Nicci thought about the sliph, who had similarly volunteered to become something inhuman because of her fierce devotion to a cause. “Are you sure they remember their loyalty? Have you spoken with them? Can you speak to them?”
“I have been talking to them regularly, reading them stories, legends, and history,” Nathan said. “I’ve explained what is happening now outside the walls, with the reawakened army. I am convinced they understand.”
Elsa touched his arm. “We reminded them of their duty. The Ixax may not be able to defeat a dragon, but they are the most powerful weapon Ildakar has right now.”
Nicci nodded slowly. “They were designed to slay tens of thousands of enemy soldiers. They would certainly cause much greater harm than our surprise attack the other night.” She studied the giant warriors for a long moment. They would be devastating in their own way. “Yes, I think we should take the chance.”
CHAPTER 60
Fighting stormy seas, the Norukai fleet sailed south from the jagged islands, heading to the wide mouth of the estuary where the Killraven River spilled into the ocean.
Fifty sturdy serpent ships, blessed by the blood of Yorik and the grace of the serpent god, pushed across the open water, their dark blue sails stretched tight by guiding winds. Whenever the breezes faltered, King Grieve would sound the drums, and his warriors extended the lines of oars to row the ships onward.
Grieve had always been a restless man. Sitting on his blocky throne left him impatient, so he tended to leave the Bastion walls and roam the island, hunting by himself or taking a small boat to one of the nearby islands. His people needed to see him, and they needed to fear him.
Wanting to fight, he would provoke clan leaders, yell at them, open his scarred mouth wide as if to bite their faces off. He insulted them, shamed them until they retaliated. Occasionally, some hotheaded fool got angry enough to challenge him for the rule of the Norukai, and those reluctant challengers always died. Grieve selected them carefully.
Now, the Norukai islands were half empty, since the bravest were with him aboard the serpent ships in his giant navy, while others had gone off in separate fleets with the disgraced Kor or Lars. Those others were misfits and lackluster warriors, mostly drunkards, those with exorbitant gambling debts, or cuckolds who couldn’t face their fellow warriors without shame. King Grieve knew they would fight with wild abandon, but he was interested in blood and glory for himself. Ildakar was a legendary city with countless wizards and ancient defenses that had held for centuries, but no mere city could stand against a Norukai invasion.
He stood behind the serpent carving that roared from the prow of his ship. When he grew bored of staring at the waves and the spray, he stalked back along the deck. His shaman pranced alongside him, unable to contain his energy. “Sailing, sailing, sailing!” Chalk said. “We are sailing, and soon we will kill. I’ve seen it. We will kill! Ildakar will be gone! My Grieve, King Grieve! They’ll all grieve.”
“Yes, I’m your Grieve, and our enemies will grieve.”
“We’ll kill soon, I’ve seen it.” The albino grinned with glee.
Grieve knew they were still far from the estuary. “What will we kill?” On the open sea they wouldn’t find any ships, nor would they bother to attack small coastal towns, like Renda Bay. Not this time.
“Don’t know, my Grieve.” Chalk looked away as if he had failed his king. He stared into the sun without blinking, gazing for so long that Grieve thought he might go blind. He knocked the gangly shaman aside. Chalk rubbed his eyes. Back at the Bastion, he would stare at the flames in the large hearth and sort out his visions. Now without a convenient fire, he seemed to seek premonitions in the sun itself.
With a brisk wind, the water was rough and choppy. Even though Chalk had sailed with him from island to island, this was the longest ocean voyage the pale man had endured. For the first three days, Chalk was abominably sick, clutching his stomach with one hand and holding on to the rail with the other as he retched over the side, convinced that the serpent god had cursed him, that somehow Yorik’s sacrifice hadn’t been sufficient. In his misery, he threatened to throw himself overboard, but Grieve held him back.
“It is not the serpent god. It’s just sickness from the sea. You know that others get it.” Even brave Norukai with painfully scarred faces, warriors eager to bloody their hands and weapons on raids, could be struck with seasickness, for which they were mocked by the other Norukai.
Two raiders had snickered and insulted Chalk on this voyage, and King Grieve clubbed one of the men to death while he was guffawing. With the man’s head leaking brains like a broken cliff gourd, Grieve heaved him over the side of the ship.
The second mocking man fell to his knees and bowed. “Forgiveness, King Grieve! Let me die in battle.”
Grieve turned to Chalk. “It is your decision. Should he die?”
Utterly miserable, the shaman had shaken his head and staggered to the side of the boat, where he vomited again. Grieve made sure he drank enough water to keep himself alive. Finally, after three choppy days, the seas calmed and Chalk’s queasiness retreated. Now that he was over the worst of it, the shaman was again full of energy, eager to see the coast, the river, and Ildakar.
As they sailed, the serpent ships dragged nets to catch fresh fish to eat. The food was considered an offering from the serpent god and far better than the preserved and salted stores. For himself, King Grieve had brought along the last of the yaxen meat from Ildakar, which he refused to share.
The raiding fleet sailed through gray waters. Chalk darted to the side of the ship, tugging on Grieve’s muscular arm. “I’ve seen it. You’ll see it, too! Look.” He pointed, but Grieve couldn’t see anything on the waves. “Killing!”
Hearing the excited jabber, other Norukai strode to the side of the vessel. A shout came from one of the adjacent serpent ships, and Grieve shaded his eyes. “There!” Chalk said. “I told you we will kill soon. Look!”
“Selka.” The Norukai warrior beside him growled in his throat. “Look on the waves, my king.”
Now Grieve did see bobbing figures, slick gray shapes swimming there, but they were not human. Grieve ground his molars together, felt his jaw muscles strain. “Selka…” He said the word as if spitting poison. “Why doesn’t the serpent god just devour them all and rid the seas of their stain?”
He felt a blood fire in his gut. The selka were an undersea race of vicious monsters that might once have been human long ago. They swam together and served their cruel selka queen. The creatures attacked ships they considered trespassers. They would swarm up the hulls or tear holes below the waterline. The selka had iron-hard claws and rows of daggerlike teeth.
Despite their fearsome appearance, though, they could be killed. Grieve knew that for a fact, because he had killed many himself. Often the selka would overwhelm a Norukai ship with their numbers, and then leave the vessels adrift after murdering everyone aboard. Sometimes the wrecks were found on the open sea, the dark blue sails shredded, the masts broken, claw marks, slime, and blood all over the decks. Grieve hated the selka.
A succession of shouts rang out from the serpent ships. The Norukai gathered spears, axes, and harpoons, preparing for an attack from the water. They called out to the selka, taunting them, daring the creatures to come closer.
“Too many,” Chalk said, shaking his head. “Too many.”
“We will fight them,” Grieve said. “I don’t care how many there are.”
“No, no, my Grieve. Too many of us. The selka are afraid. Too many! The Norukai would kill them all. They won’t attack.”