The Oceans of Horror: Chapter 16

The ethereal icy spires of the Elven palace rose hundreds of arms up in the perfect blue sky, so think that it was hard to tell spire from sky. From that distance, only the spires were visible, but soon they will be able to see the whole palace. And shortly after, they’d be in cannon fire range.

The Dwarves wore again wool garments, gloves and fur coats they had kept stashed away for so long. Now they didn’t look like short stocky pyrates anymore, but like the legendary Dwarves of the mountains. Bloodaxe had tested the cannons with blanks, to make sure they would work in the cold, and with the newfound pyrogenic powder, they did.

At their side, also Akada Long’s crew were managing well in their fokka furs, but they were not so at ease in the cold. Fine ears could hear their cursing and muttering. But Long’s cannons were ready too, and despite frost that adorned rigging in the mornings, the Bluestreak remained fast and nimble.

Discomfort mattered little tho. They were going to get the Ether Essence – or Piss of the Gods – from the Elves, by any means necessary. The huge palace, in fact more a fortified citadel built on the sheer cliffs of the coast, grew steadily closer.

It was built of the almost white limestone of the cliffs, in a slender architecture rich of domes and pointed arches, topped by the vertiginous spires they saw first. But the walls and ramparts were strong and tall. Bloodaxe scanned every detail using his sight-tube, sharply looking for the telltale gleam of polished armor, or the shiver of a feathered elm. But all was silent and deserted. The coward pointy ears must be hiding in the citadel, waiting in ambush.

They sailed on in formation, speaking only as little as needed. But Manin muttered under his beard an ancient war song, and several other Dwarves joined the chorus. The Palace extended onto a shallow promontory, and culminated in a proud, tall guard tower and light-house. But there was no light up in the lantern.

Bloodaxe and Long took their ships slightly to the right; where the citadel walls curved along the coast, protected from the dominant winds by the bend, a grand golden gate opened onto a stone path, flanked by gatehouses. The path cut through a less steep section of the cliff, and finally led to a pair of short jetties. Another gate with gatehouses blocked the path just uphill of the jetties. And yet all that looked cold, lifeless.

Those pyratical crews were used to the silence of the open seas, but that close to town there should be all sort of sounds. Here, there were only the cackling of sea-birds and the roar of waves.

Without warning, a shrill whistle came from the inner part of the citadel and a column of blue blinding light began rising. It carried a sort of golden cone on top, and pushed it up towards the sky at a fantastic speed. The column of light detached from the ground in a ragged end and kept soaring becoming smaller and smaller.

“Curse the pointy ears, they’re fleeing! Left-hand cannons, fire balls at the gate!”

Bloodaxe broke the silence. He’d shake up those cursed Elves hiding in their lairs. The cannoneers worked smoothly loading the balls, then took aim and fired. Pushed by that new stronger propellant, the balls flew fast and true. Two slammed in the stone pavement, while the third hit the gate with a gigantic GOOONG! The other two balls as well skidded into the gate, which swung inward halfway.

And nothing followed. No Elves poured out to respond, no alarms sounded. After that fracas, they could hear faint sounds and voices from the Citadel.

“Long! We must land now,!”, Bloodaxe shouted even louder than necessary.

“What in the seas is going on there, Bloodaxe?.”

“Those scum are fleeing to the stars!”

“You know a lot about Elves, don’t you?”

Bloodaxe just snorted.

“To the pier, crew ready to storm the citadel!”

“When all this business is over, you’ll have to tell me about this mighty beef you Dwarves have with Elves.”

“Aye, I’ll do. We’ll drink a whole flask of fine ron while I tell you the tale.”

“I’ll hold you to that.”

The Nugget led the way to the closest pier, and the Bluestreak went for the farther one. Men donned their weapons, while Dwarves donned weapons and armor. Bloodaxe stood proud at the prow wearing his fearsome horned helmet and holding his wicked axe, eager to put it to work.

