Siege of Stone

CHAPTER 60

Fighting stormy seas, the Norukai fleet sailed south from the jagged islands, heading to the wide mouth of the estuary where the Killraven River spilled into the ocean.

Fifty sturdy serpent ships, blessed by the blood of Yorik and the grace of the serpent god, pushed across the open water, their dark blue sails stretched tight by guiding winds. Whenever the breezes faltered, King Grieve would sound the drums, and his warriors extended the lines of oars to row the ships onward.

Grieve had always been a restless man. Sitting on his blocky throne left him impatient, so he tended to leave the Bastion walls and roam the island, hunting by himself or taking a small boat to one of the nearby islands. His people needed to see him, and they needed to fear him.

Wanting to fight, he would provoke clan leaders, yell at them, open his scarred mouth wide as if to bite their faces off. He insulted them, shamed them until they retaliated. Occasionally, some hotheaded fool got angry enough to challenge him for the rule of the Norukai, and those reluctant challengers always died. Grieve selected them carefully.

Now, the Norukai islands were half empty, since the bravest were with him aboard the serpent ships in his giant navy, while others had gone off in separate fleets with the disgraced Kor or Lars. Those others were misfits and lackluster warriors, mostly drunkards, those with exorbitant gambling debts, or cuckolds who couldn’t face their fellow warriors without shame. King Grieve knew they would fight with wild abandon, but he was interested in blood and glory for himself. Ildakar was a legendary city with countless wizards and ancient defenses that had held for centuries, but no mere city could stand against a Norukai invasion.

He stood behind the serpent carving that roared from the prow of his ship. When he grew bored of staring at the waves and the spray, he stalked back along the deck. His shaman pranced alongside him, unable to contain his energy. “Sailing, sailing, sailing!” Chalk said. “We are sailing, and soon we will kill. I’ve seen it. We will kill! Ildakar will be gone! My Grieve, King Grieve! They’ll all grieve.”

“Yes, I’m your Grieve, and our enemies will grieve.”

“We’ll kill soon, I’ve seen it.” The albino grinned with glee.

Grieve knew they were still far from the estuary. “What will we kill?” On the open sea they wouldn’t find any ships, nor would they bother to attack small coastal towns, like Renda Bay. Not this time.

“Don’t know, my Grieve.” Chalk looked away as if he had failed his king. He stared into the sun without blinking, gazing for so long that Grieve thought he might go blind. He knocked the gangly shaman aside. Chalk rubbed his eyes. Back at the Bastion, he would stare at the flames in the large hearth and sort out his visions. Now without a convenient fire, he seemed to seek premonitions in the sun itself.

With a brisk wind, the water was rough and choppy. Even though Chalk had sailed with him from island to island, this was the longest ocean voyage the pale man had endured. For the first three days, Chalk was abominably sick, clutching his stomach with one hand and holding on to the rail with the other as he retched over the side, convinced that the serpent god had cursed him, that somehow Yorik’s sacrifice hadn’t been sufficient. In his misery, he threatened to throw himself overboard, but Grieve held him back.

“It is not the serpent god. It’s just sickness from the sea. You know that others get it.” Even brave Norukai with painfully scarred faces, warriors eager to bloody their hands and weapons on raids, could be struck with seasickness, for which they were mocked by the other Norukai.

Two raiders had snickered and insulted Chalk on this voyage, and King Grieve clubbed one of the men to death while he was guffawing. With the man’s head leaking brains like a broken cliff gourd, Grieve heaved him over the side of the ship.

The second mocking man fell to his knees and bowed. “Forgiveness, King Grieve! Let me die in battle.”

Grieve turned to Chalk. “It is your decision. Should he die?”

Utterly miserable, the shaman had shaken his head and staggered to the side of the boat, where he vomited again. Grieve made sure he drank enough water to keep himself alive. Finally, after three choppy days, the seas calmed and Chalk’s queasiness retreated. Now that he was over the worst of it, the shaman was again full of energy, eager to see the coast, the river, and Ildakar.

As they sailed, the serpent ships dragged nets to catch fresh fish to eat. The food was considered an offering from the serpent god and far better than the preserved and salted stores. For himself, King Grieve had brought along the last of the yaxen meat from Ildakar, which he refused to share.

The raiding fleet sailed through gray waters. Chalk darted to the side of the ship, tugging on Grieve’s muscular arm. “I’ve seen it. You’ll see it, too! Look.” He pointed, but Grieve couldn’t see anything on the waves. “Killing!”

Hearing the excited jabber, other Norukai strode to the side of the vessel. A shout came from one of the adjacent serpent ships, and Grieve shaded his eyes. “There!” Chalk said. “I told you we will kill soon. Look!”

“Selka.” The Norukai warrior beside him growled in his throat. “Look on the waves, my king.”

Now Grieve did see bobbing figures, slick gray shapes swimming there, but they were not human. Grieve ground his molars together, felt his jaw muscles strain. “Selka…” He said the word as if spitting poison. “Why doesn’t the serpent god just devour them all and rid the seas of their stain?”

He felt a blood fire in his gut. The selka were an undersea race of vicious monsters that might once have been human long ago. They swam together and served their cruel selka queen. The creatures attacked ships they considered trespassers. They would swarm up the hulls or tear holes below the waterline. The selka had iron-hard claws and rows of daggerlike teeth.

