Possessing the Grimstone (20 page)

Drith burst out of his box and climbed the mast, cutting the ropes and dropping the sails upon the charging men. Confusion and chaos ensued.

Pim climbed out of his box and used his fleet to dash down the length of the boat. He threw all of his weight onto the struggling Brigands beneath the sails, sending most of them over the side of the ship and crashing into the dark waters below.

A raider rose behind the distracted Wivering, but Tolan rescued him with a thrust of his sword, running the man through. His lifeless body tumbled into the sea.

Shannara and her warriors danced and slashed, leaping over their enemies’ heads, and slicing open their legs from behind, crippling them. One of the D’Elkyrie women was caught off guard, and took a hatchet to the chest, hitting the deck hard.

Drith jumped from pole to pole, kicking men off the deck and tearing the ship down piece by piece, incapacitating it. Lastly, he severed the anchor from the ship before leaping into the air. He joined Shannara, Tolan, and the others on the city’s ship.

Shannara and Tolan fetched a pair of bows hidden on the deck, and fired flaming arrows onto the Brigand ship, igniting the deck and sails.

It drifted off into the sea, glowing red as the rising moon bathed the horizon in silvery light.

Cheers erupted on the beach. The citizens of Fionngall rallied around the group.

“That will send a message to the others,” “Tolan said. “You will not lay down and let your city be pillaged. They will believe you can now defend yourselves.”

“And you shall,” Shannara called. She handed a clutch of bows to various men. “Tale the bows and set the arrows ablaze. If other Brigand ships dock in your city, fire at their sails. With no sails to catch the wind, they will be helpless.”

Clapping resounded across the beach. Custodian Chariss approached the group. “Well done! Well done! Fionngall thanks you.”

“We are running out of time, Custodian.” Tolan said. “May we have a ship?”

“Fear not, we will lend you the fastest ship in Fionngall! Sail with the Gods, and may your quest be a success.”

“There’s something slippery about that man,” Drith whispered to Tolan. “I do not like him.”

“I am sure the feeling is mutual,” replied Tolan, returning the Custodian’s waves.

###

The ship was indeed, fast: it was Custodian Charris’s personal ship. Its sails caught the wind like no other, and it propelled across the waves like a dagger through warm butter.

Tolan figured it might only take them six days to reach Norrow, as opposed to ten. Fionngall had been good to them, stocking them up with food and water, including more of that goat cheese everyone had enjoyed in the Custodian’s castle.

Between Fionngall and Norrow lay the Western Isles. They weren’t the friendliest of islands, as the Brigand hailed from one of them. The isles were also home to the largest penal colony in Athora—it seemed ironic that the plundering Brigands were from the same region. Tolan wondered if the colony, home to traitors, murderers, and the insane, was still in operation, or if it had overrun by criminals. He prayed it was still in good order; they couldn’t afford any more delays.

The ship lurched and dipped, waves crashed against it, and the thing rocked dangerously. Pim sat on the deck, trying to stay dry. He looked to his left to see Drith leaning over the side of the boat, vomiting. A gurgle would erupt from the painted king, followed by a series of low grunts, and a splatter. Pim snickered. The fierce Drith was seasick.

The Wivering hopped to his feet and reached into his pack. He walked up to Drith, who’d just finished another round of retching. “Are you hungry?” Pim asked. “I have plenty of goat cheese left.”

Drith got one whiff of the cheese, and dove for the railing again. “I… I…” he coughed and gagged. “Will… throw… you into the sea… get away from me!”

Pim laughed before stuffing the cheese away and walking along the side of the ship. He spotted one of the men from Fionngall steering the ship while he heard the rowers churning below the decks.

Tolan spoke to the captain at the wheel for a few moments, examining a map before joining Shannara at the bow. Pim stopped and stared at Shannara, her long legs, and her dark hair glinting in the sunlight. He waited, eavesdropping.

“I’m sorry about the loss of your warriors,” Tolan said to Shannara.

She turned to him, her face soft, eyes bright. “My heart weeps for them. Since the time we are young girls, we are prepared for this. We always know we will be called into battle; it is the life of a warrior. Still, it doesn’t make it any easier.”

“Aye, nothing does. A soldier never enjoys the battle, and he never forgets it.”

“Sometimes I wish we could forget.”

“Maybe for a little while, we can.” Tolan put his hand over hers.

