The Sea of Blood

 

The wind raved like curses through the jagged rocks of the Kasara Strait, whipping the waves into white-crested fury and screaming in between the spires.  This narrow neck of sea between the islands of Manu and Salua was dangerous water, and every sailor knew that was truth.  No ordinary captain or king could have gathered so many ships in this deadly place, only the fear of gods could have done it.

Aurich the Beast stood at the prow of the flagship, his great sword point down in the hard wood of the deck, his mailed hands grasping the guard.  The pitch and sway of the ship did not seem to concern him, nor did the wind or the spray that lashed against the sails.  It was high noon, and yet the sky was overcast and gray as hammered iron, heavy with the promise of rain.  Beneath his helm his face was hidden, giving no sign of what lay beneath.

The captain of the ship made his way forward, squinting into the wind.  The gusts backed around the compass, giving no warning.  To sail in such weather in this place was folly, and he would not be here save that this man – this steel-hearted fanatic from the homelands – was the one who truly commanded.  The captain knew that if he balked he would be headless and cast into the sea before he could finish his breath.  He had seen paladins before, but never one as unflinching and hard as this one.

When he was close he leaned against the rail for balance and pitched his voice to carry.  “There is no sign of them, lord.  Still no sign.”

“They will come,” Aurich said.  “Before nightfall they will come.  The information was bought with screams and with blood, it will be truth.”  From within his helm his voice sounded hollow and sepulchral.  “The demon child will come.  She has no choice.”

The Dragon's Teeth

 

A storm was sweeping across the sea from the darkened south, casting down rain and billowing wind, and the seaside outpost of Jinan lay beneath a pall of smoke.  Fires burned in the houses and outside in the forest, and warriors gathered there, making magic for their final war.  In the harbor six ships lay at anchor, their sails gathered in against the coming storm, and in the distance, on the edge of the horizon, there lurked the shadows of the ships of their enemies.

For days the enemy fleet had swept in with the dusk and battered the ships and shore with cannonfire, raking their targets, seeking to break up the defenses.  Dhatun, the warrior of the Ekwa, was the one who commanded now Jaya was gone, and though he was fierce and proven, his rule was tenuous.  Already warriors had begun to slip away into the jungles, feeling the gods had abandoned them.  The daily blasting of shell and flame had only made things worse.

The Reaper stood at anchor, more massive than any other ship in the harbor.  She was battered from her ordeal at sea, her hull splintered and her beams cracked.  She could not stand and do battle with the enemy ships, and the five others were low, lean craft made for speed rather than power.  Dhatun knew if they left the harbor they would be hunted down and destroyed.

So he waited, sure that the enemy would not want to risk the close confines of the lagoon.  They would not want to come ashore and fight a battle that would cost them blood.  They would keep him bottled up here until more ships arrived.  The enemy detachment was eight ships, three of them massive war-craft meant for battle.

Now they were coming close again, racing in a line through the heavy breakers as the wind picked up speed.  Lightning flickered under the stormclouds on the horizon, and the thunder was distant, like drums.  The people in Jinan hunkered down behind walls and trees, ready to weather another volley from the enemy.

The first ship swept past the headland and into the mouth of the bay, and its guns began to shout, bursting forth clouds of black smoke and jets of fire.  Cannonballs punched through the ship hulls at anchor, bounced inland and smashed through walls.  Every gun fired, and then the next ship, and the next.  Smoke erupted from the forest as hot shells struck home, splintering trees and setting brushfires.

The captain of the lead ship turned his craft back out to sea.  The storm would come in before nightfall, and by then they would have to anchor around the point and wait out the weather.  The devils might come by night, but in the rain and wind they would not be able to mount a large enough attack to be a threat.  He looked southward, seeking there the sails of the reinforcements he waited for.  Instead he saw a wake moving fast, the westering sun lighting it like a trail made of gold.

Volcanic Rituals

 

Jaya plunged down into the black waters, surrounded by the floating ruin of shattered wood and torn bodies.  She tried to swim, but her armor dragged at her, her boots filling with water and pulling her deeper no matter how she kicked for the light.  Looking up, she saw the surface crossed by the shadows of the ship’s hulls, the darting shapes of sharks as they tore at the wounded struggling in the deep.

She fought the straps on her shoulder-guards, shrugged them off, and then she cut the leather fastenings of her breastplate with her long dagger.  Her sword was gone, lost in the depths, and she had no time to mourn the loss.  She kicked for the surface, sliding her boots off, shedding all the belts and armor that had guarded her, but would kill her now if she did not set herself free of it.

Naked, she reached the surface and gasped for breath.  The waves were steep, and the wind was rising.  The Mordani warship was a flaming wreck sliding away from her, leaving a scatter of wreckage in its wake.  Smoke boiled up, filling the sky and cutting out the sun.  Everything was lost in a terrible haze that smelled of burning flesh, and though she looked for the Unjarah, she could see nothing.

A wave slapped her down and she had to fight back to the surface.  She clung to her dagger and gasped, caught a drifting piece of splintered wood, hung on to it as it rode up the face of a wave and the cresting top splashed her in the face.  She hung on, realizing she had to get away from here, from the spreading stain of blood and death that would bring the sharks and other sea-scavengers.  She had to get away from where her enemies would be looking for her.  She had escaped alive, but if they caught her, death would not be swift.

A tall fin knifed through the water near her, and she saw the pale shape of the beast as it slid past, held in the body of the rising wave as though it were on the other side of a glassine wall.  She saw the black, black eye, and she knew it regarded her.  She felt the cold glance, and she felt the indifference of the shark, like a cold wind.  She had lost the will of the gods, somewhere in her crusade, and she must have it back.