The crews lowered woven rope fenders, then just when the Nugget’s hull touched the pier, four Dwarves, still agile despite the battle armor, jumped overboard.

They took the mooring lines thrown from the ship, and fastened them to stout wooden posts emerging from the pier’s immaculate stone.

Then the four Dwarves rushed over to the other pier and assisted Bluestreak’s mooring too. Gangplanks were lowered to let the raiders on the piers. Bloodaxe headed his own Dwarves, and Long led his Men. They started up the path at a brisk jog, crossbows at the ready and weapons in hand.

The first gatehouse down by the docks was empty and bare, doors ajar; a couple of Men gave it a quick look to make sure it was empty.

They kept jogging up the slope; Bloodaxe’s gang accelerated its pace but without forgetting to watch out for threats.

The cannonballs had dented the main gate pretty badly, but it was still in one piece. It was hollow brass covered in a layer of gold that carried bands of intricate, delicate bas-relief of plants and animals running from top to bottom.

The Dwarves pushed the door open and forged on entering the Citadel. In the streets, there was little wind, and that gave a reprieve from the bitter cold. All was built from the same off-white stone, and dark timber. The architecture was slender and beautiful, and the workmanship – even the Dwarves had to acknowledge the fact – superb. A profusion of solid gold decorations adorned nearly all doors and and archways. But the city was desert and lifeless. Most doors and window shutters were left ajar; all appeared empty and bare.

The explorers then moved faster up the slight incline towards the grand central keep, paying less attention to open doors and side alleys, and more to the battlements. The Grand Keep had its own massive gate, similar to the main gate, and gatehouse.

Another column of light shot up from somewhere inside the walls. At that shorter distance, the shriek was ear-piercing.

There was an open, paved space to cross to reach the gate. A perfect killzone. Long realized it too, and scanned the battlements with his sight tube.

“I cannot swear on it, but there are archers behind the arrow slits above the gate.”

“Aye, there are. There always are. And I’ll tell you what we’ll do about it.”

Which was, nothing. The Dwarves conferred briefly in their own language, and left the crossbows to Long’s group. Then they charged onwards bellowing battle cries with their axes held high.

“Show your pasty faces, cursed Elves! I am Bloodaxe, son of Stonefist, and I challenge you!”, he roared.

The Elves did not show their faces, but rained arrows down on the Dwarves. Yet it wasn’t a downpour; more like a light spring rain. Most the the arrows eve bounced off the attacker’s plate armor without causing any damage.

The Dwarves attacked the gate near its lower hinges using their heavy axes. Their swing were mighty and tireless; the Men realized so far they’d seen Dwarves going easy. Now they were going all-out, and its was an awesome, scary sight. Dents and gashes appeared in the gate, small at first then larger. The clang of metal on metal was deafening.

The Elves began throwing stones and balls of metal, and those were a little more effective: the Dwarves needed to pay attention and dodge those missiles. A Dwarf, probably Rozz, was hit on the back of the neck and went down. But he crawled to the side and after a few seconds he was up again, even if a little sluggish.

The gate started swaying under the pressure, but the Elven reaction did not ramp up. In fact it dwindled, like less and less defenders were manning the battlements.

What did Bloodaxe say, that the Elves were leaving for the stars? So it made sense they would just retreat.

“Crossbowmen, fire! Crew, to the gate! Tear it down! ”

The Pyrates rushed the gate while the crossbowmen shot at the defenders. The men did not have the heavy axes, but they could push and pull.

With all the additional arms showing it, the gate did not last much longer. The bottom part gave way swinging inwards. The attackers retreated not to be crushed by the slab that was now hanging only by the sturdy wooden crossbar. Bloodaxe and Manin attacked it with axes, and after a few mighty strokes the slab fell. The racket echoed across the citadel, then in the following silence they could hear Elves talking aloud in their melodious, enchanting language.

The Dwarves pressed forward followed by the Men. Scattered Elves shot arrows at the intruders while retreating; one unlucky man was hit in the lower abdomen and a very lucky arrow struck a dwarf in the cheekbone leaving a bloody gash. But they pressed on and arrived in the central yard of the keep.

