"Three Virgins Manor"
May. 12th, 2022 10:21 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dochermes"Three Virgins Manor"
10/22-10/23/1215 DR
I.
The western shore of Signarm was only a low black shape on the horizon behind him. Romal knelt on the raft made of trimmed logs lashed together with vines and stroked with the crude paddle in alternating left-right moves that propelled him quickly over the water. He wanted to reach the island as soon as he could. The sun was too close to setting over Cold Sea to suit him.
Although he seemed to be a mortal Man of good height and muscular build, Romal was actually far more. The only one of his kind, the Mongrel carried a trait from each of the Seven Races in his body. The full strength of a Fighting Troll was packed into his muscles, so he rowed tirelessly with more momentum that four men working together would have matched.
Wearing plain brown tunic and leggings of coarse material, with sturdy boots and a heavy cloak clasped at his throat, Romal was not an imposing sight at a distance. It was the sullen expression in the dark blue eyes and the suggestion of strength and speed in his movements that uneased people when they got a good look at him. By his side was a simple knapsack containing a change of clothing and his few possessions. Strapped across his back was a massive Skandor broadwsord in a leather scabbard decorated with ominous runes.
Ahead was Oregist Isle. Four miles to each side, stocked by nature with a healthy amount of wildlife and edible berries and roots, it nevertheless had remained untouched by the Signarmin until the wealthy merchant Oregist had dared built his home there. And now doom and ruin were closing in on him for his folly.
A pier stretched out from the rocky shore of the island, and two longboats were moored to it as well as a vessel with a covered deck two sails. Each had the odd shape of a dog on its hind legs painted in yellow near the bow. No one knew why the Dancing Dog was the symbol of Signarm, even legends disagreed as to its origin. Romal brought his raft up against a clear spot on the pier. He tied one end of a vine securely to a post, then grabbed his knapsack and leaped lightly up onto the damp boards.
At the other end of the pier, three armed men waited, watching him with great curiosity. They were typical Signarmin, standing a few inches below six feet tall but solidly built in their leather coats and leggings. All had brown hair and short beards, although the youngest showed blond highlights. And each wore a straight sword at his belt, with a short stabbing spear ready in hand.
"Greetings to you, great Romal!" called the oldest of the three. "Our Lord was hoping you would arrive before nightfall and here you are."
"I am indeed Romal," said the Mongrel. "And you would be...?"
With a polite inclination of his head, the man replied, "I am Rumidus, chief of our Lord's guardsmen. These are Eschere and Garamond. We have been sent to escort you to Three Virgins Manor."
Romal was not tempted to smile at the name. The virtue of daughters fated to inherit great wealth was taken seriously indeed in Signarm. Someone claiming to be an illegitimate child of such a daughter always led to bloodshed and grief. "I do need to speak with Oregist," he said. "Danger hangs over every soul on this island tonight."
A heavy splash sounded far out in the water. All three of the guardsmen gave a start and shifted their grips on the spears. Romal turned his head suspiciously but saw nothing.
"Perhaps a fish snapping at a fly?" offered the young Garamond without conviction.
"A fish that walks on two legs and wields weapons," muttered Romal.
II.
The three guardsmen began to lead Romal toward a well-defined trail that led into the pine forest. Before they were out of sight of the ocean, though, a second and louder splashing galvanized them. The men wheeled around, whipping their short spears into
Sprawled face down on the pier, a dead Signarman leaked blood and seawater over the planking. Deep gouges ran across his body right through the leather armor. "Pirenbrae!" yelled a guardsman. "It is Pirenbrae and he has been slain also!"
Reacting instantly, Romal yanked off his boots and sprinted full tilt toward the grisly scene. Even as he ran, the Mongrel unclasped his cloak and then his swordbelt and dropped them both behind him. Faster than a galloping horse, the strange being made by Darthan sorcery leaped up onto the pier and raced past the corpse toward its far end.
The Mongrel exhaled as strongly as he could and dove headlong into the chill water. As the ocean closed over him, the Gelydra traits in his body revealed themself. His lungs sealed themselves off with muscle flaps and four gills sprang open on the sides of his neck below the jaw.
Even in bright daytime, those gills were barely visible lines when closed. Romal breathed in through his open mouth and the water passed out through the gills. After a few seconds, it felt completely natural to him. The other trait which manifested was that his eyesight shifted so that he could see clearly even in the gloomy water. Romal did not know the concept of ultra-violet light but this was how his vision worked underwater.
Drifting upright almost within reach, weaving his arms to stay in place, a blond man in nothing but a kilt of grey sharkhide watched this outsider dive down. The Gelydra grinned wickedly and swam toward Romal with a bone-bladed knife in one hand. Another surface man to slay!
In the next few minutes, the marauder from Ulgor got the biggest surprise he would ever know in this life. Not only could this black-maned surface dweller breathe perfectly well under the surface, he met the attack with equal eagerness. The Gelydra realized with a jolt of horror that he had met his better. As dense and strong as the Gelydrim were from their adaptation to water pressure, he was struggling with an opponent whose Humanlike body contained the full strength of a Fighting Troll.
Romal seized the man's wrist in a grip that snapped bones and he wrested the knife away to sink its bone blade deep into the Gelydra's heart. Black blood spurted out from the wound as the knife was withdrawn, then more blood gushed from the Gelydra's open mouth.
Letting the knife drop away to the bottom, Romal wrapped an arm around the dying Gelydra and hauled him up to the surface. As his feet touched ground, he stood and flung the body up onto the beach. This was done with a casual ease that hinted Romal was capable of much greater feats. He saw the Signarmin come running but by then he was preoccupied with a coughing fit.
Whenever he emerged back into open air, his gills sealed and the flaps over his bronchi opened. But, no matter what, some water always managed to get into his lungs and Romal had to endure a few minutes of coughing it up. The salt content made the experience wose. Finally, the wheezing and spitting subsided.
"Guest, are you all right?" asked the oldest guardsman. "I thought you were going to choke."
"I am fine. Look there. See what we are dealing with? That is a Gelydra from sunken Ulgor. They can breathe above the water for hours or even days if need. They are daunting opponents, being both fast and strong, as well as difficult to kill."
In the fading light, the dead Ulgoran seemed a typical specimen of his Race. Tall and lanky, with long thin arms and legs, he had short bristly hair that was so fair as to be almost white. The wide flat face with its pug nose and clouded blue eyes still wore a look of surprise that would have been comical on a living man.
"Oh, we have heard of these shark-brethren," said Rumidus in a low voice. "They are a terror to all sailors! Yet you have slain one while in his own domain. No other has ever done so."
"I am like no other," the Mongrel replied without bravado in his voice. "These are the enemies that your Lord Oregist has angered. There is no way to tell how many Gelydrim are circling this island as we speak."
"Leave him where he lies for now," Rumidus said. "It is the unfortunate Pirenbrae we must carry for proper burial." He instructed his fellows to lift the dead Signarman as they started for the Three Virgins Manor again. Wringing water from his garments and tugging his boots back on, Romal followed them grudgingly. He had not been enthusiastic about coming to this doomed isle in the first place. Now he was sinking into a foul mood indeed.
The march through the thick pine forest seemed to take forever. To their left, a nearly full moon rose in the cloudless sky to help their progress. Carrying the dripping body of a comrade did nothing to raise morale among the Signarmin, nor did Romal's sour disposition make good company. Conversation faltered out within a few feet.
Eventually, they emerged at the base of a hill from which the trees and undergrowth had been hacked away to offer a clear view of approaching enemies. At the peak, a formidable building of shale slabs had been erected, with a long feast hall made of logs jutting out to side. Around both structures, a twelve-foot high stockade of peeled logs with their upper ends sharpened stood as defense.
At each corner of that stockade, a guardsman stood staring down with a quiver on his back and a longbow in hand. Pitch-soaked torches blazed at intervals not too close to the sentries so as to not make them targets. As they saw the party returning with its sad burden, the sentries called down to open the gates.
Within, more than a score of guardsmen approached. All were subdued in the presence of the body of one of their own. "The second of us to fall today," muttered a Signarman. "And three before them this week."
Rumidus pointed at a small wooden structure beyond the great hall. "Carry Pirenbrae there to be cleaned and dressed in fresh armor for the funeral speech," he ordered. "We will report to our Lord before the rite begins."
Now that he had had time to get a good look at his hosts, Romal had grudgingly decided he respected this Rumidus. The man had a square face deeply lined by care and worry, and the others obeyed his commands gladly. The Mongrel felt he trust his instincts about this leader of Oregist's guardsmen.
With Rumidus escorting him, Romal was brought up to the small courtyard of the house. A cluster of six men and four women had emerged from within to await them. Three were guardsmen in the leather armor, two were manservants in somber dark robes. The sixth man was dressed in fine silk tunic and leggings of a rich purple hue. From his shoulders hung a light mantle of white linen decorated with gold thread.
