Into the Deep Wood

The next day, men began arriving, looking to the High Templar in the governor's absence. They were farmers.

A pestilence had fallen over the crops within a league of the coast. Whole groves of fig trees had developed small yellow spots that had quickly turned brown and shriveled the leaves. The grapes rotted right on the vines and were falling from them in droves - completely obliterating the crop.

Iros listened to all of this with a grave face. He assured the men they would be compensated, but the short-term solution was not enough for the farmers who now risked starvation.

He kept the scoutmaster nearby this time. Giving him living quarters in the building, they had agreed that he would remain until Iros was relieved of command.

Strangely, Ivan agreed to this himself. The affliction that crawled through the crops would eventually reach his family’s farms, and being some of the largest in the region, this would be disastrous for the South.

In the night, they looked for the creature. Ivan was convinced that its presence was causing the disease. They had smelled it as the Nothing-touched passed, and he still recalled when the Witch told him that many of the Nothing-touched were plague spreaders. That was what happened in her village, forcing her to leave.

They’d found it again further down the coast, but not until the morning light had already begun coloring the horizon through the light grays of the clouds. It still walked slowly at the water line, its body even more grotesque in the light of dawn.

This time, they had been armed.

They crept closer, each man coming from a different side. The part of the creature that was the horse whipped bugs away with its skinny tail, and the man twitched slightly but remained slumped back with his arms hanging at its sides. This had made Iros’ stomach turn as he realized how unnaturally far down the thing’s arms hung.

He looked to Ivan, and made a hand gesture to raise his crossbow. But, as the man did so, his face fell, and he lowered it again. Iros frowned, mouthing a question to the pathfinder.

“Iros…” He heard the barely audible whisper. Ivan pointed to something on the horizon.

When the High Templar turned his head, he saw the twisting worm-like shapes so far from shore that they were nearly touching the line of sky and sea.

There were three outlines. It was the sea serpent.

Ivan hurried closer to him, the creature walking away all but forgotten.

“They’re too close to still be in the Dark Waters!” Ivan hissed under his breath, his face paled. “They’re moving this way…”

“We can’t let it leave.” Iros shook his head. “Go back. Get your men.”

“You mean to take it on your own?” Ivan shook his head, “I will not.”

“For fuckssake Ivan,” the High Templar had no patience left, so much so that he spent his entire year’s reserve of ungentlemanly words in one breath. “Go!”

The pathfinder paused but then turned and quickly made his way back up the hill.

Iros watched him go for long enough that his silhouette disappeared beyond the curve. He readied his sword, his footsteps fast and agile as he went after the creature. The distance closing fast, he circled away from the back legs and just as the thing sensed his presence he struck at one - the sword colliding with the stifle of the left back leg and the momentary crack was followed by an unearthly screech.

The top of the man whipped about, his long, bony arms grabbing for the High Templar.

One hooked the loose cloth on the back of his shirt.

The other closed on empty air.

The heaviness of the creature buckled, the blood of the cut-off limb gushing out onto the small pebbles underneath.

Iros jumped back, his footwork trained and precise as he spun around the other side to strike at the horseman’s belly. An arm struck the sword, grasping it –and to Iros’ dismay, the longsword did not cut through its fingers. It did not cut at all, but the thing yanked it back, pulling Iros forward and catching him nearly at the throat –two of the claw-like fingers digging into the meat of his shoulder.

He screamed through clenched teeth, and at the expense of his wound, he twisted, pulling the sword back and striking again at the creature’s torso. The blade hit flesh, landing just above the elbow of one arm, taking it clear off.

The fingers dug deeper at the moment of impact and immediately let go. Iros jerked back, falling down on the damp stones with a grunt, the air knocked out of his lungs.

On it’s side, the front legs kicked and jabbed. The creature shrieked. Covered in its own black blood, it reached for him, trying to get up, but he was just out of range. He raised his sword to block the next blow as it began to crawl forward on the ground.

Half a scream–

–and a gurgling, sudden stop. It slumped forward, its legs still moving about. A crossbow bolt had gone into the back of its head, now sticking partially out above its top row of teeth, having sent many breaking off.

Ivan stood just beyond, and as the movement ceased, he ran forward, grabbing Iros by the good shoulder and hauling him up.

“Pathfin–” Iros grunted, immediately sucking in a deep, pained breath. “I can walk…”

“Yeah,” Ivan muttered, hurrying him along. “I know.”

They hurried back to the city, splitting off on the streets. Iros shouted commands to the first soldiers he saw, making his way toward the docks. Ivan had gone to the barracks to rouse the troops and get the navigators.

They had to pull back the boom chains from the harbor and bring out the Iron Claws.

The docks were filled up as fast as the men could run. The Iron Claws were leaving before the chains had fully been removed, their menacing dark metal noses cutting through the waves. Ivan had already gone by the time Iros got his shoulder wrapped.

Iros had never been aboard a galley such as this, nor had he ever commanded a naval fleet - even one as relatively small as this one. He felt the uncertainty in his bones, and for all his experience, he hoped that the captains knew what they were doing, mostly because he had no experience at all.

Commands rang across the ships, and all seemed to move with organized purpose. There was an intensity to their actions, disciplined and honed by many years at sea. But still, Iros could see that they were shaken.

The serpent had never left the Dark Waters before.

Ivan’s eyes were fixated on the winding shapes far ahead. They tossed their heads with slow movements and remained buoyant on the water - their bodies twisting to move the great beasts forward.