Where they found a rather odd scene. There were still a couple dozen elves, most of them around a large bronze bell-shaped structure. The bell was installed atop a wooden platform and Elves were trying to push a sledge loaded with something large and heavy covered in furs inside the bell, through the open door in its side.

Next to the platform there was an open pit, hot air shimmering in waves above it. Around the opening there were piles of charred and smoking wood beams and planks, likely the remains of other platforms.

And more Elves in battle attire, shooting more arrows. An odd and disgusting smell, like a stale latrine, wafted in the air.

The pyrate Men, who as a rule didn’t put much value in self-sacrifice, covered behind the heavily armored Dwarves and handed them back the crossbows. Karrar and Manin took out a couple Elves with those weapons.

“That big bloody load must be the Piss of the Gods!”, Bloodaxe said.

“Aye, judging from the stench.”, replied Long from between Bloodaxe’s shoulder blades.

“Dwarves, charge! Take that booty!”

The Dwarves did charge without a second thought. So the Men followed drawing their cutlasses and boarding knives. The Elves at last drew their curved swords and engaged in close combat with the attackers. They were fast and cold-blooded, but they were facing Dwarves familiar with the deviousness of Men.

Bloodaxe swung his maraza at the lead elf’s mid-section; he partly turned aside and partly parried the blow with his small shield.

Then the elf responded with a stab towards Bloodaxe’s neck. His gorget caught the blow, and he turned the axe in a diagonal downward cut that sliced to the bone through his enemy’s thigh. The elf fell and Bloodaxe finished him chopping his head off.

The other Dwarves were no less formidable, and they quickly cut down several more Elves. Men didn’t fare so well instead: three of them ganged upon an Elf and they managed to dispatch him only after two of them were badly wounded.

At last, only the two Elves that stood by the bell’s door guiding the sledge were left. They were holding their swords at the high and ready. They exchanged a few words in their language, then threw their swords to the ground.

“Surrender!”, one of them yelled.

Bloodaxe and Manin kept advancing up the ramp, marazas held high. Bloodaxe just stopped and lowered his axe in a carry position. Manin followed suit.

“Accepted. Come down!”

The Elves walked down the ramp, and the Dwarves searched them, finding a small dagger on one of them. Then they were bound hand and feet.

The raiders took some time to count their casualties. Several Dwarves were injured lightly, and a few more seriously.

One man died of his wounds, and two more were in a quite bad shape. The other pyrates removed all valuables and good garments from the fallen one, then dumped his body in the pit. Long recited a brief perfunctory prayer.

After catching a breath, the able-bodies raiders left pulled the sled down from the ramp and removed the furs covering its load. It was an irregular block of dirty yellow ice, tall as twice as a dwarf and perhaps two times wide, dripping sparsely a fetid liquid. It did stink more than before without its cover.

“Piss of the Gods is a bloody apt name for this swill!”, Long commented, “The magic they can extract from this foul stuff must be truly powerful, to make them have any truck with it.”

“It must be powerful, to let us destroy Yogesodoth. But curse it, it stinks!”, Bloodaxe added. I’ll ask our friends to be sure.”

He approached the two captives.

“Is that what you blondies use to make your special ron?”

Only one of them talked, still haughty and defiant, speaking broken High Dwarfish:

“Your stolid brains not understand our taste.”

“I don’t care about your fucked tastes. Is it the stuff?”

“Dull Dwarves and Men, Y’gh-Sodoth awake destroy your world. No future yours. We return to beautiful stars. Your luck be good.”

“You are stuck here with us and Yogesodoth, dimwits.”

The Elf just glared. Bloodaxe pulled out his knife:

“What if I give you a nice close shave with my steel knife, blondie?”

At last the other elf spoke. He sounded weary and defeated:

“It is. Last piece left.”

“That’s more than we need.”

“Aye, it is the stuff!.”, Bloodaxe shouted.