Oregist leaned on an elaborately carved staff of ebony. This support was not necessary because of age, he seemed barely fifty, but because he had lost the struggle against obesity long ago. The man's torso was round, with a belly that hung down over his belt. The wealthiest merchant in Signarm may have looked soft and ineffectual physically, but the hard expression in those shrewd eyes showed his mind was not weak.
"Greetings to our honored guest!" the rich man called out. "You have our gratitude for voyaging out to this isle. But, Rumidus, it seems you bear hard news to share with us."
"Yes, my Lord." The leader of the guardsmen bowed from the waist but his voice was not docile. "Pirenbrae was drowned by the shark-kin. He was a good soldier and a man of integrity. The stewards prepare his remains now."
Oregist stared down in thought before continuing. "What of you, Romal? It takes not a sharp eye to see that you have been in the ocean tonight."
"The Gelydra who slew your man lies dead on the pier," the Mongrel answered. "Avenging is meager comfort at best."
Looking past the merchant toward the yellow light from the open doorway, Romal saw the three young women who must be Oregisy's daughters, the fabled 'Three Virgins.' Hovering protectively near them stood the most formidable harridan he has ever seen, a six foot tall woman of middle age with an axe-sharp profile and fierce eyes that missed nothing.
Stamping his cane on the flagstones, Oregist barked, "Let us take counsel, my friends." He swung heavily around and limped into the structure.
Following at a discreet distance, Rumidus whispered, "And you hired on to save our lives."
The Mongrel spat saliva that still tasted of seawater. "I am not certain I will even be able to save my own."
III.
The elegance of the dining room caught Romal entirely off guard. Well lit by a silver chandelier holding many candles, the high-ceiling room was decorated with tapestries and statuary on pedestals. Spotless white linen covered the long table, the plates were of fine china and the wine goblets were clear crystal. Soundlessly, servants brought sugared figs on plates and set off small honey cakes for the assembly.
The Mongrel's dour expression did not lighten. He shoved a cake into his mouth and washed it down with a gulp of the white wine, but his eyes remained furious.
"Ah, do not think I was always so spoiled and pampered," Oregist said as he nibbled at a roll. "I started life the child of common laborers. Since childhood, I toiled and planned and fought to amass my fortune. Nor did anyone stand by me until I had established myself. I have earned what I have. Now you see me, holding more wealth and property than anyone in Signarm short of the King himself."
Romal answered quietly, "Why have you built this place? Why here, where the Wise warned you not to come?"
"It was BECAUSE I was warned not to come here!" replied Oregist. Beneath the round moonface and petulant lips, the voice that emerged still had iron in it. "I took the discouraging words as challenges. Here, let me introduce my daughters. Since their mother died two years ago, they are all who tie me to any sympathy for the Race of Humans."
The three young women were all of marriageable age, the elder two quite presentable in their gowns and with their hair done up in swirling crowns. It was the youngest, Ewalyn, who alone showed real beauty. Her delicate features and luminous eyes would have caught attention if she were dressed in rags. As each daughter was introduced, she bent her head politely and gave a demure smile. But it was Ewalyn who showed open fascination with the notorious Mongrel.
Seeing the spark fly between them, Oregist grinned. "Marriages must be carefully arranged for my girls, Romal. Each will inherit a dowry no Baron in the land can match. We are debating which of their many eager suitors will claim the prizes."
"Five men have died defending this island," said the Mongrel. He brought his empty goblet down hard on the table and leaned forward. "I have fought the Gelydrim before. That wall around your property will not stop them!"
"Sixty of the most capable soldiers in Signarm stand guard tonight. I assure you, my friend, that those savages will meet their fates if they dare come ashore. Let them remain safely with the fish and the oysters and the turtles that are their kin."
Taking a deep breath, Romal obviously struggled to restrain himself. "There is some secret here you have not told me, Oregist. Why do the Gelydrim resent your presence here? What is that they really want?"
"I am not accustomed to such blunt speech. Noblemen of the Royal Court and renowned generals seek to win my favor. I think you might temper your words, sir."
"With my life at risk? And the lives of all the Humans on this island, including your precious daughter? This is a time to speak plainly," Romal retorted. He was not smooth-mannered at the best of times. "I ask again, what do the shark-kin want?"
The merchant heaved his immense bulk up, pressing down on the table with both hands. "By all yellow dogs! Have it as you will then. Rumidus, accompany us. My children, go about your duties and of course I expect Dame Agramir to stand by you."
"As a she-bear guards her cubs," said the grim old woman.
Oregist lumbered from the dining room, dismissing the approach of servants. Behind him, Romal and Rumidus followed, still in their stained and weathered garments with swords still at hand. They passed down a narrow hallway through a door that Oregist unlocked with a key that he wore hung around his neck. Before they entered the darkened room beyond, the merchant snatched a candle from its holder bolted to the wall to give them light. "We found this heathen icon on the beach a year ago," he said.
In the fitful illumination of that candle, the statue before them seemed to move. The flickering flame cast shadows which swept back and forth. Both Romal and Rumidus had dropped their hands to their sword hilts without realizing it.
On an elaborate stone dais, the statue stood carved from jade. Not life-size, it was as long as a man's arm. Green as the sea, crafted with infinite care and in great detail, it was the semblance of a naked man with a ringleted beard down his chest and a crown on his curly-haired head. In both hands, the statue brandished a three-pronged spear as if ready to impale its visitors.
Written in the sneer on that stone face was contempt and cold hatred. The curled lips seemed ready to spew curses. Most unnerving, the eyes were mere empty sockets that glared unseeingly at them.
Rumidus breathed, "Grelok. It can be no other."
"Aye, Grelok indeed." In the gloom, Romal's voice sounded enraged. "The Halara whose realm is all the seas. As Cirkoth rules the sky. Of course, Grelok is the god worshipped by the Geldydrim! Who else would they revere?" He whirled to confront Oregist and said, "Why in the name of sanity would you bring into your manor the idol of the cursed Geldyrim?! Why not simply hang a boulder over your head by a thread if you want to die?"
"Those barbarians have not been seen in these waters for years. This island is only three miles from the coast and Signarm has every right to claim it." The merchant stepped back out of the chamber with the two fighting men beside him. He closed and locked the door before replacing the candle to its sconce on the wall.
The Mongrel reached into his belt and tugged out a small leather pounch that jingled. He thrust it toward Oregist. "Here! Take back the gold. My life means more to me than a handful of coins."
The merchant shook his head, which made his jowls flap in an unlovely way. "Nay. I do not release you from our pact. You swore to come to this island and protect its inhabitants for the next six days."
"What matter if I break that oath?" Romal said in a rising tone. "You won't complain about it! There will be no one left alive to even care!"
Rumidus dared to place a hand on the Mongrel's shoulder. Instead of slapping it away, Romal merely growled, "What do you have to say?"
"If this isle is surrounded by Gelydrim, swimming deep beneath the surface in midnight waters, do you think you could survive a trip by raft back to the mainland?" asked the guardsman.
The question struck a nerve. Romal straightened, frowned back and forth between the two Signarmin and then reluctantly stowed the coin pouch back inside his belt. "I... must admit that had occurred to me. Years ago, I saw a Skandor dragonboat full of armed reavers overrun by Gelydrim. On an open raft, my chances would not be worth a drunkard's gamble."
Oregist gestured with a thumb back down the hall. "Let us return to the table. Maybe wisdom will dictate that you try to improve your chances... and ours. Tales are told of you in a dozen realms, rousing adventures of mighty Romal the Mongrel who slays Trolls and Snake men and Dragons with ease."
That provoked a disgusted snort, but Romal did say, "I will do what I can."
IV.
Before they returned to the dining room, Romal insisted on seeing what weapons were available. Escorted by Rumidus to a chamber near the main gates, the Mongrel inspected rows of spears and axes and shields. Hanging on a hook was a sleeveless mail shirt. Romal took this and lowered it over his head. Under the fine rings of iron was a layer of tough cloth for comfort. He also found a fighting knife with a wide six-inch blade.
As Rumidus watched, the Mongrel firmly tied a leather cord to the hilt of the knife and made a loop on the other end of the cord that fit tightly to his wrist.
Seeing the curious expression on Rumidus' face, Romal snorted. "I suspect there may be more fighting underwater. A long sword is clumsy there but this dagger will prove useful." Despite this, he kept the big two-handed Skandor sword sheathed across his back.
They found Oregist at the table with huge plates of hot sliced ham and chunks of mutton spread before him. The meat had been seasoned with spices and the room was filled with tempting aromas. As he saw the two men enter, the merchant dropped a handful of the mutton on a separate plate for himself and then slid the main meal toward them.
