“Why then,” spoke up young Reynor, who had been lounging upon the rail nearby, “Black Kalgalath must sit atop the highest perch.”
“He would at that,” responded Arik. “Then would come Ebonskaith and Skail-and Redclaw would be next. Then perhaps Sleeth the Orm, followed by Silverscale. Beyond that, ’tis anyone’s guess.”
At mention of Sleeth’s name, Elgo, Ruric, and Reynor glanced at one another, but said nought, and Arik did not seem to notice.
“They perch there and bellow: Fire-drake from Sun to Sun; Cold-drake at night,” Arik went on. “And then the legends say that in the darktide, one by one, Krakens come to their call, the greatest first, the least last, each burning wi’ the green glowing daemonfire o’ the deeps, spinning in the great roaring churn o’ the Maelstrom.” Arik’s voice dropped to an awed whisper. “And one by one the Drakes plunge into that fearsome spin, to be clutched in the grasping embrace o’ those hideous tentacles, each Dragon drawn under by a monstrous mate, lover and lover sucked into the whirling black abyss below, to spawn beyond the light o’ all knowledge.
“And later, somehow the Drakes return, bursting through the dark surface, struggling to wing up into the night air, and only the strongest survive.”
Arik’s voice fell silent as each Man thought upon his words. At last Reynor spoke: “Ah, Captain Arik, and what of the offspring. What is the result of this hideous mating ’tween Dragon and Kraken? What young do they bear?”
Arik gestured out over the ocean. “Why, Sea Serpents, lad, Sea-drakes, the Longwyrms o’ the oceans. How d’ee think our Folk came by the name Dragonboat, lad? From the Sea-drake, that be how.
“Up from the briny depths come the great serpents o’ the vasty deep. These are the children of that vile spawning: the Sea-drakes!”
“But then, Captain”-Reynor looked puzzled-“if nought but the serpents of the sea are the get of that breeding, whence come the Dragons themselves, or the Krakens for that matter?”
“Ah, lad, there is the mystery,” Arik responded, shrugging his shoulders. “’Tis said by those wise enough to know, that both Drakes and Krakes come from the water serpents.
“Look, lad, ha’e ’ee not seen the butterfly and the moth? Aye, they each spring from worms, worms that eat leaves till their gut is full enough, and then they spin a cocoon. And lo! from that cocoon comes a winged creature: moth or butterfly.
“’Tis the same wi’ the Sea-drakes, though cocoon or no, as to the which o’ it I cannot say. Still, ’tis told that after ages at sea the great serpents take themselves unto the unlit depths o’ the vast chasms below the waves. There they undergo a mighty metamorphosis. And just as some caterpillars become butterflies, whilst others become moths, well then too some serpents-the males, they say-become Dragons while others-the females-become Krakens.
“Or so say the wise.
“Aye, and I believe it! List: None ha’e e’er seen a clutch o’ Dragon eggs aland: they seem to lay them not. And none ha’e e’er seen a small young Drake: all seem full grown from the first. And none ha’e e’er seen a female Dragon: they all be males.
“And as to the Kraken, well, I cannot say as to what they may be, but the sages say that they are the Dragons’ mates.”
A dark mood fell upon the four as they stared over water at the far headland, dim in the distance. After a long while, Arik broke the silence: “Ah me. Dragon, Kraken, Sea Serpent, I don’t know the which o’ it, but I do know that many a ship ha’ been lost to something in those waters, be it Maelstrom or monster. None ha’e e’er lived to tell o’ it.”
Again the four fell silent, though Elgo, deep in thought, fingered the hilt of his sword.
“Ah, Prince Elgo,” Arik mused, “I see the fire gleam in yer eye at the mention o’ combat wi’ these vile spawn. But hearken to me: No Man, none, ha’e e’er slain a Kraken. Ne’er! Though ’tis said that many ha’e fallen afoul these dire creatures. Ai! And no Man ha’ e’er escaped the suck o’ the Maelstrom once caught in its grasp.
“Mark me! A Man would ha’e to be daft to take on either the Maelstrom or a Kraken. By Hèl! he might as soon hie down to Rian, to Blackstone, and challenge Sleeth himself!”
Suddenly, as if stricken by a thunderbolt, a stunned look came over Arik’s weathered features, and he stared agape, first at Elgo, then at Ruric; and of those twain, Ruric refused to meet Arik’s eye, though Elgo simply laughed. “Ai! Ye’d not be going there for that, would ’ee?” Arik’s voice held awe. “Ye’d not be thinkin’ o-”
“Captain Arik!” Words burst forth from quick Reynor, seeking to shunt aside this line of thought. “You say that none have escaped the Maelstrom, yet you forget Snorri, Borri’s son, and the Mystical Maid of the Maelstrom! He won free of the churn!” Reynor’s clear voice rose into the air, caroling the last verse of the bawdy ode:
Old Snorri in a cog
With his three-legged dog
Sailed off on the Boreal Sea.
And the Mystical Maid
At last was well laid,
So she set Snorri, Borri’s son, free.
“Har, lad!” whooped Arik, white teeth gleaming, “I’d forgotten about Snorri Long Haft. Yet I ween the Maelstrom he tangled wi’ is not the one at the Seabanes, though perhaps it spun just as hungrily.”
Reynor, Elgo, Ruric, all roared at Arik’s words, joined by the lusty peals of the Captain.
Wreathed in smiles, Arik said nothing more about the ominous threat to the south, nor did he say aught else of Sleeth the Orm, though occasionally he did glance shrewdly at Elgo and Ruric.
And the four longships clove through the icy water, the white-capped Gronfang Mountains ashore sliding up over the horizon, soon followed by the craggy Seabane Islands asea, slipping leftward in the distance to be lost at last over the horizon astern.
West sou’west raced the Dragonboats, past the end of the bleak Gronfangs, past the craggy Seabanes as well, and though they could not see it, past the long shore of the dreaded Realm named Gron.
Gron, where in days of eld Modru ruled. Yet at the end of the Ban War, that vile Wizard had fled unto the northern wastes. . or so it is said ’round the hearth when tales are told of the Great War between Adon and Gyphon.
Mighty was the struggle, with all of creation hanging in the balance. And in this conflict, Modru was Gyphon’s Lieutenant upon Mithgar; and he came within a hair’s breadth of total victory here upon the midworld, only to be defeated in the last gasp by a great unexpected stroke, a stroke set in motion by the Wee Folk of legend, or so claim the wise.
Yet those baleful days were some thousands of years apast; but even though Modru was fled, Gron remained a place of dread.
And to this day, Modru is spoken of in hushed tones, as if invoking his very name could somehow draw that wickedness back. And signs of warding are sketched in the air by many at mention of the vile being, or of his baneful Land.
And the Realm of Gron, beyond the horizon, was shunned by all but the Foul Folk: Rutcha, Drōkha, Ogrus, they lived there still, as did Vulgs and Guula and Hèlsteeds, and other creatures dire. Leaderless at this time of Mithgar, they were not a threat to the rule of the midworld; though upon occasion here and there, bands of the Spawn would raid through the night, pillaging and laying to waste those caught in their wrath. Yet all were banned from the light of day, suffering the Withering Death should they be caught in the clean glow of Adon’s Sun.
Even so, some sages feared that perhaps one day vile Modru would return to his cold Iron Tower in Gron to lead his vast minions in another assault upon the wide world. Others scoffed at this “nonsense,” for did not the Foul Folk suffer Adon’s Ban? Why, it would take a miracle or an astounding turn of events ere that would come to pass; and for now, Modru dwelt not in his tower in Gron, nor was he ever likely to again!