Despite their fearsome appearance, though, they could be killed. Grieve knew that for a fact, because he had killed many himself. Often the selka would overwhelm a Norukai ship with their numbers, and then leave the vessels adrift after murdering everyone aboard. Sometimes the wrecks were found on the open sea, the dark blue sails shredded, the masts broken, claw marks, slime, and blood all over the decks. Grieve hated the selka.

A succession of shouts rang out from the serpent ships. The Norukai gathered spears, axes, and harpoons, preparing for an attack from the water. They called out to the selka, taunting them, daring the creatures to come closer.

“Too many,” Chalk said, shaking his head. “Too many.”

“We will fight them,” Grieve said. “I don’t care how many there are.”

“No, no, my Grieve. Too many of us. The selka are afraid. Too many! The Norukai would kill them all. They won’t attack.”

“Then they are wise,” Grieve said, disappointed. He saw at least a hundred selka, but he had thousands of Norukai warriors. The creatures kept their distance, and Grieve glowered, challenging them.

One figure bobbed in front of the rest, brightly colored and vicious. He thought it was the selka queen. If so, he wanted to jam his fist in her mouth and break through her skull. He grinned at the thought.

From the stern of the ship, when the Norukai pulled the knotted ropes and raised the trolling nets to see what fish they had caught, the men shouted in surprise and triumph.

Chalk bounced up and down. “Told you, told you! Now we kill.”

A selka was caught in the net. It had tried to slip in among the serpent ships for a treacherous attack, looking for a way to damage their hulls. How many others might be unseen below the surface? The entangled selka writhed and clawed at the net, almost breaking free, but the Norukai pummeled it with their clubs and axes.

“Don’t kill it!” Grieve yelled. “Not yet.”

The battered creature had large slitted eyes and a wide fishlike mouth that seemed a mockery of how Norukai scarred their mouths to look more like the serpent god, but Grieve knew these selka were no children of the serpent god.

Even cut, bruised, and bleeding, the selka snapped its jaws and slashed at them with its claws. Grieve strode forward, not fearing the thing. He balled his fist and punched the selka full in the face. The impact of his iron-reinforced knuckles made a squelching sound accompanied by a crunch of facial bones. The selka spewed blood from its flattened nostrils, leaking slime and saliva from its slack mouth.

Grieve said, “Tie a rope around its ankles and take it to the mainmast.” He secured the thick chain-link belt around his own waist.

The Norukai dragged the stunned creature across the deck, leaving a trail of slime and blood as if a slug had curled its way across the boards. Grieve stood beside the tall mast. Gazing out at the water, he saw that more selka had gathered just beyond the reach of the serpent ships. Grieve could sense their anger, but the selka spy and saboteur was a prisoner of war. They had sent it here to attack, and he would treat it accordingly.

One of the Norukai climbed the mast with the other end of the rope, which he threw over the yardarm. Grieve seized the dangling end and pulled hand over hand, hoisting the captive selka up off the deck so that it swung head down. The rope remained tight around the creature’s ankles, lashing its webbed feet together. As it hung high above the deck, the captive selka hissed and stirred, swaying like bait on a fisherman’s hook.

Grieve tied off the rope on a deck stanchion. The inverted selka struggled but could find no purchase in the air. It bent its back, trying to reach the rope at its ankles, but to no avail.

Grieve bellowed out to the open water. “Selka queen! We have one of yours. Watch what we will do to all of you!” The big king climbed the mast, hand over hand, holding on to a rigging rope until he reached the yardarm from which the selka hung. The captive swung and clawed at the air, unable to reach Grieve.

From his high position, the king bellowed, “Watch, selka queen!” He pulled out his knife, whose hilt was carved from a sea-serpent skeleton that had washed ashore on one of the Norukai islands. With one hand, Grieve pulled the flailing creature close. With his other hand, as he balanced precariously on the yardarm, Grieve drew the razor edge across the selka’s throat. The creature gaped and snapped with its jaws, but now its neck yawned open like a wide red gill slit. The selka shuddered as its blood sprayed out.

Below, Chalk bounded along on the deck, raising his pale hands to receive the spattering of red rain. Other Norukai joined the shaman, turning their scarred faces upward and letting selka blood fall on them.

From up on the mast, the king could see the gathered selka on the water, angry and vengeful, but wise enough not to attack the Norukai raiding force.

When the body was drained, Grieve cut the rope and let the selka fall to the deck, where it lay cracked and broken. He worked his way down and jumped the last five feet to the boards. He bent over the selka body and used his big knife to hack off the creature’s hideous head. It was slimy, covered with blood, its slitted eyes dull, but still open. Grieve decided to mount it on a spike behind the carved serpent head on the prow.

“I will keep this for my collection, but take the body. Keep the rope tied around its feet and drop it over the side. Drag it behind our ship so the selka can smell the blood in the water.” He chuckled. “Maybe they will learn their lesson.” He doubted it, though.

The Norukai cast the headless selka body overboard, and it drifted in their wake.

Less than an hour later, the rope tugged hard, and King Grieve wasn’t surprised when his crew pulled the rope back in to find the body gone, the rope gnawed through by sharp teeth.