Chapter 33

Day 120:

John’s shoulders ached. As did his back. And buttocks. Hell, even his toes hurt. He had no idea how long they’d been rowing, but guessed it had been a couple of hours at least. Modi sat on the bench opposite his and was matching his new boss stroke for stroke. So long as he was still conscious, John refused to let one of his men get the best of him. Each of them had a chained slave seated on the bench, closer to the hull. Both of those men were already beyond exhaustion. Neither was still adding power to the strokes, more like hanging onto the wood beam for dear life. They knew that if they flagged, the Raiders watching would cut their throats without missing a beat.

It was the slaves who were causing John the most pain, though. Up until he’d realized that First World wasn’t just a computer simulation, he hadn’t much cared about how his personal morality differed from the locals’. He could keep his objectivity by just reminding himself: ‘it’s only a game.’ After returning from the Ice Crag, every fight had either been thrust upon him, or forced on someone who couldn’t fight back. Effectively, anyway. This was the first time he was knowingly attacking an unsuspecting group, who’d done him no wrong and was offering no menace.

He’d seen and done some rough things, running around Earth for JSOC, but they’d always done their level best to avoid killing innocent people. Their record hadn’t been perfect, by any means; war is, after all, ‘hell’ for a reason. But what John expected the Raiders to do, once they reached the island, he would’ve executed a fellow operator for on the spot, back on Earth. Kort’s men would turn on the Watchmen in an instant, if they thought for one second that the newcomers couldn’t be trusted. And even if he succeeded in parting ways with the Raiders, he still had Rorik and all the other noncombatants back at Final Harbor to think about too.

So, he tried to ignore his screaming conscience and rowed for all he was worth.

At one point, he though he heard a bell tolling in the distance, but couldn’t be sure over the sound of men panting and the metronomic knocking one of the Raiders kept up, beating the mast base with a rod to keep everyone in sync. If the rhythm sped up, he wasn’t aware of it.

The Raiders who’d been rowing jumped to their feet as the slave-master ordered the barely conscious slaves to push back on the oars, arresting the ship’s movement. John followed his new squad back up on deck. A narrow gang-plank was already down, connecting the vessel with a sturdy dock. It was the same pier (they assumed) used by the Merward galley when it came to call; the only anchorage around the Rest with enough depth for a ship with any large keel to tie up.

Just as John stepped from the gang-plank to the dock itself, four humanoid forms flowed silently out of the water and up the pilings, to set upon the Raiders just in front of him. It was John’s first look at a Mer-man, and took every ounce of willpower to control his shock long enough to spring at the closest one. He could study it at his leisure, later, if he wasn’t dead.

The Mer-man had Modi face down on the ground, with their foe on the Raider’s back. The Mer-man’s legs were spread out, braced to keep his weight on top of the struggling Raider in a classic wrestling move. Their foe had an arm around Modi’s neck, and was plunging a short, double-edged sword, held blade down, into John’s new teammate’s chest. John’s strike angled to miss the rifle strapped to the Mer-man’s back, without even registering what he’d seen. High-pitched panting added an additional layer to the sudden noise of combat.

The Tooth severed the Mer-man’s head from his neck with the first blow. Not pausing, John skipped sideways and planted her spike into the back of a second Mer-man who had another Raider pinned, just ahead of Modi. John hammered his ax one extra time, for good measure before turning to the other two enemies. He was just in time to see one rolling off the other edge, into the water below, wrapped around a still-struggling Raider. The last Mer-man already had three Raiders hacking away at him, so John turned back to Modi and the other victim.

Both were dead. Modi’s lung was punctured in three places, testament to how quickly the Mer-man’s strikes had been. Bloody froth already ringed his mouth, as his chest jerked sharply with each breath. The other Raider’s throat was cut, eyes staring silently at the rough wood planking.

Modi gripped John’s forearm. “Lead ... well ... Ender ... Jyon.”

