Sepentsbane
The guildmasters watched from the sea wall, all their hopes and dreams invested in the vessel that crept towards the harbour. The sea was calm, the wind a baby’s breath, the progress of the Golden Pig almost too painful to watch. Jokalan, there to represent the foundry workers, wiped his brow with pudgy fingers. The stress was unbearable. He could swear the galleon hadn’t moved a ship’s length since the sun had dropped from its zenith. His impatience boiled over into angry words.
‘In the name of the Lady, what’s keeping them? Captain Denith must be letting his men slumber on the job. I’ll have that lazy pup whipped when he steps foot on shore. Never send a boy to do a man’s job, that’s what I say. Why won’t he break out the oars? ’
‘Because he doesn’t want to encourage it into the bay,’ replied Master Fordar of the sword smiths. ‘Have patience Jokalan. You forget that young Denith was the only captain brave enough to take the job.’
‘Brave, pah! What’s brave in a single jump down the coast from Antellinok?’
Fordar shook his head. ‘You disgrace the memory of our fleet.’
Jokalan bridled at this riposte. His position with the guild relied on his popularity with the townsfolk, coming as he did from one of the lesser trades. He objected to any accusation that might lose him votes.
‘If by fleet you mean the four junks that let our precious cargo decorate the sea bed, then they deserve every criticism they get.’
Fordar turned on his colleague. ‘Unbelievable. You…’
‘Shush! You squabble like children while the future of this town hangs in the balance.’ Mayor Bannock silenced the men. It was bad enough asking that young lad Denith to take on this godforsaken task, let alone hear a cretin like Jokalan criticise his courage. Not for the first time he found the former-sailor’s manner wholly unpalatable. When this matter was over he would engineer his dismissal from the guild.
‘I don’t like this,’ commented Daniok of the silversmiths. ‘The bay is silent. Where are the gulls?’
Mayor Bannock looked at the sky and back out to the Golden Pig. Daniok was right. Something was wrong. It was still out there.
The sea erupted half a league from the galleon. Something surfaced and submerged again before the guild masters could get a clear view of it, but the wake of its passing was enough to set them in a spin.
‘We’ve got to warn them,’ shouted Mayor Bannock. ‘Sound the alarm!’ Instantly the harbour bell began to toll.
The Golden Pig was now close enough for the guild masters to see sailors racing about the deck. The sun flashed off harpoons as they were readied, but before the sailors could set their defence the front of the ship exploded in a shower of planks. Forty feet of sinew and muscle rose above the ship before crashing down on the bow. The Golden Pig pitched on its nose. Then, as the serpent wrapped itself about the stricken ship the guild masters caught a glimpse of another fin breaking the water fifty yards from the vessel.
‘Oh Lady, there’s two of them,’ uttered Daniok, before screaming at the survivors in the water to swim for their lives. The second beast slipped beneath the waves and within a heartbeat a fountain of foam and twisted torsos churned the waters where Captain Denith and his crew had been but moments before. The guild masters fell silent. The sea fell calm, but the Golden Pig and all its crew had vanished as if they had never existed.
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That night the Guild Hall was full. Every citizen of Eayet, with the exception of the very young and the very old, had gathered to hear what the guildmasters would do to save their town.
‘It is finished for us here,’ cried Jokalan. ‘Who will trade with us when they know the price may be their lives?’
‘Nonsense,’ replied Daniok. ‘Our industries are well established here. We could travel the length of the Summerlands and not find another spot with the natural resources we have here.’
Arguments raged back and forth for a good hour before Mayor Bannock raised his hand for silence. He rose from his chair of office and strode to the lectern.
‘There is another way beyond praying that the serpents will leave the bay, or deserting the town which has served as our home for a hundred years.’ He looked with disappointment upon his fellow guild members who had neither managed to offer hope nor solution to the townsfolk. ‘We can hire soldiers to slay the beasts.’
‘Who would be mad enough to hunt at sea?’ interjected Jokalan. ‘A dragon on dry land maybe, but twin serpents of the deep? I think you are not of your right mind Master Mayor.’
‘Do you fear the deep?’ Mayor Bannock saw a plan forming in his mind. ‘You once boasted of being the best sailor in the bay, before you inherited the foundry. In your youth you would have taken these creatures by yourself.’
Jokalan was about to shake his head. He saw what the Mayor was doing. Then he noticed the look of awe in the faces of some of the younger elves at the front of the hall. Suddenly, here was an opportunity to secure his place in the hearts and minds of the people of Eayet, even to oust Bannock from his seat of power.
‘Very well; find me a serpent-slayer and I will pilot the ship.’ Jokalan’s hands were sweating as he uttered the words, but there was no turning back now.
Mayor Bannock nodded, the thinnest of smiles on his lips. ‘Send out word to our neighbours and beyond: a hundred pieces of gold for the warrior who can bring me the heads of the serpents.’
