangular prow and square-shaped stern floating and sinking, heavy with clinging men.

The Serpent’s head, squirting black ichor from its severed tongue, rushed past Vireon and Alua on the rail, racing toward D’zan as he fell into the floating wreckage and the deep water. Vireon did not think; he seized an advantage. The beast had ignored him in its quest to devour D’zan. His legs launched him away from the rail, out past the flaring neck-fins. For a moment, he flew downward like a hawk, falling through the air near to the Serpent’s rushing neck. Then he slid along the scales of its skull on his backside, toward the jutting ridge of its forehead. A half-second before he reached the slimy snout, he took his sword in both fists and drove it home with all his strength.

The skull-bone cracked and split beneath him. The sword sank into something at once spongy and sinewy. He hung on to the embedded blade, riding the pierced skull like a great bull into the littered sea. Now the blue depths rose about him on all sides. He saw men swimming for the surface, D’zan among them. Floating barrels and casks rose quicker than men, while soldiers sank with pieces of mast stuck in their bellies, others tangled in the mutilated rigging and sails. Horses sank into the black depths, or twisted and writhed toward the air above.

Vireon twisted his blade inside the creature’s brain, driving it deeper and ripping the skull wider. The beast thrashed, sending men and wreckage flying from its coils. Its great head came bursting out of the water, black blood gushing, and Vireon came with it. Men on the two undamaged ships stared, hundreds of eyes looking right at him for a moment – a bit of frozen time – then the head slammed back into the sea, carrying Vireon down again. He hung on, holding his breath, digging deeper into colossal flesh. Once more the Serpent’s head came up, spewing a final roar of torment, vomiting black fluid from its snapping jaws.

The third time it went under, Vireon pulled free his sword and broke away from the skull. The orb eyes were glazed and mindless now. The bulk of its coils spread throughout the undersea, twitching and floating slowly toward the surface. He swam into a cloud of the black ichor and could see no more. But he was sure the leviathan was dead.

He burst from the water, gasping foul air into his lungs, wiping the gore from his eyes. He floated among the winding coils that stretched at least a half-league across the waves. The debris of what had once been a mighty ship drifted all about him. Horses swam past, making terrible sounds. Men wailed too, the wounded clinging to flotsam, casks, chunks of mast, each other.

“Alua!” he callea! him. Hod. His head swiveled to survey the remains of the Spear. “Alua!”

She burst from the water not far away, swimming quick as an eel toward him. She wrapped slim arms about his neck and checked him for wounds. He assured her he was fine.

The massive Serpent head finally bobbed up to the surface. Its slitted eyes were gray and lifeless. Everyone on the two surviving ships, and those who clung to life in the water, could see now that he had killed it.

“Vireon!” came the cry from the Sharkstooth. Then the mass of soldiers on the Cloud took up that cry. “Vireon! Vireon!” As they lowered nets and ropes, scooping survivors out of the brine, the crews and warriors of the two ships yelled Vireon’s name.

He looked about for D’zan and saw the boy climbing up a rope on the side of the Cloud ’s hull. But what of the scholar Lyrilan? He was in a central cabin when the beast came; most likely he had gone down with most of the ship’s crew.

But no… There he was, clinging to a barrel, his face pale and desperate. As a rope ladder fell into Vireon’s hands from the Cloud ’s railing, he yelled up at Tyro, who was scanning the wreckage.

“Your brother!” called Vireon. He pointed to hapless Lyrilan floating among the wreckage. Other men drifted around him, and a few horses.

Tyro yelled to Lyrilan, and the scholar waved his arm. His hand was red, bloodied, but he seemed intact. As Vireon followed Alua up the rope ladder and stepped onto the Cloud ’s deck, he saw D’zan among the cheering sailors, bellowing as loudly as anyone.

“Vireon! Vireon! Vireon!” they cried.

He took Alua in his arms and the men patted his back, greeting him with smiles and handshakes. Some touched his shoulder or elbow, so they could later say they had done so.