“I will.” John promised, returning the grip for long minutes until the life faded from the Raider’s eyes.

“Jyon! Jyon!” One of the other Raiders pulled at him. “Jyon, we must go!”

John looked up, suddenly realizing that all the others had gone ahead. He could hear the sounds of battle coming from where the pier became a path, which wound around the cliffs to the front of the fortress.

“Right, time to go.” John agreed. “Just a moment.”

He turned, looking for the downed Mer-men. One was floating in the water beside the piling, and another was in pieces, including his equipment. But the first one John had killed was still lying where he’d been rolled, to allow Modi a chance at breathing. John unslung the ‘rifle’ from the Mer-man’s back, sliding the long, narrow wood and metal weapon out from under his still-warm corpse. A quick examination revealed that John’s first assumption wasn’t quite accurate. It wasn’t a firearm at all, but a spear gun instead! A ‘U’-shaped length of wood flowed back into a triangular stock, with a carved-out thumb hole a palm’s-width from the front edge, where an actual trigger descended from the weapon. There was a small steel cylinder mounted to the front of the spear groove, with bands of some stretchy material looped through and cocked tight behind the loaded projectile. Rubber? These people had rubber? A barbed, tri-pronged arrowhead sat atop the arm-length metal rod, just beyond a retaining metal arch covering the spear-gun’s ‘muzzle’. A loose metal ‘D’ ring hung below the fore grip, presumably for re-cocking. The Mer-man also had a quiver strapped to his back, with several extra spears still inside.

The search also revealed something about the Mer-man that Hal, when they compared notes later, swore to John that the peacekeeper hadn’t had. Below the dead Mer-man’s arms, he’ found fewer rib bones than a human. And the top four had three unmistakable gills on each side of the torso.

Ozur, the other Raider hissed at him while John worked the quiver’s straps loose as well.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting myself a gun, damn it!” John retorted without looking up.

“What is ‘guyn’?” Ozur inquired.

“This!” John stood up, holding both gun and quiver triumphantly. “C’mon!”

The two men ran down the path in the direction of the fighting. As they jogged, John worked the quiver straps over his shoulder and re-holstered the Tooth. He mimed plucking another rod to reload. Reminding himself to get closer than he’d need to with a real rifle, John pulled ahead as they rounded the corner.

Oriented on the open gate into the fort was a massive, confused melee of Islanders, Mer-men and Raiders. The largest crowd was outside the walls, but John could pick out a few battling just inside the opening as well. Everyone was intermingled, fighting for their lives against all comers. John’s Sight picked up flickers as Raiders suddenly looked like natives, and vice-versa for a few minutes before switching back. This random, arbitrary illusion was fueling the complete breakdown in cohesion, even among the Raiders just entering the fight. In the very gap, where the gate hung open, stood Skyald. Practically glowing in John’s Sight, the man’s ax and shield were in constant motion as he took on all comers who dared to take a swing at him. Even the native guards who slipped through the Raiders protecting Skyald’s back were unable to land a blow. The warrior seemed to have a sixth sense, registering when a strike was near. He’d spin, catching the weapon with his shield before sheering the offending limb off with Lumberjack. Without missing a beat, he spun back, facing the town and the bulk of the attacking natives.

One battlefield lesson John learned early on in his military training was that the squad leader’s (i.e. the first line Sergeant’s) most important task was to get his men to the place on the battlefield they needed to be. By running, walking, or even by grabbing and shoving, putting the squad members into position was priority one. With his Sight, he could easily tell true friend from foe. Dragging Ozur with him, John made his way to the castle wall. He yanked the Raider who was standing there, back to the stone edifice as a backstop while he stabbed at any natives that came within range. John pulled Ozur and the already fighting Raider into a rank, with the Raider’s shoulder against the wall.

“Stay here!” John yelled to be heard over the din of combat. “Keep them from escaping!”