"Pack your bellies if you will," he invited them through a full mouth. "My chef is from Asuva and is an artist at his calling."
Picking up slices of meat and ripping them into smaller pieces, Romal remained standing. Rumidus followed his example. Empty goblets stood before the already opened bottles of white wine. Without asking permission, the Mongrel filled one and drained it in a gulp.
"You do not seem like a man of idle exaggeration," Oregist said. "Tell me then, my honored guest, how perilous is our situation this night?"
"If my words may be honest," Romal replied, "Then I must say I don't see how any of us will see the dawn. The Gelydrim take their beliefs seriously. Mayhap they only come ashore every three years for their festival, but they expect to see that idol in the clearing where they left it."
"Ah." The merchant wiped his mouth with a linen cloth. "Say then, what if we were to leave the cursed image down by that pier? With it returned, would they be satisfied?"
The Mongrel chewed another slice of meat, shaking his head. After he swallowed, he said, "I know the Gelydrim. Warlike. Savage. They hold a grudge for generations. They will demand the lives of those who defiled their god."
Venturing to pour himself some wine, Rumidus let a sigh escape him. "Our guardsmen are fine fighters. I handpicked them. They are veterans who will not panic and will not run."
"It is numbers which will decide the matter," Romal said. "Sixty men, even with the servants and women helping, can not repel untold swarms of Gelydrim. They infest this part of Cold Sea like a school of sharks."
"We cannot flee in our few boats and we can not defend the Three Virgins Manor," Rumidus muttered. "There seems to be little chance for us."
"These are hard words but true," Romal said. "I take no joy in them. No wonder I was offered so much gold to come here tonight. Much good will it do my spirit wandering through the misty afterworld.."
The obese merchant rested his face onto his bloated hands. "I know you and your men will face their doom with courage, Rumidus. It is the fate of my daughters that pains my heart. Is there no way to save them? Could a dozen guardsmen in the boats get them to the mainland safely?"
"No," Romal answered simply. Unexpectedly, he chuckled and then burst into full laughter. "This will be a great lesson to me! Never again shall I allow myself to be killed for gold."
The horror in Rumidus' voice made him stammer. "I do not understand.. How? How can you find any amusement in this?"
Wiping his eyes with the back of a hand, Romal caught hold of himself. "Heh. Heh, forgive me, it is the Darthan element in my make-up. Sometimes I feel futility mocking all hopes." He pushed back his chair and straightened his shoulders. "It is quite dark outside. Shall we take some guardsmen and prowl the island?"
"Perhaps to espy the shark-kin as they come ashore?" asked Rumidus. "As good an idea as any. I will take a few who are the most fleet of foot. As we fall, they can carry the alarm back to Three Virgins Manor."
Oregist watched the two warriors turn away, and he said, "Do not expect regrets from me! Men take land and hold it by force of arms, it has ever been so. Whatever befalls us, this island rightly belongs to Signarm. The Gelydrim will be taught a harsh lesson in time."
Romal did not reply nor did he look back. It would be the last time he saw Oregist alive and intact.
V.
Within an hour, the body of Pirenbrae had been washed and dressed in clean clothes. Wrapped in a simple soldier's blanket, his corpse was placed in a freshly dug grave in one corner of the estate.. the newest in a row that now numbered six.
No holy man was available, so his captain Rumidus spoke the short phrases customary in such circumstances about being 'brought before the face of Jordyn, where all questions are answered.' The sad farewell tune was blown on a horn, and everyone stood with bowed heads.
Despite their orders to remain vigilant, the sentries atop the stockade wall turned to watch the final moments. So it was that no one witnessed a form in a mail tunic leap entirely over the wall and land lightly on his feet in a darkened corner.
Despite the fact that he weighed just over two hundred pounds, Romal's muscles held the strength of a four hundred pound Fighting Troll. He was capable of jumping up well over his own head height from a standstill, and when he took a running start, the stockade wall was no obstacle for him.
Approaching silently, he remained unnoticed until the assembly was breaking up. Oregist and his daughters were standing slightly off to one side. "Ah, there you are," said the merchant who had established this settlement. "I don't think I saw you at this service."
"It seemed prudent to circle the stockade while everyone was preoccupied," Romal answered. "I smell tension in the air. Best for the regular folk to be behind barred doors while armed men stand their ground."
Ewalyn leaned out from behind her sisters. The expression of fascination on her face, the parted lips and wide eyes, made her feelings clear. Seeing her face, a sad pang struck Romal. He was not much older than this maiden, but he had experienced so much violence and horror and betrayal already that he felt old inside. The Mongrel realized sadly that a girl of nubile age seemed like a child to him.
The lack of response in his face seemed to interest Ewalyn even more. The beautiful daughter of a wealthy man, she had grown accustomed to fawning praise from almost every man. "Tell me, good sir..." she began.
The bony hand of Dame Agramir settled like a claw on the young girl's shoulder. "A lady of your station does not become too familiar with the fighting men," the matron said in a tone striving to be polite. "Indeed, it is best we retire to our chambers to await the dawn."
Led away by the stern old woman, accompanied by her sisters, Ewalyn still glanced back at Romal and gifted him with a bright smile. He kept his face stony.
VI.
Eight men carrying spears followed in a tight line, jerking their heads around at every unexpected noise. Rumidus could not blame him. His own nerves were raw with tension and what he had to admit was fear. The night was dark and humid, the air heavy with the salt tang from the water close to their left. As familiar as this trail was to them after years of tramping back and forth on it, now it seemed alien and uncertain.
Rumidus watched the broad back of the Mongrel before him. The more he saw of this stranger, the more he realized that Romal was not truly Human. It was not just the pointed ears that marked the Mongrel. It was the casual way Romal moved objects too heavy for one man, or the unnatural quickness he displayed in reacting to danger. Rumidus had heard wild yarns about the infamous Mongrel, said to have been created by the Darthan Kjes with forbidden magick.
He had been told that Romal was stronger than a Troll, swifter than a Snake man, wiser than a Trom, more cruel than a Dartha. This was easy to believe now that he had met the man in the flesh.
At the pier where their handful of boats were tied, two of the guardsmen awaited them. The pair were visibly relieved to have reinforcements. Standing his sword point down in the damp soil, Romal put aside the mail coat and his trousers and boots. Wearing only a simple white loincloth, he stood revealed in the gloom as a man in good athletic shape but certainly not as massively muscled as a blacksmith or wrestler.
Securing the knife to his wrist with a short cord, the Mongrel surveyed the cold dark waters without enthusiasm. "I expect to be back shortly," he told Rumidus. "If not, use your best judgement."
"Of course."
Lowering himself over the edge of the pier, Romal emptied his lungs as forcefully as he could before sinking below the surface. His gills opened. Stroking strongly, he dove down into the murk and waited for his underwater vision to take effect. More and more, he cursed himself for coming to this island. Oregist's messenger had tracked him down in a tavern on the Signarm coast and offered him a handsome sum in gold coins. To earn it, Romal agreed to act as protector for the merchant and his family for the following six days.
He should have been more cautious before making the deal. Romal was irritated at his own lack of prudence. Before he had taken the coins and shaken hands, he should have asked around town about Oregist and the island where Three Virgins Manor had been built. If he survived this impending massacre, Romal swore he would always inspect a trap before sticking his head into it...
A huge dim shape shot by in the distance. It was right on the edge of what he could see in the murk. Romal recognized that ominous outline and he immediately swung about in the water and started stroking back toward the shore. Kicking as strongly as he could, the Mongrel sped through the cold dark with his heart pounding. Behind him, he could sense something big drawing nearer.
Almost frantic, Romal heaved up out of the water onto the beach. He gave one of his prodigious leaps up past his own height just as a mouth with double rows of serrated teeth clashed shut inches below his feet. As he touched down, the Mongrel instantly was racing full tilt toward the pier. Behind him, the thud of heavy feet pounded. Fast as he was, the pursuer matched him.
He dared not look back. Romal leaned far forward, sprinting across the hard-packed sand quicker than he had ever moved before. There was the pier. To his disappointment, none of the guardsmen were in sight. A half-dozen warriors with spears would have been extremely welcome.
Behind him, a rancid stench swept over him of decaying meat and wet fishy odor. There was his sword! Romal seized the hilt and leaped straight up to barely escape the savage jaws slashing where he had been an instant earlier.
In that split-second he was in the air, ten feet above the beach, the Mongrel looked down to see his greatest fear in the flesh. A Malak. At first, it seemed to be a nine-foot-long black mako shark, but it was reared up on thick manlike legs and had raised short arms with four-fingered taloned hands. The red eyes were set high on the head and glared at the elusive prey with obvious intelligence.