“Save them,” Vireon panted. He looked over the rail at the corpse of the monster and the spreading wreckage of the flagship. “Save as many as you can. The horses too…”

Both ships pulled men from the ocean first, and by then most of the surviving horses had tired and drowned. The few who were reached in time had to be coaxed into nets, and they were lifted aboard by a crew of ten men. Vireon lifted nine such horses by himself, one at a time, each one drawing a fresh round of cheers. He waved away the acclaim. Now was no time for such things. Fearing that the dead Serpent might rise up and menace them again, like the dead Khyreins had in Murala, the crews poured buckets of pitch onto the floating carcass. Alua then set it alight with a white flame dropped like a flower petal from her fingertips. The smell of the beast’s cremation was a gut-wrenching foulness, yet the reek was reassuring. Better the smoke of its burning flesh than the wrath of its second life.

Lastly, they hauled aboard the floating barrels of fresh water and any unbroken crates of provisions and horse grains. Of the two hundred and twenty men aboard Dairon’s Spear, only eighty-five survived, plus the three Princes and Alua. Of the two hundred horses, only twenty-three were saved. Most of the rations and water were recoveredwerns. Of, but the two ships were desperately crowded now. By men, if not horses.

During the last hours of the salvage, done in the calm light of a half-moon, D’zan and Lyrilan came to the railing of the Cloud and stood near Vireon.

D’zan took his arm and met his eyes, a mixture of seawater and tears staining his cheeks. “Thank you, Vireon,” he said. “I can never repay what you’ve done for me this day. You knew that thing had come for me, yet you-”

“I did what had to be done,” said Vireon. He patted the boy’s shoulder. “Repay me with your allegiance when you take back your stolen throne.”

“I will,” said D’zan, and Vireon knew he meant it.

Lyrilan stared over the middle rail at the spars and shards of wreckage, spread now far and wide across the sea. White flames danced along the coils of the Serpent’s corpse, devouring its flesh even below the waterline. The ships had begun moving away from the blazing carcass.

Lyrilan sighed and stared at the black waters. “My book,” he whispered. “My quills… my ink… all gone.”

The scholar mourned the loss of these things more than all those who had died. Vireon would never understand such men. The face of Lyrilan was pale and drained of hope. A red bandage wrapped his right hand.

D’zan seemed to understand the scholar’s mood better. He clapped Lyrilan on the back, and his hand lingered there.

“These are only things,” he told the scholar. “You are alive, Lyrilan. Think of those who are not.”

Lyrilan nodded, pulling back a mass of oily curls from his face. “Yes,” he said. He looked at Vireon. His eyes glittered with moonlight. “There is only one thing to do.”

“What is that?” asked Vireon.

“Start over,” said the scholar.

Vireon looked at D’zan, who shrugged.

“The Mumbazans make a fine parchment,” said Lyrilan, turning toward his new cabin. “There must be a single chapter all about today. ‘Vireon and the Sea Monster’…” His voice trailed away as he lost himself among the men filling the crowded deck.

“Is the Prince all right?” Vireon asked D’zan.

“He will be,” said D’zan. “As will we all, once we get off this damned ocean.” The Yaskathan walked away, his head hanging low. More men had died for him today. More would die in the days to come. The bloody mantle of war would not hang easy on his young shoulders.

Vireon watched the smoking remains of the leviathan fade into the night as the ships drew southward.

“What was it?” Alua asked, stroking his chest with her cool fingers.

“Something from the deep,” he said. “Some ancient coomewith her cusin of the Serpents my ancestors killed. But a thing of water, not fire.”

“I felt its thoughts,” she told him, looking into his eyes. “They were the thoughts of a man, not a beast.”

“What did these man-thoughts say?” asked Vireon.

“ The Heir, find the Heir, it thought. Swallow the Heir, chew his bones. And when it saw D’zan, it knew he was the one.”

The tyrant, thought Vireon. Not the Sea Queen, but the Usurper of Yaskatha. The northern ships sailed into the reach of Elhathym’s power. He had commanded this devil of the Old World. Made it rise from the depths and kill all those men in the hope of killing just one. He would never stop until D’zan’s threat to his rule was removed.

Elhathym and all his walking dead, ancient devils, and terrible sorcery.

So be it. Elhathym must die.

Before or after the Kinslayer, it made no difference.

Fangodrel, Elhathym, Ianthe… There was much killing to do.

Vireon had left winter sleeping in the frozen north.

This was the hot, southern Season of Blood.

It flared now in his chest like the flame from Alua’s palm.