Working methodically, John moved sideways, snatching whatever he could reach, collars or shoulders or elbows to get the struggling Raiders into line. Every time he got two or three more, he’d repeat his commands. Hal later told John that when the Cambion noticed his friend getting things organized, it triggered him to stop stirring up the confusion with his powers. This in turn helped John get control of the battle, at least on his side, much more quickly. Finding themselves pinned between the growing line of grim-faced Raiders on the outside, with the wall and the apparently unkillable Skyald on the inside, the natives began throwing their weapons down en masse.

Along the way, John did get a chance to shoot his new ‘gun’, when a particularly quick Mer-man jumped in front of him. This one carried a pair of long-bladed knives, curved but double-edged with an oblong ring for a pommel. They almost looked like karambits, but much larger than any John had ever seen. The Mer-man tried to close with John, which the veteran was quickly learning was their preferred method of melee combat. Getting his spear-gun up just in time, he found the trigger to be incredibly stiff, but did manage to launch a bolt right into the Mer-man’s bulging eye from point blank range. After that, he never got a chance to reload and just slung the thing across his back, using the bracket he’d found on the side of the quiver to lock the wood into place.

With Raiders beginning to call their comrades back on their own, the rank-forming took on a life of its own. Shortly, the villagers had all surrendered, and Kort, who’d fought his way through the crowd to Skyald’s side, stood up on one of the gate hinges to get some elevation.

“Men of Plunderer’s Rest, I am Kort, the Raider King of Final Harbor!” He shouted. “You have surrendered to us, and if you keep no weapons, and offer no further resistance we will not kill you. But, if you do attack now, we will not only kill you, but the man next to you, and if you have family here, them as well.” The King lowered his chin to glare. “Do not test us. We come by our reputation honestly.”

Kort waved to the now-complete semicircle of Raiders surrounding the natives. “Disarm them, and move them down to that pen there.” He pointed at a a fenced in yard, filled with some of the ugliest four-legged creatures John had ever seen. Giant slabs of walking meat, with paws instead of hooves and long, ungainly necks topped by fish-eyed, anteater-snouted heads. “Jyon, you and Sygraid take your men to guard them. We shall replace you soon enough. Any more we find will be brought to join their neighbors as well.”

With that, the sacking of Plunderer’s Rest began.

Even dawn did not decrease the volume of screaming echoing across the village. The term ‘rape and pillage’ may have lost much of its impact to a modern, twenty-first century American, but John, with Sygraid standing beside him, got a front row seat to the awful reality. Neither of them were liking what they could see. The Shield-maiden had placed her son facing the two of them, with his back to the rest of the town. Treb could hear, but every time his head began to rotate, his mother would bark at him. Hal, too was standing with his friends. He admitted later that the sights and sounds didn’t bother him at all, he’d seen much worse in the Basin, before he was even fully grown. Even so, he too felt a vague disquiet, without being able to identify the reason.

“I swore an oath!” Sygraid was repeating to herself.

“Sygraid...” John finally interrupted her.

“No!” She spun to face him. “Even Ranveng held me to my word, though I asked again to be released, before we parted at the Door. He warned me that I might be unable to defend those in need, but urged me to remain an honorable Shield-bearing Warden. I knew, when we left the harbor that these Raiders,” she spat that word, “were hard, cruel men. We have heard tales, in the Northlands. But this...” She waved at a cluster of men gathered around the shrieking woman, held spread-eagle on the ground. The Raiders laughed harshly at her pitiful cries. They seemed to spur the men on even further into depravity.

Other Raiders were in the process of figuring out which of the sunken houses that dotted the lagoon belonged to which Mer-family. They would show a Mer-man to the -women and -children who hid below, using the water’s depth to avoid capture. If they refused to come to the surface, the Raiders would cut the Mer-man’s throat and leave him bleeding out in the water above their heads. Those Mer-women who did fall for the gambit were quickly subjected to the Raiders’ despicable appetites.