Like himself, the Malakim were not natural creatures. They had been created by the forbidden arts known only to the Darthan Kjes. Originally intended to guard the waters around the Darthan isle of Maroch, many of the Malakim had been captured and partly broken by the Gelydrim. They were too aggressive and too limited in intelligence to ever be tamed, but sometimes the Gelydrim unleashed a Malak to cause death and distraction.
Dropping down from his leap, Romal angled his body in an attempt to land far to one side. As soon as his feet touched the sand, he swung the big Skandor sword in a two-handed arc. The edge sliced deeply across the monster's thick leg. The Malak bellowed like an ox and whipped its tail around. Romal dropped to one knee, feeling his hair wave from the wind behind that deadly tail as it missed him by a finger's-width. There was his opening. Romal lunged and drove the sword into the hollow of the Malak's left knee, yanked the blade free and hopped far back out of reach.
Even though the shark-beast bellowed and swung around to pursue, its one leg gave way now. The tendons in the back of that knee had been severed. Romal spun the sword, set himself and plunged forward to drive the blade into the side of that grey scaled chest up to the hilt. Before he could free the weapon, the convulsions of the dying Malak slammed him back. He was caught full on the side of the side by a swipe of that massive tail and a dim haze of pain clouded his senses.
VII.
Too long a time passed before he fought back to full awareness. Romal's arms and legs were stiff and unresponsive. Forcing his eyes to remain open took an effort of will. His head throbbed so hard he could hardly endure it. When he first tried to move, Romal felt bile rise and he retched violently until the contents of his stomach had been donated to the beach. For some reason, that helped clear his thoughts. The Mongrel rose unsteadily, wiping his mouth with the back of one hand, relieved to see that the Malak was indeed dead.
The pounding of drums and the demonic chanting of a thousand voices came to him as if from far away. Romal trudged over to the carcass and pulled his sword free. It did not seem to have been damaged by the Malak rolling over and over in the death throes.
Still no sign of any of the guardsmen who should have remained here. The Mongrel claimed his mail shirt, tunic and leggings and boots. As he dressed, some of the stiffness worked out of his limbs. In the dim light from the stars, he crouched over the sand and found a dozen sets of footprints leading away from the pier... back toward Three Virgins Manor. He bent closer. The prints were deepest at the toes, showing that the men had been running.
Yet there came no shouts of battle, no clash of weapons. Only the tribal drums and the hoarse chant. With a sinking heart, the Mongrel strode along the line of footprints, without hope of finding anything good.
As he topped the trail and the settlement came into sight, the flames danced wildly against the night sky. He leaned on his sword and stared with hardening resolve. From where he stood, he could see the main building, the Three Virgins Manor itself, was wrapped in flames. The long hall where the guardsmen had feasted, was not burning but it had been breached.
Romal walked up to the stockade. Ladders still stood propped against the outer wall, and many corpses of the Gelydrim were sprawled in the dirt with arrows sticking up from their chests. The ferocious faces had frozen in grimaces of pain and rage, the lifeless hands still clutched long knives of carved bone with hilt of walrus ivory. The Mongrel moved among the strewn bodies as he had stalked through the dregs of many battles before this.
At the base of the stockade, he stood motionless for a long time. Romal had decided to take a boat and flee this cursed island while he could. Oregist had been vain and foolish beyond measure to build a settlement here despite all the warnings. Now all his family and retainers had paid for that folly. What point would there be for Romal to throw away his life as well. In an hour, he could wading onto the mainland. A gold coin would buy a horse from some farmer and he would move on.
The memory of Three Virgins Manor would be only one more bitter tale stored in his mind.
Then the drums stopped. He heard a man's voice shouting the same phrase over and over as if repeating an announcement. In the ear-ringing hush after the drumming and the chanting had ceased, he distinctly heard a woman sobbing.
Draldros take him for an idiot, but Romal knew he could not bear to flee now. The Darthim and the Trolls had mocked him as weak-hearted and vulnerable to cheap empathy when self-interest should be his ruling star. Yet Romal scrambled up one of the ladders to peer over the stockade wall without realizing he had made that decision.
The slaughter had been extensive. Bodies of Signarmen and bodies of Gelydrim were as thick on the dirt as leaves after a cold autumn rain. Many were still locked together in their final brutal embraces. Even after such slaughter, more than a hundred of the white-haired shark-kin remained on their feet to face their leader.
The men from Ulgor surrounded stakes which had been pounded into the ground by brute force. In the unsteady torchlight, Romal could see three bodies tied to those stakes, three forms whose downhung heads and blood-soaked gowns showed they were dead.
The three daughters of Oregist. The ones that Three Virgins Manor had been named after. Even the youngest, Ewalyn, hung lifelessly in the ropes which kept her body from slumping to the ground. Only their stern guardian remained alive and unharmed. Dame Agramir was restrained by a Gelydra holding her arms behind her. The deeply lined old face was wet with tears. She sobbed and cried out with grief that made her old body shake.
As he saw that, Romal vaulted up, placed one boot on the stockade wall and leaped high into the air to come down with a thump next to Dame Agramir. To the horrified Gelydrim, it seemed as if this stranger had dropped from the heavens like a shooting star.
Before anyone could react, the Mongrel filled his lungs and gave vent to the resonant war cry of a Fighting Troll... a deep, thunderous bellow that no Human being could imitate. It froze the blood of those who heard it coming from this weird figure out of the night.
"You want your idol!" shouted Romal. He stabbed a finger at the chieftain of the raiding party. "Without it, you must return in disgrace to your city beneath the sea and face execution. Is that not so? IS it?"
Facing him in obvious confusion, the chieftain lowered his weapon. A crown of carved pink coral marked him as leader of this raiding party. Bloody rents in his sharkhide tunic proved he had been in the thick of the fighting. "By Grelok... Explain yourself!"
Brandishing his sword overhead, Romal faced down one hundred enraged Gelydrim as if speaking before a meeting of town merchants. "I alone can tell you where the jade idol is... but you must act quickly to retrieve it before it is lost forever."
"And I suppose you have a price for this?" demanded the chieftain.
"Yes. My life and this life of this noble crone. We will escape unharmed while you hurry to rescue your god. What say you?"
The chieftain raised his bone-bladed knife, notched in several places and red to the hil with Human blood. "Bah! We can take you and make you talk with torture."
"You can try," answered Romal with steely defiance. "But the Mongrel is made of sterner stuff than you."
At that, the Gelydrim buzzed and muttered among themselves. Across the realms of the Darthan Age, the name of Romal the Mongrel had become a legend of dread.
Seeing the strange being himself in the flesh was unsettling.
"What are your terms then?" said the chieftain, still fingering his blade.
"You must act quickly or the idol will be lost," Romal shouted. "Open the gates. Yes, wide as they will go. Now. Do we have a deal, man of Ulgor? Our lives for your god?"
"So be it," replied the chieftain. "But if you cheat us, your dying will stretch over many days."
"Go then. Warriors of Ulgor, rush to the sea. The idol of Grelok is lashed to a raft and even now the tide is drawing it far away." He pointed dramatically at the opening in the stockade wall. In another second, one hundred of the shark-kin were pounding away into the night. The chieftain following, fixing a hateful gaze on Romal even as he ran.
The two Ulgorans had released Dame Agramir to follow their kin. The old woman sank to her knees, face buried in her hands, her thin body trembling as she wept.
There was no time to comfort her, nor to even pay respects to the three daughters. Romal sheathed his sword, lifted Dame Agramir in both arms and took off at a full run through the open gates. Past stiffening corpses of Men and Gelydrim slain in combat, over shattered bone-blades and discarded helmets cleft deeply to where the head beneath had been cloven, Romal rushed.
The Dame did not struggle in his arms. Her wailing had died down.
In a few moments, they passed the massive carcass of the dead Malak. Neither gave the monster much thought. Romal lowered Dame Agramir into one of the few boats still tethered. It was not much more than a canoe used by scouts but it would do. He snapped the rope holding the craft to the pier as if popping a thread, then clambered down and began to use an oar with vigor.
Behind them, silence hung over the island of Three Virgins Manor. The frantic splashing of all those Gelydrim had died away. The crackling of the burning estate could no longer be heard. Tireless, more powerful than any four men could have matched, Romal sent the small ship skimming over the waves toward the mainland.
After some time passed, Dame Agramir seemed to realize the situation for the first time. "I give thee thanks," she whispered. "You rescued me at your own risk."
"It was a deed gladly done," Romal answered.
"If only you could have saved the girls instead," Agramir sobbed and began to weep again. "So young. So hopeful. Their lives lay all ahead of them...! Ewalyn was deeply smitten with you, Romal. She spoke of nothing else. And now only my useless self, withered and past child-bearing, has been brought alive out of the Hell. I don't understand. I just don't understand."
The Mongrel was fighting down anguish himself as that night's events sank in. "You live so you may tell the tale," he said. "Let others hear the folly of Oregist, so that none will repeat it. Find purpose in that."
