Leviathan (Lost Civilizations: 2) (5 page)

Adah blinked several times, then glanced at Lord Uriah, and said, “I’m sorry I lost control.”

“You’ve braved more than anyone else I know,” Lord Uriah said. “That you’re still able to fight against the corrupted ones is a tribute to your courage, to your inner reserves. Do not be sorry because you’re human and can still be terrified.”

She nodded and gave Joash a strange look. A tiny smile curved her lips.

“I meant what I said,” Joash whispered, so only she could hear.

She took hold of his hands, but said to Lord Uriah, “During my last days in Poseidonis we knew Yorgash by a new name: The High Slith Sorcerer.” She paled but forced herself to speak. “Yorgash’s pets roved the skies as he practiced his abominable spells. We’re doomed, my lord, if Yorgash has personally joined with Tarag.”

“No, not yet,” Lord Uriah said.

***

Joash had finished stitching his shirt, and mending his sandals. Now, he alternated between studying the high-flying slith, and watching Gens transform an ordinary piece of driftwood into a work of art. Adah spoke with Zillith. On the Captain’s Deck, Maharbal gave swift orders. Sails were hoisted, and the heavily laden ship headed out to sea.

The
Tiras
overflowed with people. Below deck swung hammocks. Above deck lay mats, and in the cabin, the highest-ranked slept. Joash had been amazed how the tents, kettles and chariots, broken apart into axles, wheels and leather portions of cab, had all been stowed into each crevice and cranny of the ship. At first, it hadn’t looked like it could all fit, but the sailors were wizards at their craft. Above deck were now many leather-covered piles, giving shade from a blazing sun.

The slith still soared in a circle, using the
Tiras
as its locus.

Herrek walked away from where he watched the steppes, and sat down beside Joash. With a sigh, the warrior leaned against a leather-covered pile.

Gens whittled away.

“On to Gandvik Rock,” Herrek said, wistfully.

Gens didn’t pause. His fingers maneuvered the blade, chipping a thin slice of wood here, carving out another there. A rearing stallion, on the broad face of the wood, lashed out with its front hooves at a sabertooth.

Herrek scowled at the slith, and then stared at his hands. They were big, callused and strong.

Gens stopped whittling, and straightened his back. “You need something to do,” he said.

“My hands are not as skilled as yours,” Herrek said.

“I don’t mean that you whittle.”

“What then?” Herrek asked.

Gens chewed over his words, as if searching for the right combination. “I love horses,” he said. “My mind overflows with them.” He grinned. “I even find horses in driftwood.”

“Do you mean—”

Gens held up his stick, stopping Herrek’s coming tirade about abandoning the stallions. “You’re a warrior,” he said.

“Yes,” Herrek said, frowning, trying to understand.

“Did you not give a promise in a cave to a certain groom?”

Herrek glanced at Joash. Joash smiled. “I see,” Herrek said. “Did you put him up to this?” he asked Joash.

“Not I,” Joash said.

“Do you wish to learn the sword?” Herrek asked.

“Yes, Warrior.”

“I’ll find some wooden swords.”

“When?” asked Joash.

Herrek grunted as he stood. “Now, before the singer comes, and addles your mind.”

Joash blushed, while Gens laughed.

Soon, a duo of sailors produced the wooden swords. The hardwood was as long as a longsword, a good three feet in length. Herrek took off his sandals, and had Joash take off his. The deck was smooth, the wood worn by wind, salt and sea.

“Aboard a ship, it’s wiser to go barefoot,” Herrek explained. “For the most important rule of swordsmanship is to keep your footing. On a slippery surface the skin on your soles is better than just about anything else.”

Joash nodded, his expression grave.

“Your first lesson will be in the correct placement of your feet,” Herrek said. “To properly wield the sword, you must know how to stand. To properly swing, to retreat and to advance, in all those things, you must know where to position your feet in order to gain the maximum advantage.”

Joash nodded tightly, his forehead furrowed in concentration.

