Darkwell - Douglas Niles [58]
And to his legions across the strait, where King Sythissall and more of the sahuagin warriors massed in similar might. As Ysalla sent her charges onto the shores of Gwynneth, Sythissall would send his own fighters, lusting for blood, into the human settlements on Oman's Isle. When the coastal communities had been ravaged, the two armies would combine to enter Iron Bay and bring the great keep there to ruin.
Now the summons came, and Ysalla sensed its source. The great yellow fins along her spine bristled, and the priestesses of her order saw the signal. Their own spines bristled in silent acknowledgment, and the legions surged forward.
The dead marched stolidly across the silt, climbing the sloping shelves toward the beach. The sahuagin swam slowly behind them, the entire mass gliding through the water like great, sinister fish.
Then the broad ogre heads broke through the listless surf, and eyeless sockets fastened upon the shore. The bloated bodies lumbered from the shallows, their clubs, axes, and great hammers held high. The skin of the lifeless monsters had bleached to milky white during the long immersion, and the waterlogged bodies moved slowly, heavily forward.
They were indeed slow – but they could not be stopped.
* * * * *
Roll's heart pounded as he left the tiny inn and walked the few steps to the pier. The Starling bobbed prettily at dock-side, even amid the scum that had coated the water lately. Though small, the little sailboat was the perfect setting for his purpose.
And here came his purpose. Gwen walked to the boat with just enough eagerness to excite his hopes and just enough restraint to calm his nerves. For weeks, he had been trying to get her to go off alone together with him.
Now she smiled at him, her brown eyes sparkling with a secret promise that inflamed his passion. She was not overly pretty, was Gwen, but she had a lively manner that had caught Koll's attention when he had first purchased a shield and jerkin from her father, the leather-worker of Codscove.
Short and slightly plump, Gwen greeted him with a shy smile. Her red-brown hair was cut short, and Koll liked the way it framed her round, smiling face. Indeed, as he was unusually tall even for a man of the north, they made an oddly matched couple. His soft beard had finally covered his chin the past spring, and now he stroked it self-consciously as she made her way to the dock.
He helped her into the boat, enjoying the unsteady moment when she lost her balance and leaned on him.
"Sit here," he offered, lowering her to the bowseat. The line came easily free from the dock, and he pushed the Starting away, as if worried that someone would come along and stop him. The breeze was sluggish at best, but the little craft caught what little wind blew, and they pulled steadily away from shore.
For some time they didn't speak. Roll tried to ignore the lifeless brown of the sea, without complete success. Indeed, fish were dying in whole schools; catches were nonexistent or diseased. Even these placid northmen of Gwynneth were once again talking of raiding as a means of survival.
Koll tried to banish such thoughts, knowing that Gwen was of a family of native Ffolk, while his ancestors were the plundering northmen who had claimed these lands as their own a century before. Instead, he concentrated on his passenger's eyes as she demurely looked away. Such pretty eyes they were! Shy, but not afraid. Gwen had always fascinated him with this air of demure courage, so unlike the women of the northlands.
He finally pulled in the sail and drifted calmly. Codsbay was a distant mark on the shoreline, though Koll could still distinguish individual buildings. With the easy grace of the sailor, he moved to the bowseat and took Gwen's hand.
She giggled briefly, but she did not turn