4/8/2018
10/22-10/23/1215 DR
I.
The western shore of Signarm was only a low black shape on the horizon behind him. Romal knelt on the raft made of trimmed logs lashed together with vines and stroked with the crude paddle in alternating left-right moves that propelled him quickly over the water. He wanted to reach the island as soon as he could. The sun was too close to setting over Cold Sea to suit him.
Although he seemed to be a mortal Man of good height and muscular build, Romal was actually far more. The only one of his kind, the Mongrel carried a trait from each of the Seven Races in his body. The full strength of a Fighting Troll was packed into his muscles, so he rowed tirelessly with more momentum that four men working together would have matched.
Wearing plain brown tunic and leggings of coarse material, with sturdy boots and a heavy cloak clasped at his throat, Romal was not an imposing sight at a distance. It was the sullen expression in the dark blue eyes and the suggestion of strength and speed in his movements that uneased people when they got a good look at him. By his side was a simple knapsack containing a change of clothing and his few possessions. Strapped across his back was a massive Skandor broadwsord in a leather scabbard decorated with ominous runes.
Ahead was Oregist Isle. Four miles to each side, stocked by nature with a healthy amount of wildlife and edible berries and roots, it nevertheless had remained untouched by the Signarmin until the wealthy merchant Oregist had dared built his home there. And now doom and ruin were closing in on him for his folly.
A pier stretched out from the rocky shore of the island, and two longboats were moored to it as well as a vessel with a covered deck two sails. Each had the odd shape of a dog on its hind legs painted in yellow near the bow. No one knew why the Dancing Dog was the symbol of Signarm, even legends disagreed as to its origin. Romal brought his raft up against a clear spot on the pier. He tied one end of a vine securely to a post, then grabbed his knapsack and leaped lightly up onto the damp boards.
At the other end of the pier, three armed men waited, watching him with great curiosity. They were typical Signarmin, standing a few inches below six feet tall but solidly built in their leather coats and leggings. All had brown hair and short beards, although the youngest showed blond highlights. And each wore a straight sword at his belt, with a short stabbing spear ready in hand.
"Greetings to you, great Romal!" called the oldest of the three. "Our Lord was hoping you would arrive before nightfall and here you are."
"I am indeed Romal," said the Mongrel. "And you would be...?"
With a polite inclination of his head, the man replied, "I am Rumidus, chief of our Lord's guardsmen. These are Eschere and Garamond. We have been sent to escort you to Three Virgins Manor."
Romal was not tempted to smile at the name. The virtue of daughters fated to inherit great wealth was taken seriously indeed in Signarm. Someone claiming to be an illegitimate child of such a daughter always led to bloodshed and grief. "I do need to speak with Oregist," he said. "Danger hangs over every soul on this island tonight."
A heavy splash sounded far out in the water. All three of the guardsmen gave a start and shifted their grips on the spears. Romal turned his head suspiciously but saw nothing.
"Perhaps a fish snapping at a fly?" offered the young Garamond without conviction.
"A fish that walks on two legs and wields weapons," muttered Romal.
II.
The three guardsmen began to lead Romal toward a well-defined trail that led into the pine forest. Before they were out of sight of the ocean, though, a second and louder splashing galvanized them. The men wheeled around, whipping their short spears into
Sprawled face down on the pier, a dead Signarman leaked blood and seawater over the planking. Deep gouges ran across his body right through the leather armor. "Pirenbrae!" yelled a guardsman. "It is Pirenbrae and he has been slain also!"
Reacting instantly, Romal yanked off his boots and sprinted full tilt toward the grisly scene. Even as he ran, the Mongrel unclasped his cloak and then his swordbelt and dropped them both behind him. Faster than a galloping horse, the strange being made by Darthan sorcery leaped up onto the pier and raced past the corpse toward its far end.
The Mongrel exhaled as strongly as he could and dove headlong into the chill water. As the ocean closed over him, the Gelydra traits in his body revealed themself. His lungs sealed themselves off with muscle flaps and four gills sprang open on the sides of his neck below the jaw.
Even in bright daytime, those gills were barely visible lines when closed. Romal breathed in through his open mouth and the water passed out through the gills. After a few seconds, it felt completely natural to him. The other trait which manifested was that his eyesight shifted so that he could see clearly even in the gloomy water. Romal did not know the concept of ultra-violet light but this was how his vision worked underwater.
Drifting upright almost within reach, weaving his arms to stay in place, a blond man in nothing but a kilt of grey sharkhide watched this outsider dive down. The Gelydra grinned wickedly and swam toward Romal with a bone-bladed knife in one hand. Another surface man to slay!
In the next few minutes, the marauder from Ulgor got the biggest surprise he would ever know in this life. Not only could this black-maned surface dweller breathe perfectly well under the surface, he met the attack with equal eagerness. The Gelydra realized with a jolt of horror that he had met his better. As dense and strong as the Gelydrim were from their adaptation to water pressure, he was struggling with an opponent whose Humanlike body contained the full strength of a Fighting Troll.
Romal seized the man's wrist in a grip that snapped bones and he wrested the knife away to sink its bone blade deep into the Gelydra's heart. Black blood spurted out from the wound as the knife was withdrawn, then more blood gushed from the Gelydra's open mouth.
Letting the knife drop away to the bottom, Romal wrapped an arm around the dying Gelydra and hauled him up to the surface. As his feet touched ground, he stood and flung the body up onto the beach. This was done with a casual ease that hinted Romal was capable of much greater feats. He saw the Signarmin come running but by then he was preoccupied with a coughing fit.
Whenever he emerged back into open air, his gills sealed and the flaps over his bronchi opened. But, no matter what, some water always managed to get into his lungs and Romal had to endure a few minutes of coughing it up. The salt content made the experience wose. Finally, the wheezing and spitting subsided.
"Guest, are you all right?" asked the oldest guardsman. "I thought you were going to choke."
"I am fine. Look there. See what we are dealing with? That is a Gelydra from sunken Ulgor. They can breathe above the water for hours or even days if need. They are daunting opponents, being both fast and strong, as well as difficult to kill."
In the fading light, the dead Ulgoran seemed a typical specimen of his Race. Tall and lanky, with long thin arms and legs, he had short bristly hair that was so fair as to be almost white. The wide flat face with its pug nose and clouded blue eyes still wore a look of surprise that would have been comical on a living man.
"Oh, we have heard of these shark-brethren," said Rumidus in a low voice. "They are a terror to all sailors! Yet you have slain one while in his own domain. No other has ever done so."
"I am like no other," the Mongrel replied without bravado in his voice. "These are the enemies that your Lord Oregist has angered. There is no way to tell how many Gelydrim are circling this island as we speak."
"Leave him where he lies for now," Rumidus said. "It is the unfortunate Pirenbrae we must carry for proper burial." He instructed his fellows to lift the dead Signarman as they started for the Three Virgins Manor again. Wringing water from his garments and tugging his boots back on, Romal followed them grudgingly. He had not been enthusiastic about coming to this doomed isle in the first place. Now he was sinking into a foul mood indeed.
The march through the thick pine forest seemed to take forever. To their left, a nearly full moon rose in the cloudless sky to help their progress. Carrying the dripping body of a comrade did nothing to raise morale among the Signarmin, nor did Romal's sour disposition make good company. Conversation faltered out within a few feet.
Eventually, they emerged at the base of a hill from which the trees and undergrowth had been hacked away to offer a clear view of approaching enemies. At the peak, a formidable building of shale slabs had been erected, with a long feast hall made of logs jutting out to side. Around both structures, a twelve-foot high stockade of peeled logs with their upper ends sharpened stood as defense.
At each corner of that stockade, a guardsman stood staring down with a quiver on his back and a longbow in hand. Pitch-soaked torches blazed at intervals not too close to the sentries so as to not make them targets. As they saw the party returning with its sad burden, the sentries called down to open the gates.
Within, more than a score of guardsmen approached. All were subdued in the presence of the body of one of their own. "The second of us to fall today," muttered a Signarman. "And three before them this week."
Rumidus pointed at a small wooden structure beyond the great hall. "Carry Pirenbrae there to be cleaned and dressed in fresh armor for the funeral speech," he ordered. "We will report to our Lord before the rite begins."
Now that he had had time to get a good look at his hosts, Romal had grudgingly decided he respected this Rumidus. The man had a square face deeply lined by care and worry, and the others obeyed his commands gladly. The Mongrel felt he trust his instincts about this leader of Oregist's guardsmen.
With Rumidus escorting him, Romal was brought up to the small courtyard of the house. A cluster of six men and four women had emerged from within to await them. Three were guardsmen in the leather armor, two were manservants in somber dark robes. The sixth man was dressed in fine silk tunic and leggings of a rich purple hue. From his shoulders hung a light mantle of white linen decorated with gold thread.