“Notice,” Herrek said. He struck a poise, his feet positioned exactly. Smoothly, he lunged, touching the longsword’s tip against Joash’s chest. “You are dead,” he said.

In such a manner, the lesson began.

The
Tiras
entered the bigger swells of the deep sea. It made footing harder. Joash found his training difficult.

“This is excellent!” Herrek said. “A pitching deck is the perfect place to learn how to stand, how to keep your balance. If you lunge, and try to stick your opponent, but you overbalance yourself, then you will die. To learn balance is critical.”

Some of those who managed to keep their lunch down watched the training. Joash burned with embarrassment every time Herrek corrected him. Then, however, he glanced at a few of the grooms whose envy was plain. Joash grinned until Herrek raised his voice, “No, no! There!” He knocked Joash’s foot into the correct position.

“Look!” Gens shouted, pointing over the starboard bow.

The sea wasn’t choppy, but had long, low waves. What Gens pointed at skimmed low over the water, its long black beak parted, with the lower half in the green sea. The gigantic slith closed its beak, holding a fish twisting to be free. With a swift flip of its red-crested head, the slith swallowed the fish. Then it trailed its lower beak in the water, feasting on a passing shoal.

“It’s huge,” Joash said, the wingspan had to be a good sixty feet from tip to tip. The skin was sleek, a mottled gray. Sharp-looking claws trailed
its huge span of leathery wings. It peered at them with over-intelligent eyes. The slith sailed far enough away so neither javelineers, nor archers, could get a shot. Finally, glutted on fish, the slith flapped its huge wings, and rose into the sky. As it wheeled to go, a second slith took up station high above the
Tiras
.

Being on the
Tiras
didn’t make Joash feel safe anymore, and the long rolling swells terrified him. A bout of seasickness overwhelmed him then. He leaned over the railing, and heaved his lunch.

***

Mimir was weary. He’d marched far. The death of his cousin, Gaut, still gnawed at him and added to his weariness. It had been that Joash, and that warrior who he’d seen in the crypt. Because of them, Gaut Windrunner lived no more. Over a thousand years of deeds had come to an abrupt end.

Mimir shook his head, and stropped his axe-blade. The sound was soothing. It told of coming battle, of debts paid back. It also warned Tarag, and the Gibborim, not to forget the giants.

Mimir examined the black tent of the Gibborim. They seldom walked about during the day. The huge ungainly slith had landed, and hopped into the vast tent. Now, the Gibborim learned its secrets. They would send the slith south, to a fast convoy of galleys, which flew Gog’s red trident flag. Then, let Lord Uriah beware. On all accounts, others must not know what the Elonites knew. There was only a slight danger in their knowledge, but the prize was so great that not even a
slight
danger could be allowed.

Tarag snarled from within the huge tent.

The Gibborim made soothing, sibilant sounds.

Mimir scowled. The Gibborim wielded alien sorceries, and had vile feasting habits. Still, they were Nephilim, the children of the First Born Yorgash. They had marched fast from Shamgar, even entering Jotunheim. Their pets, the slith, would now, they’d assured Tarag, succeed where the giants had failed. That rankled, but they hadn’t entered the end game yet. Huge, lean Mimir, more than twice the height of a tall man, stropped his axe, giving the Bolverk-forged weapon a sharpness no human blade could equal. Too bad he couldn’t capture Joash. Most likely, the fish would nibble him after Gog’s galleys destroyed the ship.

The tent-flap opened, and out hopped the ungainly slith. The beast climbed a nearby boulder. The huge wings clapped mightily. In moments, the ungainly body lifted, and the beast was transformed into a serene flyer. It headed south, toward eagerly waiting galleys.

Chapter Six

The Trap

May the table set before them become a snare; may it become retribution and a trap.

-- Psalm 69:22

Two days later, Captain Maharbal leaned over the side of the ship and studied the water. He motioned to a sailor. The thin sailor lowered a bucket into the sea, scooping up some seawater, and then hauled it up. Captain Maharbal put his hand in the seawater. He nodded sharply, accepted a towel from the first mate, and dried his hand. The sailor tossed the water into the sea.

