Throughout the course of the long, halting passage, Demetrios fretted and cursed and fumed. He had been most loath to embark upon this abasement, but now that it was commenced, he wished to finish it quickly—like the fast swallowing of an unpleasant medicine.
Finally, the ship eased between the last of the jagged rocks and glided into the central lagoon, landlocked and placid, the water clear as blue-green glass and the bottom deceptively appearing but an arm’s length from the viewer. The protrusions of dark rock were almost invisible, so covered were they by an endless profusion of fantastically colorful plant and animal life. Schools of tiny fish, scintillating as gemstones, darted to and fro and, a few hundred yards to port, a brace of flying fish broke the surface and sailed twice the length of the ship before re-entering the water.
The ship’s crew secured their sweeps and were making sail when Demetrios, his anger and frustration and even his sickness temporarily purged from him by the unquestionable beauty over which they were moving, rushed to the waist to hang over the rail. Fascinated by the marine panorama, he failed to notice the huge, dark shape just below the keel. Suddenly, a gigantic head broke the surface, immediately below him, and it seemed to his startled gaze that all the world had become a dark red gaping maw edged with huge conical white teeth.
Shrieking with terror, Demetrios thrust himself upward from off the rail with such force that he lost his footing and came down with a painful thump of soft bottom on hard deckboards.
From his seat, he screamed to the twenty black spearmen who were his bodyguards, “Kill it! Kill it! Do you hear us? We command you to kill the horrid, nasty thing! Kill it, now! At once!”
Two of the tall, slender men fitted short, broad-bladed darts to throwing sticks. One kicked off his slick-soled gilt sandals and climbed a few feet up the standing rigging. The other, who had been beside Lord Sergios on the small bridge, grasped a taut line and leaped onto the rail. But neither could spot a target; the monster had apparently departed as quickly and noiselessly as it had come.
Then, a long bowshot distant, a veritable forest of towering, black, triangular fins, broke water and bore along on the same course as the ship.
“Sea serpents!” whimpered Demetrios. “They’ll sink the ship and eat us!”
Endeavoring to not show his disgust, Titos shook his grizzled head, saying, “Beggin’ the High-Lord’s pardon, but them be grampuses, sorta half-porpoise an’ half-whale. The lords of these isles hold converse with them creatures and, ‘tis said they do his biddin’. I doubt me not that so many could go far toward the sinkin’ of my ship, but…”
Before he could say more, the starboard side of the ship was struck twice, in rapid succession—a one-two that shook every line, beam, and timber of the vessel and rattled the teeth in men’s heads. The aft spearman lost his footing on the polished rail and, stubbornly refusing to drop his spearstick and dart, hung by onlv his grip on the line, his sandaled feet frantically scrabbling for purchase on the smooth surfaces of the strakes.
Ere any could leap to the dangling man’s assistance, a shadowy shape appeared beneath him. Again a head such as had frightened Demetrios rose above the water and a gaping mouth opened. While the spearman screamed, his legs and pelvis disappeared into that mouth and thick, two-inch teeth sank into the dark flesh … and then the fingers were gone from the line. Horrified, the crew and passengers could not but watch through the terrible clarity of the water as two streamlined black-and-white shapes, each above thirty feet long, worried the thrashing man apart, releasing a pink cloud of diluted blood. Voraciously, the monsters cleaned up the scraps, leaving but little to be picked at by the gleaming little fish.
On the heels of the gruesome episode, the ashy-faced High-Lord fled to his cabin, leaving the deck to the crew, the nineteen sober and silent bodyguards, and Lord Sergios. During the couple of hours it took them to sail within sight of the main island, Kehnooryos Knossos, Titos and Lord Sergios lounged on the minuscule bridge and chatted. Every so often, whenever the array of six-foot fins changed directions, Titos shouted the change of course to the steersman. Between those times, however, he was’able to ascertain that “Admiral” Sergios’ intelligence was farjjreater than his foppish exterior promised, although his hands gave proof that he was no true seaman; nonetheless, he proved to know quite a bit of theoretical navigation.
Just before they entered the harbor mouth, a grampus sped past them and disappeared into the murky water of the harbor.
“Going to report to his master,” remarked Titos. Sergios nodded. “Many might call it sorcery, but I have heard that those who dwelt on the mainland, prior to the Punishment of God, domesticated all manner of unusual creatures—porpoises and seals among them.”
“Aye,” affirmed Titos. “I, too, have heard those tales. It is said that, even today, in the Witch Kingdom amid the Great Southern Swamp, full many a strange beast does the bidding of man.”
At the mention of that unholy domain, Lord Sergios shuddered and hurriedly crossed himself.
“Why, strike me blind!” exclaimed Titos. “It has been years since I have seen any of your Lordship’s class do that. I had thought me that the High-Lord’s new religion had completely supplanted the Ancient Faith—amongst the nobility of the capital, at least.”
Sergios flushed and glanced about uneasily. “So it has, good Master Titos. The High-Lord’s orders notwithstanding, it is difficult to throw off the training of one’s childhood and youth.”
Now it was Titos who covertly eyed the deck and took care to see that his words would not be overheard. “Do you ever hear from your noble father, Lord Sergios? I served him, years agone, ere I went to sea. I still love him, despite what is said of him.”
Sergios took Titos’ arm and hustled him over to the rail. “Let none other hear you so avow, Master Titos,” he whispered. “Else, some gray dawn will find you adorning a cross or immured in that place of horrors beneath the High-Lord’s prison, screaming for death.
“But in answer, no. Whether it’s because he does not wish to endanger me, does not trust me, or has died, I do not know. I’ve not had one word from him since his flight.”
“My Lord,” hissed Titos fervently, “there are many who, like me, honor the memory of your noble father and what he tried to do for Kehnooryos Ehlahs …”
But he never finished, for it was then that Denietrios, closely guarded by his spearmen, waddled back on deck.
He was resplendent, hoping his sartorial elegance might possibly overawe the dread Lord Pardos and assure him the respect that the nasty pirate had thus far withheld. His sandals were not only gilded but adorned with small gems; so, too, were his gilded-suede “greaves.” His kilt was of starched, snowy linen, and his cloth-of-gold “cuirass” had been stiffened with strips of whalebone. Rings flashed from every finger, almost matching the jewel-blaze that was the hilt and guard of his dress-sword. His flowing locks had been teased into ringlets, and hair; mustache and forked beard all shone and reeked of strongly perfumed oil.
Protocol in visits such as this really called for a military helmet, but the wearing of any kind of armor was unbearable to Demetrios. Metal was hot, binding, heavy, and terribly uncomfortable, and even leather caused one to perspire so. Therefore, his only head covering consisted of a narrow, golden circlet, surmounted by a frame of stiff wires. Over this was stretched another piece of cloth-of-gold that had been thickly sewn with seed pearls and was crested by a blue ostrich plume.