“ ... this is wrong!” She growled. “I do not condone slave taking.” She indicated the Islander and Mer-men group seated inside the fence. Those who weren’t staring at the Raider group with undisguised hatred were glaring murderously at their Watchmen and disgraced Raider guards. “I shall take no proceeds from their sale. But raping their women, when we should be otherwise engaged, is stupid and evil!”

Her knuckles were white where she gripped her spear. The shaft vibrated with her rage.

“What would you like me to do?” John asked mildly.

Sygraid’s jaw worked silently for a moment.

“I do not know.” She finally admitted. “But even our men will not participate.”

She was correct. Even the other Watchmen who weren’t on guard duty were all gathered near the companions. John hadn’t taken a head count, figuring he didn’t want to know how many were willing to join in.

“If I try to stop them, what do you think they’ll do?” John pressed.

“They will attack us, of course.” Sygraid agreed. “I would welcome the chance to gut a few. Those right there especially!”

“Thirty of us, to seventy of them.” John laid it out. They’d lost a few in the fighting, so his numbers might be off, but his point still stood. “And even if we take two for every one of us, that’ll leave any survivors to the mercy of them.” He indicated the surrendered townspeople.

“Maybe that is what we deserve.” Sygraid muttered.

“Maybe.” John didn’t argue, though he thought it a fruitless plan. “But what becomes of the others left back in Final Harbor? What of your husband? And your son? Will you throw their lives away too? You know what Kort will do, if he thinks we’ve turned on him.”

Her shoulders slumped. “You are correct. But if we are to be party to acts like these for the next few months, I do not know how long our people will hold up.”

Her prediction was right, as well. None of the twenty or so Watchmen John could see were displaying anything other than frustrated disgust.

“Jyon? Hal?” A voice called, from up towards the castle.

“Yeah?” John shouted back.

“The King sends for you! Is that you both?”

“C’mon, Hal.” John sighed. “Let’s see what he wants.”

“We’ll both be right there!” He yelled.

To Sygraid: “Please don’t kill anyone. Let me see what I can do.”

“I shall not, unless attacked first.” Was all she could promise.

“Fair enough.”

John and Hal walked back up to the fortification gate. Kort himself, with Skyald and Svend were standing just inside. Occasionally a Raider would come out of one of the doorways into parts of the fortification and be directed to another area by the King. It took a minute for John to figure out what was wrong.

“Where’s all the loot?” He asked, as they walked into the interior courtyard. “ ... your majesty.”

The three Raiders turned to him.

“Still inside.” Skyald grumbled.

Kort gestured at the warrior. “The vault is there, but we cannot find the key to open it. Do either of you have it? If not, Jyon I shall need you to search the prisoners again.”

John blinked. “A key? Uh, no. We didn’t find anything like that on them.”

Hal cleared his throat. “I ... have these ... from the peacekeeper.”

He held out his hand with the three-key ring hanging from his fingers.

Svend threw up his hands, stalking away while Skyald snatched the keys from Hal. He made right for the keep main door, yelling for the other Raiders to join him.

The King smiled ruefully. “I should have known. Thank you, Hal for gaining us entry. Your deed shall not go unnoticed, when the Raid is complete. Perhaps though, it might be time to show all the Raiders what you can do. And Jyon, if you would educate our Magician on a more effective use of his talents during battle, I would appreciate it. Our next might not end so easily.”

Now John cleared his own throat. “Uh, your majesty, we might need to talk about that.”

Kort held up his hand to forestall the veteran. “I may know, already what you need to say. Please wait until we have opened the vault, though. I believe our conversing then will be more ... beneficial.”

“All right.” John said agreeably.

“But come, join me as we open it up.” The King turned, leaving John and Hal to trail in his wake.

Inside the ground floor of the keep twin staircases spiraled up the walls, leading to the second floor above. In the center was a ... wading pool? Waist deep, by the looks of the Raiders standing in the water. In the center was a coral column, about as thick as a man’s shoulders, topped with a shining gold statue of a crowned Mer-man bursting up from the water with the cliched trident in hand. Svend, Skyald and Aric were all standing around the monument, removing the three keys from their ring.