“We’ve three days sailing to Gandvik Rock, given the prevailing winds,” Captain Maharbal told Lord Uriah.

“How do you know that?” Joash asked, amazed at the Captain’s certainty. He had his wooden sword, and along with Herrek, had stepped near to see what the Captain was doing.

Herrek cleared his throat, and shook his head.

“No, no,” Captain Maharbal said, “that’s quite all right. How else will the Seraph learn, eh? I know, lad, because there’s plankton here. I also know because of the color of the water. That tells me I’m near Kel-Daros Isle.” Captain Maharbal grinned. “The temperature of the water tells me we’re in the Suttung Stream.” He must have noticed Joash’s puzzled frown. “The stream is a current, and it flows from the warmer waters near Further Tarsh, and like a river, flows northeast toward the Kragehul Steppes.”

“From all that you can tell we’re near Kel-Daros Isle?” asked Joash.

“You use mountains at home or a river to tell you where you are. A Tarshman uses the direction of the waves as they break against the prow, or he uses the sunlight and the shadow of the gunwale, and judges the angles across the thwarts.”

“Sometimes,” Zillith said, “skilled sailors use the location of known fogs, or the migratory habit of whales, or the stars. Given the season, and an intimate knowledge of where he’s journeyed before, a sailor like Captain Maharbal can arrive only a few miles from where he aims.”

Joash whistled. He’d never realized the amount of knowledge, and skill, it took to sail a ship like the
Tiras
. He also liked the idea of using the habits of various animals, like whales, to tell where you were in the desert-like sea.

Captain Maharbal turned back to Lord Uriah and Zillith. The three of them walked to the deck above the cabin.

Herrek poked Joash in the shoulder. “It isn’t polite to interrupt your elders. Despite how well the Captain treated you, you must still maintain your place.”

Joash nodded, and he petted Harn. His fingers were stiff from the sword-practice. Like Herrek, he wore leather thongs around his wrists because he’d complained about sharp pains in his forearms.

“Are you ready?” Herrek asked.

Joash saluted with his wooden sword.

“Shouldn’t you let him rest?” asked Adah, who had joined them. “He looks tired.”

“I’m fine,” Joash said, embarrassed. It was barely tolerable if Zillith said such things, but Adah...

“Well, it’s true,” she said.

“Let her worry about you if she wants to,” Gens said. “Elohim knows why she bothers.”

“Maybe because she has good taste in men,” Joash said.

Gens barked laughter, but had to stifle it when Adah gave Joash a peck on the cheek.

“I’ll see you later,” she said.

Joash grinned from ear to ear, as he followed Herrek to their corner of the deck. There, they continued the lesson.

Around noon, Captain Maharbal turned the
Tiras
into the wind. Sailors reefed the sails, and the long oars slid out. Sailors, grooms and runners worked up a heavy sweat as they rowed against the Suttung Stream.

“What’s he doing?” Joash asked Adah.

They sat in the forecastle. A heavy tarp protected the dart-throwing machine, so there was barely room to sit. She’d been teaching him Seraph lore.

The Captain studied the high-flying slith. Then, he leaned against the tiller. The ship groaned as it hove to. The first mate shouted, and sailors pulled ropes. Others strained at the oars.

Joash said, “He’s steering us toward those storm clouds.”

“He must be trying to shake off the slith,” Adah said.

After a time, the swells grew deeper, and the sky darker. The wind was cold. Joash wrapped his cloak around the two of them.

“We should go down,” she said.

“I like it up here.”

They spent a lot of time on the forecastle, just above the wild sea. They watched the dolphins, or the tuna schools that passed under the ship, or they watched the various birds that rested on the
Tiras
. Joash had asked sailors about the various habits of the dolphins, tuna and birds.

The wind threw cold rain into their faces. In the waist, Zillith and her helpers set up capes that funneled rainwater into barrels.

With his stout legs planted, Captain Maharbal shifted the tiller. The
Tiras
sailed deeper into the storm. The ship began to creak and groan with strain, as the waves violently heaved it about. People threw up again. Later, when they sailed into the sunshine, the slith was gone.