Pim’s blood boiled, and his stomach was in knots. He watched them: Tolan moved closer to her. Pim dropped his pack and raced toward the two.

Shannara was just about to remove Tolan’s hand when Pim collided with Tolan. The two of them stumbled. Pim looked up at Tolan, seething. “Why must you always have her attention?”

Tolan’s jaw dropped. “Pim, I…”

The Wivering dashed behind Tolan with his fleet, and swept the soldier’s legs out from under him. Tolan crashed onto the deck, and Pim leaped onto his chest.

“Pim, you’ve gone mad!”

“You won’t let me get close to her! You won’t let me talk to her!” Pim swung his fists, but Tolan blocked the blows.

The warrior locked onto Pim’s shoulders and used his foot to flip the boy over him and onto his back. Tolan jumped to his feet. “Pim, enough! I am not keeping you from anyone. Shannara can follow her own heart.”

“You’re always sticking yourself in front of her!” Pim unleashed his fleet again, but Tolan was prepared.

He side-stepped the Wivering and drove him into a fishing net. “I told you that only works once, boy. You need more strategy.”

Pim growled, struggling to get out of the net. His feet were tangled, and crashed down onto the deck.He saw Tolan grinning at him, and lunged for him.

Tolan backhanded the young Wivering, sending him down again. “Pim, stay down. This is foolish! Why are we fighting? Shannara has made no choice.”

Pim tasted salt in his mouth, and wiped blood from his lips. He got up again and balled his fists, preparing to lunge for Tolan again. The man braced for the attack.

“I have no choice to make!” Shannara called, stopping both men cold. “My choice was made a long time ago.” She looked over at the threshold and below the deck. The seers, Panno and Jodan, stood there. Moving down to them, and she kissed them, both. “I am married! These are my husbands.”

“Husbands?” Tolan asked, shock in his voice.

“Yes. D’Elkyrie women may take more than one husband. I choose to stop at two. I must divide my time between leadership and marriage. Two is enough.”

“My apologies, Queen of the D’Elkyrie, I did not know.”

“Two…” Pim whispered. He shook his head and began walking away.

“Any woman would be glad to have such brave warriors as you two for her own,” Shannara called. Pim stopped and looked back, feeling the blood rush to his face as he grew warm.

Shannara turned to Panno. “The fight roused you from your sleep?”

“No,” Panno answered. “There is danger.”

“Brigands!” The captain yelled from the wheel.

Tolan, Pim, and Shannara rushed to the side of the boat.

A ship with red sails raced toward them. The air filled with the barks of men shouting to their rowers.

“You bring revenge down on us!” The captain yelled, “You said you would stop the Brigands, not bring more!”

Tolan drew his sword, Pim and Shannara following his lead. The last three D’Elkyrie warriors braced for attack, and the last Cardoon soldier waited for orders.

Drith looked up, retched again, and reached for his sword. Instead, he lost his balance, and collapsed.

The ship drew closer. “Let them come,” Shannara said.

A roar cut through the sea, and something even more dangerous exploded from the waters. A gigantic, green-scaled sea serpent leaped from the ocean.

The Brigand ship was tossed about: men screamed, and the scaly serpent wrapped its horned tail around the ship.

Jaws dropped on the Fionngall ship as they watched the creature crush the enemy. The hull tore in half, the sails collapsed. Men fell into the tempestuous sea. The creature snapped flailing men up with a forked tongue, shredding flesh with razor-sharp teeth.

The sea ran red with blood as pieces of wood sailed through the air and floated on the waves.

“By Thet, himself,” Shannara said “Look at the size of it.”

“That beast is heading right for us,” Tolan said.

The serpent thrashed its tail through the water and dove beneath the sea as the whirlpool in its wake swallowed the remains of the Brigand ship.

“Everyone down!” Tolan screamed.

Everyone hit the deck as a rumble echoed beneath them. Pim got his leg caught in the anchor’s ropes, struggling to free himself as a massive wave came at the ship.

“Pim, down!” Tolan cried. The wave was nearly upon them. Tolan jumped to his feet again and threw his body over the Wivering. The two of them crashed to the deck as the wave washed over them.

The entire ship tilted on its side. Drith hung on for dear life, his screams muffled by the salt water.