“The healer!” Hal blurted. “I’ll be back!”

The Cambion turned and dashed back outside, while Kort shot John a questioning look.

“No idea.” John shrugged back.

As the three Raiders inserted their keys simultaneously (once they’d figured out which one fit what lock), and turned them together, the King began explaining.

“The reason I am a Wizard,” Kort said, “and not an Evolved as most Kings are, is because my father was one. And his before that. It has been a tradition in my family for at least one Raider to chose this path, for as long as there have been Raider Kings. I am told our tradition dates back to the very first years after the Nine were chained, and the Challenges began. Whether this is true or not, we have kept a record of our lore, handed down from Wizard to new Wizard upon our return from the Cyclone Tower.” The King patted a satchel he wore slung across his body. The material was oiled, and sealed against the elements.

There was a loud knocking, followed by the water beginning to drain from the pool. Kort motioned for John to follow him closer, right to the edge. As the level dropped, steps were exposed leading down to the rough-textured bottom. They waited until only an inch remained before the King and John walked down the stairs.

“Skyald,” Kort nodded at the warrior, “is my cousin. His father before him, my uncle was an Evolved Explorer. He calls me the Wizard’s Wizard, for I am able to perform things with the Sapphire Dragon’s power no one else I know of can. You saw him fighting last night, yes?”

John nodded. “I did. He was incredible.”

Kort smiled. “He is an Evolved Warrior, dangerous in his own right no doubt. But before he left the ship yesterday, I gave him the Warrior’s Boon. It is a special blessing my great grandfather learned to give. When bestowed upon someone such as my cousin, who knows of its effect and how to use it to its utmost, the results are, as you put it: incredible.”

The King’s face grew serious. “And recall what he could do, should I direct it at any who challenged my authority.”

“No argument.” John held his arms out.

Kort’s smile returned. “Another piece of lore, discovered by both my father and my uncle regards this place. They already knew, from my grandfather, who discovered that the Shipwreck Graveyard is not merely a shallow, treacherous area for boats. No, this area was once, long before the Nine, a city the likes of which the world hasn’t seen since. A massive port town larger than from Final Harbor to Joryndarfil, perhaps even as far as Two Courts. But before the Arrival of legend, this city, with more inhabitants than all the nations in the world now combined, experienced a cataclysm like nothing we could imagine. Rivaled only by the Arrival itself for devastation, I am guessing. It sank beneath the seas, and was not seen again until Typhon raised his lair from the ocean floor. Something that the Sapphire Dragon did then caused the ruins of this city to rise back to the surface, too. Or nearly anyway.”

“Atlantis.” John whispered in awe.

Kort’s grin was Cheshire. “I see that you know more about the lore I thought only I alone knew. Yes, Ay-thlanti-is it was called.” He pointed at the spear gun slung over John’s shoulder. “Your reaction to the Mer-folk water crossbow said as much. Know this, as your own people likely do not: should a free Mer-man see you carrying that weapon, he will attack you on sight. Even though it means his own death, he will take it from you and return it to the sea. With his own dying body, if need be.”

John blinked in shock. “You’re serious?”

The King nodded sadly. “I am. Once, in the years of my great grandfather, there was a Raider Kingdom larger than Joryndarfil. It was on an island, just east of our shore, about midway between Final Harbor and Joryndarfil. The last King there grew very powerful by taking Mer-folk as slaves. He thought them more useful than Islanders, or other races. They can breathe and see under water, swim great distances and the Bay knows no greater fish hunters. Their Evolutions are even different from ours, though even their Evolved are extremely difficult to capture. The island grew rich, and fielded a Raider fleet larger than all other Kingdoms combined. Yet this King held so many Mer-slaves that their number exceeded his own Raiders’ by many times. It was his folly, and is why the Mer-folk will normally fight to the death rather than be captured.”