“Let’s take back as much as we can! This is not gold, yet it’s worth… more than it smells!.”, Long ordered provoking chuckles from the raiders.

They had brought extra furs and leather satchels, and quickly chipped away smaller pieces of the dirty ice. They filled their satchels with about one third of the block and wrapped them in furs. And it still smelled awful.

Then they did what sensible pyrates would do and stripped as much of the gold decorations as they could carry.

“Lowlifes, thieves.”, the haughty Elf protested in decent Thalassean.

Long walked up to them:

“You can considered yourself fortunate. We are now Imperial Sea-Raiders, and thus bound to treat prisoners as gently as the Emperor wants. Yet, don’t test our patience.”

When Men and Dwarves were sure the looting was done, they started moving back towards their ships, Elves in tow.

“Where you take us?”, the easygoing one went.

“To the Emperor of Anarnia, down south. He’ll decide what to do with you two.”

They made their way back to the ships at the early dusk of the short northern autumn day. Long took Bloodaxe aside:

“Brother, do you believe that this accursed swill can be used to produce this Trine Essence and kill Yogesodoth with it?”

Bloodaxe looked pensive for a few moments.

“I trust our Alkemisters. Empress Monica too is worth my trust.”

“Trusting an Empress. What Pyrates are we now?”

Long was just half-joking.

“We signed up to be Imperial Sea-Raiders, brother. Look at it this way. You just play along, we all win and there’s a pardon for all our pyratical adventures. If instead we lose, the World ends eaten by Yogesodoth and there’s nothing more to worry about.”

“That is sensible, brother.”

“Better we take the elves on my ship. They can glamour Men, but not Dwarves. Although, I think these two are just lowly goons.”

“I’m happy to let you deal with them. We will sail as soon as possible, we cannot wait for sunrise.”

“Aye, my friend.”

The raiders sailed all night under an overcast sky that discharged showers of sleet and frozen rain. When the morning came, it was brighter but still sleet fell from time to time from the overcast sky.

“Kraaakeeenn!”, yelled the watch from the Nugget’s crow’s nest.

“All hands on deck! Pepare to fight!”, Manin ordered without needing to wait for anyone else. Dwarves dropped their chores, donned helmets and breastplates over their floating vests, and moved to the gunwhales, crossbows and axes ready to repel the sea-monster.

Bloodaxe emerged from his cabin. He wore the heavy iron helmet of his ancestors and carried his maraza, polished wicked edges gleaming. Long’s men too took their batle stations, but the Nugget stood between his ship and the attacking beast.

The kraken emerged again, expressionless black eyes fixed on the ship. It was a big one, its mottled grey body as long as one half of the ship. Its long grey tentacles darted forward… but met with a hail of well-aimed crossbow darts. The appendages danced around a little more, then retreated. Two of those tho whipped forward again, fast as lightning, and coiled around the main mast, one at knee height an the other above a dwarf’s head. They were strong limbs, bigger than a thigh, and gently tapering to the size of a wrist. The round suckers in two rows could rip skin off the flesh.

Bloodaxe tho was ready, and not scared. He turned and sprinted forward, maraza held high.

“YAHARRR!”, he bellowed jumping up, and slicing clean through the higher tentacle with his blade. The limb snapped back, dripping bluish blood. Bloodaxe landed on his feet and turned, ready to strike again. But the kraken had enough; it let go of the mast and with a last malevolent look disappeared again in the depths to hunt for less combative prey. From what seafarers knew of krakens, their tentacles could regrow, given enough time.

The part of tentacle Bloodaxe chopped off remained coiled stubbornly around the mast, but in the time the Dwarves needed to check none fell overboard or was injured, it relaxed and fell to the deck with a wet thud. Manin and Pavan the cook picked it up; it was about six arms long, and pretty hefty.

“Shall we make good of it, Captain?”, Pavan asked hopeful.

“Light the coals! It’s kraken for breakfast today!”. The crew cheered, anticipating the rich, juicy flavors of grilled fresh sea-food.

++++