“He did it!” Adah cheered.

A half-hour later, Joash said, “Look.” He pointed at the circling slith, the giant pterodactyl.

Adah looked crushed, her dark skin slack.

Joash wished she didn’t have such painful memories. He put his arm around her and pulled her closer. She seemed thoughtful, distant.

“Joash?”

“Hmm.”

“Tell me about Shamgar.”

“What?” he asked.

“The city Gog controls, the one where they sold you to Balak. Tell me about it.”

He raised his eyebrows.

“I know it’s full of pirates,” she said, “and full of terrible slavers. But why did Gog set up his Oracle there?”

“I don’t know.”

“What’s its history?” she asked.

Joash climbed to his feet.

“Did I say something wrong?” she asked.

“Come with me,” he said, dragging her upright.

Amery glared, and turned away as Joash led Adah off the forecastle. Their eyes met, and Amery stalked into the cabin. What was that about?

Joash soon shouted, “Ahoy, Captain Maharbal!”

“Who speaks?”

“Adah and Joash. Do we have permission to come aboard the Captain’s Deck?”

“You have permission,” Captain Maharbal shouted down.

They climbed the ladder, and found Captain Maharbal leaning against the tiller. Occasionally, it bucked like a thing alive. Sweat glistened on the Captain’s cheeks, even though it was chilly up here.

“The slith is still above,” Adah said.

“What brings you here?” Maharbal asked, curtly.

“Adah wants to know Shamgar’s history,” Joash said. “Usually, our singer knows everything about anything. Now, one of us can finally tell her something she hasn’t already heard.”

Captain Maharbal nodded. “You’re wise. If you want to know about Shamgar’s history, you ask a Tarshman. We can tell many a tale about that foul pirate-hold.”

The cordage creaked. The sails made loud sounds like whipping flags, and the ship groaned as it rose over a swell. The salt tang mixed with tar and wet-wood smells adding to the deep-sea feel of the
Tiras
.

“First, there was Magog, the
bene elohim
,” Captain Maharbal said. “He founded Shamgar soon after the fallen descended onto Earth. All kinds of riffraff joined him. From there, he and his children terrorized those along the Suttung Sea. Later, the Shining Ones came. War ensued. Fleets and monsters fought, and cities burned to the ground. In time, an armada led by Shining Ones sailed against Shamgar, destroyed it and captured its grim lord. Years later, the Shining Ones departed the Earth, and the peace of the dead reigned along the coast.

“I’m told that of the cities only Further Tarsh still stood. The savage Huri, Nebo and Arkite tribes, who had been ruled by the
bene elohim,
sank back into using stone tools. Meanwhile, the small outposts of civilization died. I won’t bore you with the history of Further Tarsh, but suffice to say that, over the years we sent out colonists. We founded Nabdalsa, Thala and Mago to the north and Jugurtha, Carthalo and Bomlicar to the southeast. From the guttered outposts of civilization arose small city-states that made treaties with the howling masses of stone-age tribesmen around them.

“Trade increased, while emissaries from the Empire and Nearer Tarsh came. Civilization along the Suttung Sea’s coasts was once again rising.

Then, a terrible man came. None ever learned his birthplace, or if he had the blood of the
bene elohim
. He was a large man, with flaming red hair. He was cunning and cruel, but most of all, he had towering ambition. He called himself Cain, and some whispered that the blood of the first Cain boiled in his heart. He was a man given to strong passions, but he had no clan or tribe to sustain him.

“So, he traveled to the pirates in the Siga Archipelago; the pirates there were a motley lot. Their longboats were barely bigger than the boats attached to the
Tiras
. Rude ruffians, they knifed one another for trinkets. They proved a danger to the smaller traders, but a show of spears was usually enough to frighten them off. Then Cain joined them. He proved to be more brutal than any three of them, more savage than their wildest, and more iron-willed than any five. He slew a pirate-chief, and took his place as the leader. But the uncouth pirates weren’t beholden to their leaders. They were known to knife any that became too lordly.