Oregist leaned on an elaborately carved staff of ebony. This support was not necessary because of age, he seemed barely fifty, but because he had lost the struggle against obesity long ago. The man's torso was round, with a belly that hung down over his belt. The wealthiest merchant in Signarm may have looked soft and ineffectual physically, but the hard expression in those shrewd eyes showed his mind was not weak.
"Greetings to our honored guest!" the rich man called out. "You have our gratitude for voyaging out to this isle. But, Rumidus, it seems you bear hard news to share with us."
"Yes, my Lord." The leader of the guardsmen bowed from the waist but his voice was not docile. "Pirenbrae was drowned by the shark-kin. He was a good soldier and a man of integrity. The stewards prepare his remains now."
Oregist stared down in thought before continuing. "What of you, Romal? It takes not a sharp eye to see that you have been in the ocean tonight."
"The Gelydra who slew your man lies dead on the pier," the Mongrel answered. "Avenging is meager comfort at best."
Looking past the merchant toward the yellow light from the open doorway, Romal saw the three young women who must be Oregisy's daughters, the fabled 'Three Virgins.' Hovering protectively near them stood the most formidable harridan he has ever seen, a six foot tall woman of middle age with an axe-sharp profile and fierce eyes that missed nothing.
Stamping his cane on the flagstones, Oregist barked, "Let us take counsel, my friends." He swung heavily around and limped into the structure.
Following at a discreet distance, Rumidus whispered, "And you hired on to save our lives."
The Mongrel spat saliva that still tasted of seawater. "I am not certain I will even be able to save my own."
III.
The elegance of the dining room caught Romal entirely off guard. Well lit by a silver chandelier holding many candles, the high-ceiling room was decorated with tapestries and statuary on pedestals. Spotless white linen covered the long table, the plates were of fine china and the wine goblets were clear crystal. Soundlessly, servants brought sugared figs on plates and set off small honey cakes for the assembly.
The Mongrel's dour expression did not lighten. He shoved a cake into his mouth and washed it down with a gulp of the white wine, but his eyes remained furious.
"Ah, do not think I was always so spoiled and pampered," Oregist said as he nibbled at a roll. "I started life the child of common laborers. Since childhood, I toiled and planned and fought to amass my fortune. Nor did anyone stand by me until I had established myself. I have earned what I have. Now you see me, holding more wealth and property than anyone in Signarm short of the King himself."
Romal answered quietly, "Why have you built this place? Why here, where the Wise warned you not to come?"
"It was BECAUSE I was warned not to come here!" replied Oregist. Beneath the round moonface and petulant lips, the voice that emerged still had iron in it. "I took the discouraging words as challenges. Here, let me introduce my daughters. Since their mother died two years ago, they are all who tie me to any sympathy for the Race of Humans."
The three young women were all of marriageable age, the elder two quite presentable in their gowns and with their hair done up in swirling crowns. It was the youngest, Ewalyn, who alone showed real beauty. Her delicate features and luminous eyes would have caught attention if she were dressed in rags. As each daughter was introduced, she bent her head politely and gave a demure smile. But it was Ewalyn who showed open fascination with the notorious Mongrel.
Seeing the spark fly between them, Oregist grinned. "Marriages must be carefully arranged for my girls, Romal. Each will inherit a dowry no Baron in the land can match. We are debating which of their many eager suitors will claim the prizes."
"Five men have died defending this island," said the Mongrel. He brought his empty goblet down hard on the table and leaned forward. "I have fought the Gelydrim before. That wall around your property will not stop them!"
"Sixty of the most capable soldiers in Signarm stand guard tonight. I assure you, my friend, that those savages will meet their fates if they dare come ashore. Let them remain safely with the fish and the oysters and the turtles that are their kin."
Taking a deep breath, Romal obviously struggled to restrain himself. "There is some secret here you have not told me, Oregist. Why do the Gelydrim resent your presence here? What is that they really want?"
"I am not accustomed to such blunt speech. Noblemen of the Royal Court and renowned generals seek to win my favor. I think you might temper your words, sir."
"With my life at risk? And the lives of all the Humans on this island, including your precious daughter? This is a time to speak plainly," Romal retorted. He was not smooth-mannered at the best of times. "I ask again, what do the shark-kin want?"
The merchant heaved his immense bulk up, pressing down on the table with both hands. "By all yellow dogs! Have it as you will then. Rumidus, accompany us. My children, go about your duties and of course I expect Dame Agramir to stand by you."
"As a she-bear guards her cubs," said the grim old woman.
Oregist lumbered from the dining room, dismissing the approach of servants. Behind him, Romal and Rumidus followed, still in their stained and weathered garments with swords still at hand. They passed down a narrow hallway through a door that Oregist unlocked with a key that he wore hung around his neck. Before they entered the darkened room beyond, the merchant snatched a candle from its holder bolted to the wall to give them light. "We found this heathen icon on the beach a year ago," he said.
In the fitful illumination of that candle, the statue before them seemed to move. The flickering flame cast shadows which swept back and forth. Both Romal and Rumidus had dropped their hands to their sword hilts without realizing it.
On an elaborate stone dais, the statue stood carved from jade. Not life-size, it was as long as a man's arm. Green as the sea, crafted with infinite care and in great detail, it was the semblance of a naked man with a ringleted beard down his chest and a crown on his curly-haired head. In both hands, the statue brandished a three-pronged spear as if ready to impale its visitors.
Written in the sneer on that stone face was contempt and cold hatred. The curled lips seemed ready to spew curses. Most unnerving, the eyes were mere empty sockets that glared unseeingly at them.
Rumidus breathed, "Grelok. It can be no other."
"Aye, Grelok indeed." In the gloom, Romal's voice sounded enraged. "The Halara whose realm is all the seas. As Cirkoth rules the sky. Of course, Grelok is the god worshipped by the Geldydrim! Who else would they revere?" He whirled to confront Oregist and said, "Why in the name of sanity would you bring into your manor the idol of the cursed Geldyrim?! Why not simply hang a boulder over your head by a thread if you want to die?"
"Those barbarians have not been seen in these waters for years. This island is only three miles from the coast and Signarm has every right to claim it." The merchant stepped back out of the chamber with the two fighting men beside him. He closed and locked the door before replacing the candle to its sconce on the wall.
The Mongrel reached into his belt and tugged out a small leather pounch that jingled. He thrust it toward Oregist. "Here! Take back the gold. My life means more to me than a handful of coins."
The merchant shook his head, which made his jowls flap in an unlovely way. "Nay. I do not release you from our pact. You swore to come to this island and protect its inhabitants for the next six days."
"What matter if I break that oath?" Romal said in a rising tone. "You won't complain about it! There will be no one left alive to even care!"
Rumidus dared to place a hand on the Mongrel's shoulder. Instead of slapping it away, Romal merely growled, "What do you have to say?"
"If this isle is surrounded by Gelydrim, swimming deep beneath the surface in midnight waters, do you think you could survive a trip by raft back to the mainland?" asked the guardsman.
The question struck a nerve. Romal straightened, frowned back and forth between the two Signarmin and then reluctantly stowed the coin pouch back inside his belt. "I... must admit that had occurred to me. Years ago, I saw a Skandor dragonboat full of armed reavers overrun by Gelydrim. On an open raft, my chances would not be worth a drunkard's gamble."
Oregist gestured with a thumb back down the hall. "Let us return to the table. Maybe wisdom will dictate that you try to improve your chances... and ours. Tales are told of you in a dozen realms, rousing adventures of mighty Romal the Mongrel who slays Trolls and Snake men and Dragons with ease."
That provoked a disgusted snort, but Romal did say, "I will do what I can."
IV.
Before they returned to the dining room, Romal insisted on seeing what weapons were available. Escorted by Rumidus to a chamber near the main gates, the Mongrel inspected rows of spears and axes and shields. Hanging on a hook was a sleeveless mail shirt. Romal took this and lowered it over his head. Under the fine rings of iron was a layer of tough cloth for comfort. He also found a fighting knife with a wide six-inch blade.
As Rumidus watched, the Mongrel firmly tied a leather cord to the hilt of the knife and made a loop on the other end of the cord that fit tightly to his wrist.
Seeing the curious expression on Rumidus' face, Romal snorted. "I suspect there may be more fighting underwater. A long sword is clumsy there but this dagger will prove useful." Despite this, he kept the big two-handed Skandor sword sheathed across his back.
They found Oregist at the table with huge plates of hot sliced ham and chunks of mutton spread before him. The meat had been seasoned with spices and the room was filled with tempting aromas. As he saw the two men enter, the merchant dropped a handful of the mutton on a separate plate for himself and then slid the main meal toward them.
"Pack your bellies if you will," he invited them through a full mouth. "My chef is from Asuva and is an artist at his calling."