Shannara held onto the sails, her warriors hanging with her. Tolan looked up to see his last soldier swept out into the sea, gone in a flash.

A moment later, the terrible wave passed, and the ship settled back down. Everyone rolled to the other side of the ship, soaking wet, battered, and bruised. Tolan climbed up and saw the serpent in the distance, swatting its tail one last time before vanishing into the water.

“Thet has spared us today,” Tolan said.

Everyone climbed to their feet, and Pim caught his breath. Shannara wiped the water from her face and eyes. “It is a miracle,” she said.

“Land…” the captain yelled from his perpetual spot at the wheel. “The Western Isles!”

The cluster of islands was like a belt across the sea. They were half way to Norrow.

###

The sea was but a glimpse through the trees. Hundreds of horses flanked Jorrel on both sides. He drove his steed hard, a burning in his heart. He could not forget, nor could he forgive himself. How many lives were lost because he refused to believe?

He was determined to set things right, or die trying. The latter would most likely be the outcome, for the beach came up fast, and the Neshing choked the coast like locusts ravaging Wivering crops.

The Cardoon cavalry stormed the beach, rushing from the edge of the forest, thunder in their charge, just like the rumbling over the Fifling Sea.

Charcoal-sailed Neshing barges and ships flooded the waters and beached themselves along the coast. Bonfires glowed with fiery haze and gray smoke, fashioning a blurry trick of the eye laced with hallucinations and nightmares both real and imagined.

Jorrel heard himself scream before he even realized his mouth had dropped open. He smelled charred death, and even tasted it on his tongue. A hail of spears and stones greeted him and his men.

Dozens fell, bones cracked, and horses crashed into each other. Other men raised their shields, protecting themselves as the Neshing rushed to assail them. In mere moments, both men and Neshing were engulfed in green fire.

Jorrel fell from his horse, fire eating away his left arm. His screams were drowned out by a thousand men screaming in much worse agony. Nothing but ashes now, the lot of them. Jorrel crawled across the beach, its sand wet with blood and water.

He saw the circle of mages, clawed hands bent over the ultimate tool of power: the piece of the Grimstone. They drew ancient magic from it, ethereal energy surging through their bodies, slithering up and out, and feeding the dark army in all corners of Athora.

Jorrel pushed himself, leaning on his sword and charging through the chaos. Mud, blood, and weapons whipped at him. Green energy illuminated the sea. Men died around him. Some joined him fighting against impossible numbers of Neshing.

The skies ripped open, and cold rain joined the fight. Jorrel welcomed it: it soothed the stump that was now his left arm.

The circle of mages grew closer. Their power made his flesh crawl. Jorrel stumbled toward their brawny, haunched bodies, robes littered with bones rippling in the sea breeze.

Waves crashed. Thunder cracked. Jorrel eyed the piece of stone, sitting proudly on a pedestal of bone. He lunged.

He was struck back by an energy bolt; his ribs snapped, his nose bled, and his sword was thrown.

The blade cut through the air and smashed the pedestal, sending the stone flying into the air.

###

Olani fired her crossbow and watched the quarrel glide into the carnage below. It found its mark in the forehead of a Neshing warrior. He howled and his familiar spirit shrieked with glee as it disappeared.

“Quite a shot, young lady,” Sooth-Malesh said.

“My father taught me.” She reloaded her weapon.

She watched the painted warriors of the South wade into battle, slashing and kicking, rolling over Neshings only to be pulled to the ground by ghostly familiars. Drith’s twin, Gyrn, led more warriors into the fray. Olani noticed that he had painted himself to look just like his brother: a curious decision. Olani surmised that those leading a fight must dress in certain colors, although there was much she didn’t understand about the South.

She took aim again, and a fireball screamed straight at her. Dropping her bow, she pulled back. A shield formed around her, and the fire exploded upon impact on the barrier. Olani looked over at Sooth-Malesh: he’d protected her from certain death.

“I owe you my life.”

“You own me nothing. You have saved me too, believe it or not.”

Boulders roared over them, crushing stone arches and collapsing a bridge. Soldiers tumbled to their death. Olani fired again, as did the hundreds of other bowmen around her.

Down below, the battle raged. The sounds of war were deafening. Cardoon soliders emerged onto the batllefield. Axemen, swordsmen, and warriors with halberds rushed from the city’s hidden side gate, pressing through the waves of creatures.