“Cain brooked no disobedience. Those who rebelled ate cold steel powered by his mighty muscles. Soon, his pirates feared him, and his cunning brought them great booty. Finally, he challenged several pirate captains to join him. In their longboats, they raided one of the smaller city-states. There, they sought ships instead of gems or gold. They rowed out of the harbor with three galleys, three major warships by that time’s standard. As unbelievable as it seems today, Cain used the three galleys to wield an iron grip on the Siga Archipelago. Year by year, he captured better warships, and spread his net to recruit any who plied the dishonorable trade.

“The pirate fleet grew, until honest traders were forced to travel in convoys, lest pirates overwhelm them. Then, even convoys were plundered. City-state warships had to sail with the traders. Then Cain, now known as Red Cain, browbeat his pirates into attacking warship-protected convoys.

“Only then did the rulers of Further Tarsh realize the danger that had grown at the other end of the Suttung Sea. Red Cain’s ambitions weren’t for gold or jewelry, but for empire and conquest. He organized his pirate fleets into squadrons. The squadrons combined each summer to attack the smaller cities and conquer them. One by one, the cities and holdings fell to Red Cain, and fed his ever-growing fleet, with oarsmen and mariners. Soon, such was his strength and arrogance, that he sent ambassadors to Further Tarsh, demanding tribute. Such was the dread of his name that I’m told many merchants wondered aloud if this might not be the wisest policy.”

Joash glanced at Adah. He’d been taught that the merchants of Further Tarsh believed gold was stronger than steel, that a trader was wiser than a warrior. Joash’s half-contemptuous look said the rulers of Further Tarsh needed some Elonites to help them against Red Cain.

“Ah,” the Captain said, “the merchant-princes of Further Tarsh would not truckle to Red Cain’s suggestion. They gathered a fleet, and sailed to crush him. However, in this pirate lord they met a master admiral. His stratagems were legion, his dispositions flawless and his pirates had become hardy veterans. Red Cain smashed Further Tarsh’s fleet.”

“Then, how was Red Cain defeated?” Adah asked.

“Those were the darkest days since the coming of the
bene elohim
,” Captain Maharbal said. “Luckily, Seraphs from the Empire had come to Further Tarsh. They heard about the disaster and knew of a way to defeat Red Cain. A patchwork fleet was gathered, and three Seraphs joined the fleet. They took silver horns with them. When they sighted Red Cain’s fleet the next spring, the Seraphs put the opening of the silver horns underwater and blew mightily. When nothing happened, the Tarsh seamen bitterly cursed the Seraphs, and prepared to die. They knew that after another pirate victory, Red Cain would capture Jugurtha, Nabdalsa, Thala and Mago, and worst of all, Further Tarsh itself. Bomlicar and Carthalo already knew the conqueror’s heel. Those city streets had run red with blood, with maniacal pirate-bands that had looted and raped at will.

“Then, to everyone’s amazement, leviathans arose from the sea. Ah, such creatures as this hadn’t been seen since the Accursed War. Directed by the silver horns, the leviathans attacked the pirate armada. What Red Cain had taken years to build, the leviathans destroyed in an afternoon. They smashed galleys by swimming into them, or using their flukes. Only a handful of ships escaped, with Red Cain in one of them.

“The Further Tarsh fleet was small, but they gave chase. At last, Red Cain disappeared into the Hanun Delta. There, the captains of Further Tarsh dared not go. They feared Red Cain. Without the leviathans, they felt it prudent to let the shattered pirate fleet die in peace.

“But, die in peace Red Cain certainly did not do. He licked his wounds, and set up camp on the old ruins of Magog’s city. There, he uncovered strange and awful weapons. There, he dredged the old canals, and built the first squat fortresses that make up Shamgar. The seamen of Further Tarsh had enough work rebuilding what Red Cain had destroyed, never mind in rooting him out. Still, their prudence was not entirely wise. Red Cain soon led pirating forays from Shamgar. Ever since, so have his decedents.”