Toward them.

The waves surged, coming from far at sea, but the ships cleaved through them. All ten approached in a formation encircling the serpent.

Ivan shouted for them to prepare. He spent the first four of his years enlisted out on the Iron Claws, but he had never commanded them himself.

But there was no one else here. The navigators were his, and he saw their faces turn toward him as they neared. The same way that, not so long ago, his scouting party did.

He wasn’t going to let that happen again.

The creature was far larger than it appeared when only its three heads were above the surface. The body was broad and the thick, black scales reflected the sun.

The serpent's weight stirred waves and created whirlpools where it passed. The boat shuddered with the heartbeat-like vibrations of the water.

It was too close, its mass lashing back and forth, drawing an undercurrent that began pulling the Iron Claws in one by one.

The first of the ships got sucked into the vortex and crashed into the beast's body on the starboard side - sending lumber flying violently through the air as the large, scaled head came down on the remains, submerging and taking the boat down with it.

They began adjusting the oars and sails to avoid the pull. Ivan had the men signal for the first ramships to head forward and strike a beast at the neck, then another.

A head whipped back, and its mouth closed in on the hull of the second ship, the sound of wood creaking and being ripped apart only broken by the screams of men aboard it. Some jumped and were immediately pulled underwater. Others were thrown off far into the sea.

"All-Father, deliver us..." Ivan muttered, running to the side. "Go to whoever you see alive!"

He saw the few bodies that had landed far from the serpent and looked to still be moving. At a distance, the head that had come down on the second boat tossed the remnants of it in the air, sending rubble flying about.

Debris swirled on the waves, pieces of ships and tangles of sails appearing amonst it.

But, the Claws had done their job. And two of the creatures heads already bled, turning the dark gray of the waves tinted crimson.

Ivan gave another command to ram, and three more Iron Claws went forward, this time, his own was one of them. They cut in at great speed, the underwater claws ripping through the body. It recoiled and lowered itself further into the waves, but did not retreat.

They came out on the other side, and Ivan threw up another flag, signaling the rest of the ships forward. The creature was falling away. The others went after, and two of the serpents' heads went to strike them - but missed. The third whipped its head around, circling one of the galleys, and Ivan heard the mast snap. Iros had been on that ship.

"Aim for its neck!" The rowers pushed. The metal claw hit the serpentine head, and it thrashed, sending both them and the damaged ship back and away from it - the cut made by the ramship deeper than the rest had been. The waves that followed were a black-red wall; behind it, one of the heads ripped through the remaining flesh - the cut so deep that it went past the spine and cut it almost entirely off.

The sinking galley was getting thrown by the waves. Ivan called to the captain to bring theirs next to it, evacuating the survivors.

To his relief, the High Templar was among them. He leaned hard against a wooden crate strapped on the deck, trying to catch his breath.

“Are you hurt?” Ivan squatted next to him.

The man was soaked, his hair in disarray, and his clothes torn. He shook his head no.

“This thing,” he said between breaths, “is from the Western Wound. It was underneath the River Cities.”

“What do we do about it? Why has it come?”

Iros, again, shook his head, forcing himself to stand with great effort.

“I do not know.”

The ship shifted with great force, the serpent’s remaining heads disappearing among the waves. The force of it submerging threw all the surrounding ships to the side, but they did not capsize.

“Look for survivors!” Ivan shouted. The men, as if in a daze, looked to him. But, it only took a moment before they were moving about the decks.

“It is not gone,” Iros looked around, keeping his eyes toward land. If the serpent surfaced there, they would have to give chase again. “We have to bring the Ember Sword here.”

Ivan shot him a look, it was neither angry nor defiant. It was full of question.

“What can he do that we cannot?” He asked.

“He has Valeria with him. They have both seen the serpent before.” As the ships settled on the calming waters, Iros walked to the nose and surveyed the horizon. He stilled.

“There is another ship…”

Ivan stepped next to him, squinting in the mid afternoon sun. They had been out at sea for half the day.

It was still far, but it was clearly alone.

“I cannot tell if it is from the East,” he said slowly. “Their ships tend to be slimmer, but admittedly they’ve never brought the warships here.”

“Why is there only one…” Iros muttered. It could have been refugees, or a Western ship delivering supplies… but they only traveled in groups of three, and no flag was flown above it. “I think we should head back. There are many who need medical attention. Leave two of the Iron Claws to meet it.”

Ivan did not look like he had heard him.

“It has no sails.” He said. “It’s adrift.”

“Ivan, these men need physicians. We lost three ships, many are damaged.”

“Do you feel that?”

Iros turned to face it again. There was nothing but the sound of the water against the sides of the vessel and the disturbance of men working - something was being hammered, something slid across the floor, a pulley straining. But there was nothing more.

“It’s a voice.” Ivan’s words sent alarm rushing through Iros.

“What voice?”

“I cannot distinguish the words, but it is a woman’s voice.”

Iros’ face dropped, growing pale against his sunburnt nose and cheeks.

“Ivan, tell the men to get wax. Any candle, anything they can melt and shape - now! Have them stuff it in their ears, do not listen!” He shouted as he was already disappearing below deck.

Although Ivan shouted for them to prepare it, and got his own to muffle the sounds, he still heard it somewhere at the back of his mind. Melodic, soft, as if gentle bells.

“Why do you frown, my love?”