Picking up slices of meat and ripping them into smaller pieces, Romal remained standing. Rumidus followed his example. Empty goblets stood before the already opened bottles of white wine. Without asking permission, the Mongrel filled one and drained it in a gulp.
"You do not seem like a man of idle exaggeration," Oregist said. "Tell me then, my honored guest, how perilous is our situation this night?"
"If my words may be honest," Romal replied, "Then I must say I don't see how any of us will see the dawn. The Gelydrim take their beliefs seriously. Mayhap they only come ashore every three years for their festival, but they expect to see that idol in the clearing where they left it."
"Ah." The merchant wiped his mouth with a linen cloth. "Say then, what if we were to leave the cursed image down by that pier? With it returned, would they be satisfied?"
The Mongrel chewed another slice of meat, shaking his head. After he swallowed, he said, "I know the Gelydrim. Warlike. Savage. They hold a grudge for generations. They will demand the lives of those who defiled their god."
Venturing to pour himself some wine, Rumidus let a sigh escape him. "Our guardsmen are fine fighters. I handpicked them. They are veterans who will not panic and will not run."
"It is numbers which will decide the matter," Romal said. "Sixty men, even with the servants and women helping, can not repel untold swarms of Gelydrim. They infest this part of Cold Sea like a school of sharks."
"We cannot flee in our few boats and we can not defend the Three Virgins Manor," Rumidus muttered. "There seems to be little chance for us."
"These are hard words but true," Romal said. "I take no joy in them. No wonder I was offered so much gold to come here tonight. Much good will it do my spirit wandering through the misty afterworld.."
The obese merchant rested his face onto his bloated hands. "I know you and your men will face their doom with courage, Rumidus. It is the fate of my daughters that pains my heart. Is there no way to save them? Could a dozen guardsmen in the boats get them to the mainland safely?"
"No," Romal answered simply. Unexpectedly, he chuckled and then burst into full laughter. "This will be a great lesson to me! Never again shall I allow myself to be killed for gold."
The horror in Rumidus' voice made him stammer. "I do not understand.. How? How can you find any amusement in this?"
Wiping his eyes with the back of a hand, Romal caught hold of himself. "Heh. Heh, forgive me, it is the Darthan element in my make-up. Sometimes I feel futility mocking all hopes." He pushed back his chair and straightened his shoulders. "It is quite dark outside. Shall we take some guardsmen and prowl the island?"
"Perhaps to espy the shark-kin as they come ashore?" asked Rumidus. "As good an idea as any. I will take a few who are the most fleet of foot. As we fall, they can carry the alarm back to Three Virgins Manor."
Oregist watched the two warriors turn away, and he said, "Do not expect regrets from me! Men take land and hold it by force of arms, it has ever been so. Whatever befalls us, this island rightly belongs to Signarm. The Gelydrim will be taught a harsh lesson in time."
Romal did not reply nor did he look back. It would be the last time he saw Oregist alive and intact.
V.
Within an hour, the body of Pirenbrae had been washed and dressed in clean clothes. Wrapped in a simple soldier's blanket, his corpse was placed in a freshly dug grave in one corner of the estate.. the newest in a row that now numbered six.
No holy man was available, so his captain Rumidus spoke the short phrases customary in such circumstances about being 'brought before the face of Jordyn, where all questions are answered.' The sad farewell tune was blown on a horn, and everyone stood with bowed heads.
Despite their orders to remain vigilant, the sentries atop the stockade wall turned to watch the final moments. So it was that no one witnessed a form in a mail tunic leap entirely over the wall and land lightly on his feet in a darkened corner.
Despite the fact that he weighed just over two hundred pounds, Romal's muscles held the strength of a four hundred pound Fighting Troll. He was capable of jumping up well over his own head height from a standstill, and when he took a running start, the stockade wall was no obstacle for him.
Approaching silently, he remained unnoticed until the assembly was breaking up. Oregist and his daughters were standing slightly off to one side. "Ah, there you are," said the merchant who had established this settlement. "I don't think I saw you at this service."
"It seemed prudent to circle the stockade while everyone was preoccupied," Romal answered. "I smell tension in the air. Best for the regular folk to be behind barred doors while armed men stand their ground."
Ewalyn leaned out from behind her sisters. The expression of fascination on her face, the parted lips and wide eyes, made her feelings clear. Seeing her face, a sad pang struck Romal. He was not much older than this maiden, but he had experienced so much violence and horror and betrayal already that he felt old inside. The Mongrel realized sadly that a girl of nubile age seemed like a child to him.
The lack of response in his face seemed to interest Ewalyn even more. The beautiful daughter of a wealthy man, she had grown accustomed to fawning praise from almost every man. "Tell me, good sir..." she began.
The bony hand of Dame Agramir settled like a claw on the young girl's shoulder. "A lady of your station does not become too familiar with the fighting men," the matron said in a tone striving to be polite. "Indeed, it is best we retire to our chambers to await the dawn."
Led away by the stern old woman, accompanied by her sisters, Ewalyn still glanced back at Romal and gifted him with a bright smile. He kept his face stony.
VI.
Eight men carrying spears followed in a tight line, jerking their heads around at every unexpected noise. Rumidus could not blame him. His own nerves were raw with tension and what he had to admit was fear. The night was dark and humid, the air heavy with the salt tang from the water close to their left. As familiar as this trail was to them after years of tramping back and forth on it, now it seemed alien and uncertain.
Rumidus watched the broad back of the Mongrel before him. The more he saw of this stranger, the more he realized that Romal was not truly Human. It was not just the pointed ears that marked the Mongrel. It was the casual way Romal moved objects too heavy for one man, or the unnatural quickness he displayed in reacting to danger. Rumidus had heard wild yarns about the infamous Mongrel, said to have been created by the Darthan Kjes with forbidden magick.
He had been told that Romal was stronger than a Troll, swifter than a Snake man, wiser than a Trom, more cruel than a Dartha. This was easy to believe now that he had met the man in the flesh.
At the pier where their handful of boats were tied, two of the guardsmen awaited them. The pair were visibly relieved to have reinforcements. Standing his sword point down in the damp soil, Romal put aside the mail coat and his trousers and boots. Wearing only a simple white loincloth, he stood revealed in the gloom as a man in good athletic shape but certainly not as massively muscled as a blacksmith or wrestler.
Securing the knife to his wrist with a short cord, the Mongrel surveyed the cold dark waters without enthusiasm. "I expect to be back shortly," he told Rumidus. "If not, use your best judgement."
"Of course."
Lowering himself over the edge of the pier, Romal emptied his lungs as forcefully as he could before sinking below the surface. His gills opened. Stroking strongly, he dove down into the murk and waited for his underwater vision to take effect. More and more, he cursed himself for coming to this island. Oregist's messenger had tracked him down in a tavern on the Signarm coast and offered him a handsome sum in gold coins. To earn it, Romal agreed to act as protector for the merchant and his family for the following six days.
He should have been more cautious before making the deal. Romal was irritated at his own lack of prudence. Before he had taken the coins and shaken hands, he should have asked around town about Oregist and the island where Three Virgins Manor had been built. If he survived this impending massacre, Romal swore he would always inspect a trap before sticking his head into it...
A huge dim shape shot by in the distance. It was right on the edge of what he could see in the murk. Romal recognized that ominous outline and he immediately swung about in the water and started stroking back toward the shore. Kicking as strongly as he could, the Mongrel sped through the cold dark with his heart pounding. Behind him, he could sense something big drawing nearer.
Almost frantic, Romal heaved up out of the water onto the beach. He gave one of his prodigious leaps up past his own height just as a mouth with double rows of serrated teeth clashed shut inches below his feet. As he touched down, the Mongrel instantly was racing full tilt toward the pier. Behind him, the thud of heavy feet pounded. Fast as he was, the pursuer matched him.
He dared not look back. Romal leaned far forward, sprinting across the hard-packed sand quicker than he had ever moved before. There was the pier. To his disappointment, none of the guardsmen were in sight. A half-dozen warriors with spears would have been extremely welcome.
Behind him, a rancid stench swept over him of decaying meat and wet fishy odor. There was his sword! Romal seized the hilt and leaped straight up to barely escape the savage jaws slashing where he had been an instant earlier.
In that split-second he was in the air, ten feet above the beach, the Mongrel looked down to see his greatest fear in the flesh. A Malak. At first, it seemed to be a nine-foot-long black mako shark, but it was reared up on thick manlike legs and had raised short arms with four-fingered taloned hands. The red eyes were set high on the head and glared at the elusive prey with obvious intelligence.
Like himself, the Malakim were not natural creatures. They had been created by the forbidden arts known only to the Darthan Kjes. Originally intended to guard the waters around the Darthan isle of Maroch, many of the Malakim had been captured and partly broken by the Gelydrim. They were too aggressive and too limited in intelligence to ever be tamed, but sometimes the Gelydrim unleashed a Malak to cause death and distraction.
