Darkwell - Douglas Niles [120]
Before them, its proud spires knifing through the cloud-laden sky, sailed Caer Allisynn. The great stone edifice seemed to coast over the surface of the sea, calming a wide patch of heaving surface by its passage.
The Red King expected another ten ships to join him as they passed the southern tip of his island, for the lords of western Norland had ridden at full speed from the council to their own towns to raise their crews and prepare to put to sea. Then the thirty sleek warships of Norland would sail behind their king to go once again to war on Gwynneth. This time, however, they would fight with the Ffolk, not against them.
"It's a splendid sight, my lord." Koll, the young man from Gwynneth, joined the king in the prow. He had begged to accompany the expedition, and Grunnarch could not turn down such a courageous offer.
"And they will fight a splendid fight, to be sure! Can you wield an axe, lad, as well as you sail a castle?"
Koll grinned sheepishly. "I have yet to blood my blade, but I have been taught by the greatest fighters on the north coast."
"You speak bravely. I like that in a man!" Grunnarch paused, remembering the scene at the dock as they had prepared to sail. "Your woman, Gwen – she did not understand that war is a man's task?"
"No, sire. The Ffolk are odd that way. They allow their women to perform all manner of tasks best left to men. Perhaps that is why we have beaten them so many times."
The Red King looked sternly at the youth. "Never think that way, lad! With such overconfidence comes arrogance, and with arrogance comes failure. Besides, the last time we fought the Ffolk, it is we who were defeated."
Koll looked down, abashed. "I am sorry, my lord. I wished to make amends for the embarrassment she caused on the docks when she refused to leave the warriors. I fear that it was bad luck to have her dragged away like that."
"Bad luck, good luck. These things mean little. It is the courage in our hearts that counts for much, and the skill in our minds and our hands when we meet the foe.
"To that end, tell me what you know of the enemy that ravaged your coast."
Koll described the battle at Codsbay as he had seen it, including the fish-man that had climbed into their boat. He told of the destruction of the Iron Keep and the horde that had emerged from the sea to pour through the breach.
"It is as I feared… an enemy of great fighting strength coupled with supernatural might. We can only hope that the powers that watched over Corwell in the past retain their potency. If that can counter the supernatural, the blades of the North will surely overcome the fighting strength of the foe!"
Koll nodded, unsettled by the notion that they might need help to win this fight. He turned quietly and walked back to his bench in the open hull of the longship.
Neither he nor the Red King noticed the short, smooth-skinned sailor sitting quietly near the bow. The youth – for such the warrior must have been, as no beard grew from his pink and slightly plump face – looked down as Koll walked past. A soft hand, unusual for a man, went to the hilt of the sailor's shortsword, where its knuckles tightened in very warlike determination.
* * * * *
Ysalla swiveled her bulging fish-eyes to look at the vast army floating and marching around her. The gleam of gold caught her eyes, here and there marking the presence of her priestesses. They marched in great adornment now, for the sacking of the Iron Keep had yielded treasure beyond her wildest imaginings.
Now the ranks of the sahuagin, hundreds strong, swam easily through the middle reaches of the gray sea, a hundred feet below the surface and an equal distance from the bottom. Below them, in vast numbers, marched the Dead of the Sea in a dull, plodding pace.
They had fought well, those corpses, though she had known they would. Unburdened by any of the emotional baggage of living warriors, this army could know no fear, nor despair, nor fatigue.