Darkwell - Douglas Niles [51]
A lashing tentacle wrapped both Daryth's legs in a snake-like embrace, pulling him to the side as it twirled around him again and again. He raised Cat's-Claw, taking aim at the thing from feel since he could not see the tentacle that imprisoned him.
But then the other tentacle wrapped tightly around his neck and his mouth. It jerked his head backward, and he gasped loudly as the air exploded from his lungs. The moist, sucking cups fastened themselves to his face, and he couldn't draw a breath. Suffocating, he squirmed fruitlessly in the grasp of the beast.
Then his heart was gone, torn from his ribs in a single crushing bite. And with it went his life.
* * * * *
"The North Cape! Home!"
The cry of the lookout brought Grunnarch the Red racing to the bow. He stood behind the proud figurehead and let his eyes bathe in the view. The fir forests of coastal Norland gave the strip of land a green and lively cast, especially when compared to the unrelieved gray across the Sea of Moonshae.
Always the autumn homecoming was a lime of reverence and thanks for the Red King, but this year the feeling struck him as especially profound. There would be great wailing in the lodges tonight as the cost of this mission – a ship and a full crew – became known.
This weight did not bear as heavily on his shoulders as it would have in years past, however, for this year he brought back a thing he had never found on a raid before. Always he returned with plunder, sometimes with slaves, and ever leaving new enemies behind.
But now, for the first time, Grunnarch the Red returned from a raid with an alliance. The news would be greeted with mixed emotions by his people, he knew, but he was enough of a leader to make them understand the properness and usefulness of the move.
He watched his steersman take the sleek vessel around the rocky prominence of North Cape and into the Bay of Norland. His own town lay on the shore, dead ahead, and he could already see the signal fires sending the message of their approach from the cape to the town. His people, and his woman, would quickly gather and be waiting for him on the docks.
Ingra would understand. The Ffolk didn't have to be the enemy! And with her help, he could make the rest of his people understand and accept.
The longship pulled alongside the stone quay just before dark. As he had suspected, a silent throng had gathered there. Eighty men and two ships had embarked from this same quay seven months earlier. Now only half of those men returned, and many voices from the crowd were raised in grief. The Red King ignored the wailing of the women as he stepped proudly down the plank.
Ingra stepped forward to greet him, and he swept her into his arms, relishing again the feel of her softness. She did not weep, for it did not befit the wife of a king to display her emotions in public, but he could sense her relief as he held her.
And then he set her down and turned to look at the faces of his countrymen and – women. They looked back with a mixture of hope and apprehension as he spread his arms to the sides and allowed his voice to boom across the waterfront.
"Summon the fathers of the tribes! I will meet the chieftains of Norland in my lodge five nights hence! I am calling a Council of Winternight! We return laden with treasure, and those families that have lost their men shall be cared for. The remainder shall be divided at the council!"
And with this news, he dispersed his people, planting seeds of hope and curiosity. A Council of Winternight was a rare meeting, for travel over Norland this late in the season was a hazardous affair. The northmen understood that a matter of great import would be discussed, and they sensed correctly that their king was not about to tell them what it was.
But word went out to the hill villages and to the towns along the coast. The fathers of the tribes packed for the journey, and by longship or by horse,