Dropping down from his leap, Romal angled his body in an attempt to land far to one side. As soon as his feet touched the sand, he swung the big Skandor sword in a two-handed arc. The edge sliced deeply across the monster's thick leg. The Malak bellowed like an ox and whipped its tail around. Romal dropped to one knee, feeling his hair wave from the wind behind that deadly tail as it missed him by a finger's-width. There was his opening. Romal lunged and drove the sword into the hollow of the Malak's left knee, yanked the blade free and hopped far back out of reach.
Even though the shark-beast bellowed and swung around to pursue, its one leg gave way now. The tendons in the back of that knee had been severed. Romal spun the sword, set himself and plunged forward to drive the blade into the side of that grey scaled chest up to the hilt. Before he could free the weapon, the convulsions of the dying Malak slammed him back. He was caught full on the side of the side by a swipe of that massive tail and a dim haze of pain clouded his senses.
VII.
Too long a time passed before he fought back to full awareness. Romal's arms and legs were stiff and unresponsive. Forcing his eyes to remain open took an effort of will. His head throbbed so hard he could hardly endure it. When he first tried to move, Romal felt bile rise and he retched violently until the contents of his stomach had been donated to the beach. For some reason, that helped clear his thoughts. The Mongrel rose unsteadily, wiping his mouth with the back of one hand, relieved to see that the Malak was indeed dead.
The pounding of drums and the demonic chanting of a thousand voices came to him as if from far away. Romal trudged over to the carcass and pulled his sword free. It did not seem to have been damaged by the Malak rolling over and over in the death throes.
Still no sign of any of the guardsmen who should have remained here. The Mongrel claimed his mail shirt, tunic and leggings and boots. As he dressed, some of the stiffness worked out of his limbs. In the dim light from the stars, he crouched over the sand and found a dozen sets of footprints leading away from the pier... back toward Three Virgins Manor. He bent closer. The prints were deepest at the toes, showing that the men had been running.
Yet there came no shouts of battle, no clash of weapons. Only the tribal drums and the hoarse chant. With a sinking heart, the Mongrel strode along the line of footprints, without hope of finding anything good.
As he topped the trail and the settlement came into sight, the flames danced wildly against the night sky. He leaned on his sword and stared with hardening resolve. From where he stood, he could see the main building, the Three Virgins Manor itself, was wrapped in flames. The long hall where the guardsmen had feasted, was not burning but it had been breached.
Romal walked up to the stockade. Ladders still stood propped against the outer wall, and many corpses of the Gelydrim were sprawled in the dirt with arrows sticking up from their chests. The ferocious faces had frozen in grimaces of pain and rage, the lifeless hands still clutched long knives of carved bone with hilt of walrus ivory. The Mongrel moved among the strewn bodies as he had stalked through the dregs of many battles before this.
At the base of the stockade, he stood motionless for a long time. Romal had decided to take a boat and flee this cursed island while he could. Oregist had been vain and foolish beyond measure to build a settlement here despite all the warnings. Now all his family and retainers had paid for that folly. What point would there be for Romal to throw away his life as well. In an hour, he could wading onto the mainland. A gold coin would buy a horse from some farmer and he would move on.
The memory of Three Virgins Manor would be only one more bitter tale stored in his mind.
Then the drums stopped. He heard a man's voice shouting the same phrase over and over as if repeating an announcement. In the ear-ringing hush after the drumming and the chanting had ceased, he distinctly heard a woman sobbing.
Draldros take him for an idiot, but Romal knew he could not bear to flee now. The Darthim and the Trolls had mocked him as weak-hearted and vulnerable to cheap empathy when self-interest should be his ruling star. Yet Romal scrambled up one of the ladders to peer over the stockade wall without realizing he had made that decision.
The slaughter had been extensive. Bodies of Signarmen and bodies of Gelydrim were as thick on the dirt as leaves after a cold autumn rain. Many were still locked together in their final brutal embraces. Even after such slaughter, more than a hundred of the white-haired shark-kin remained on their feet to face their leader.
The men from Ulgor surrounded stakes which had been pounded into the ground by brute force. In the unsteady torchlight, Romal could see three bodies tied to those stakes, three forms whose downhung heads and blood-soaked gowns showed they were dead.
The three daughters of Oregist. The ones that Three Virgins Manor had been named after. Even the youngest, Ewalyn, hung lifelessly in the ropes which kept her body from slumping to the ground. Only their stern guardian remained alive and unharmed. Dame Agramir was restrained by a Gelydra holding her arms behind her. The deeply lined old face was wet with tears. She sobbed and cried out with grief that made her old body shake.
As he saw that, Romal vaulted up, placed one boot on the stockade wall and leaped high into the air to come down with a thump next to Dame Agramir. To the horrified Gelydrim, it seemed as if this stranger had dropped from the heavens like a shooting star.
Before anyone could react, the Mongrel filled his lungs and gave vent to the resonant war cry of a Fighting Troll... a deep, thunderous bellow that no Human being could imitate. It froze the blood of those who heard it coming from this weird figure out of the night.
"You want your idol!" shouted Romal. He stabbed a finger at the chieftain of the raiding party. "Without it, you must return in disgrace to your city beneath the sea and face execution. Is that not so? IS it?"
Facing him in obvious confusion, the chieftain lowered his weapon. A crown of carved pink coral marked him as leader of this raiding party. Bloody rents in his sharkhide tunic proved he had been in the thick of the fighting. "By Grelok... Explain yourself!"
Brandishing his sword overhead, Romal faced down one hundred enraged Gelydrim as if speaking before a meeting of town merchants. "I alone can tell you where the jade idol is... but you must act quickly to retrieve it before it is lost forever."
"And I suppose you have a price for this?" demanded the chieftain.
"Yes. My life and this life of this noble crone. We will escape unharmed while you hurry to rescue your god. What say you?"
The chieftain raised his bone-bladed knife, notched in several places and red to the hil with Human blood. "Bah! We can take you and make you talk with torture."
"You can try," answered Romal with steely defiance. "But the Mongrel is made of sterner stuff than you."
At that, the Gelydrim buzzed and muttered among themselves. Across the realms of the Darthan Age, the name of Romal the Mongrel had become a legend of dread.
Seeing the strange being himself in the flesh was unsettling.
"What are your terms then?" said the chieftain, still fingering his blade.
"You must act quickly or the idol will be lost," Romal shouted. "Open the gates. Yes, wide as they will go. Now. Do we have a deal, man of Ulgor? Our lives for your god?"
"So be it," replied the chieftain. "But if you cheat us, your dying will stretch over many days."
"Go then. Warriors of Ulgor, rush to the sea. The idol of Grelok is lashed to a raft and even now the tide is drawing it far away." He pointed dramatically at the opening in the stockade wall. In another second, one hundred of the shark-kin were pounding away into the night. The chieftain following, fixing a hateful gaze on Romal even as he ran.
The two Ulgorans had released Dame Agramir to follow their kin. The old woman sank to her knees, face buried in her hands, her thin body trembling as she wept.
There was no time to comfort her, nor to even pay respects to the three daughters. Romal sheathed his sword, lifted Dame Agramir in both arms and took off at a full run through the open gates. Past stiffening corpses of Men and Gelydrim slain in combat, over shattered bone-blades and discarded helmets cleft deeply to where the head beneath had been cloven, Romal rushed.
The Dame did not struggle in his arms. Her wailing had died down.
In a few moments, they passed the massive carcass of the dead Malak. Neither gave the monster much thought. Romal lowered Dame Agramir into one of the few boats still tethered. It was not much more than a canoe used by scouts but it would do. He snapped the rope holding the craft to the pier as if popping a thread, then clambered down and began to use an oar with vigor.
Behind them, silence hung over the island of Three Virgins Manor. The frantic splashing of all those Gelydrim had died away. The crackling of the burning estate could no longer be heard. Tireless, more powerful than any four men could have matched, Romal sent the small ship skimming over the waves toward the mainland.
After some time passed, Dame Agramir seemed to realize the situation for the first time. "I give thee thanks," she whispered. "You rescued me at your own risk."
"It was a deed gladly done," Romal answered.
"If only you could have saved the girls instead," Agramir sobbed and began to weep again. "So young. So hopeful. Their lives lay all ahead of them...! Ewalyn was deeply smitten with you, Romal. She spoke of nothing else. And now only my useless self, withered and past child-bearing, has been brought alive out of the Hell. I don't understand. I just don't understand."
The Mongrel was fighting down anguish himself as that night's events sank in. "You live so you may tell the tale," he said. "Let others hear the folly of Oregist, so that none will repeat it. Find purpose in that."
4/8/2018