News of the town besieged by serpents swept the length and breadth of the Summerlands. On the streets of Icewold it travelled in whispers, the superstitious northerners with one wary eye on the Great Desolation beyond the Mountains of Majora; in Kiri the elves of mid-Summer burned effigies of the serpents and prayed to the sea god Nemaris to spare their cousins in the east; in Jorniak it was shouted from the city walls and the brash Jornians claimed they would raise a hero to slay the beasts; in the University of the Ancients the priests named the serpents Sethlarok and Kethlarok after the elvish gods of death and destruction. The news even echoed around the halls of Sky Palace, and came eventually to the ears of Prince Nemar, King Rogan’s third son. He rolled from his bed and looked at the blade with no name that hung from his bedpost. He had received the ancient weapon from his father five summers before and still he had done nothing of note to earn the weapon a name. He looked east from his window. The next day he quit the capital and followed the Path of the Elders all the way to the Bridal Sea.
The Guild Hall of Eayet was full again. Six applicants stood before Bannock’s platform, awaiting the judgement of the guildmasters. They were waiting for one more adventurer; rumour had it that Prince Nemar was in town and had been boasting of his plans to slay the beast.
‘The playboy prince will not show his face here,’ jibed Jokalan. ‘And I would not want to give a berth on my ship to one who knows more about liquor and girls than he does a blade.’
The Mayor frowned. He did not like to hear such treasonous talk from his council, and yet Jokalan had said nothing that King Rogan had not said before.
‘Come on old man, let us be about this business.’
Bannock scowled at the foundry man but acquiesced by calling the crowd to order. There was no need for a selection process for berths on the vessel. At a mere half-dozen, they could not afford to turn down any of the applicants.
‘Citizens, six brave souls have come forward to help rid us of the serpents that terrorise our bay. It is therefore a matter of formality to swear them in as sheriffs of the town. Each will receive a bag of gold if they bring us the head of one beast, two if both serpents are slain. Let us wish them luck and pray for the protection of Nemaris for their departure in the morning.’
‘Hold on,’ came a strong voice from the back of the hall, and a hooded figure pushed his way through the crowd. ‘There should be seven!’
‘Seven?’ Bannock rasied an eyebrow at the intrusion to the proceedings.
‘Seven is the Lady’s number. Seven, the number of her children, seven the stars in her sign that watch over us at night. There must be seven for luck.’
‘But Prince Nemar has not come,’ replied Bannock, ‘and there are no other applicants.’
‘Take me,’ said the hooded man. ‘My arms have grown thick chopping trees in the west, but I dare say the same muscle will do for the trunk of a serpent’s neck.’
The Mayor was impressed by the confidence of the stranger. ‘What do you say Jokalan, a seventh for luck?’
The foundry master put his hands on his hips and nodded his head. ‘Aye, I’ll take him. Who needs Nemar anyway? We’ll make a sea-prince of this woodcutter instead.’
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The Black Swan sailed on a red sunrise. The harbour was crowded with townsfolk and thrill-seekers from afar. A carnival atmosphere greeted the serpent-hunters as they loaded the ship with equipment to help them slay the beasts. Harpoons as tall as a man, great spears of iron and a crossbow the size of a cart were secured in place as a priest from the University of the Ancients spoke words of protection over the warriors. With much ceremony the cutter cast off, trailing long ropes of offal to tempt the serpents from the deep. All morning the people of Eayet watched Jokalan tack across the bay, zig-zagging through every inch of water to the horizon and back again. As night fell the crew returned tired and sunburned and through the next day and the one after that there was no sign of the creatures that had devoured the merchant fleet of Eayet.
On the fourth morning Jokalan sat in the pilot’s chair, holding a line to the horizon, keeping the islands of Welt a handspan to portside. His trepidation of the first morning had turned to bored confidence that the serpents had already left the bay. He began to scheme of how his gold could be collected without so much as lifting a finger in anger, and his decision to bid for the affections of the people was looking like a good one. Then the tiller went loose in his hand and the ship lurched upwards. The entire rear section was lifted clear of the water, tipping sailors and warriors towards the prow and in several cases over the side. There was no time to scream as the boat dropped back into the ocean, walls of displaced water crashing down on the deck sending his crew sprawling. The ship rocked violently and then settled on the still-again waters. Nobody dared to breath. After a period of intense trepidation Jokalan rose to his feet. Now was the time to act if they were to survive. He had felt the full force of the serpents and knew he had been a fool to dare to criticise poor Denith. What was he thinking, being caught out on the water with these beasts at large?
‘Quick, to the yard arm! Ninety degrees starboard. All hands to the main brace.’
The sound of sinew pushing through wood cut out the rest of his command. The ship was driven sideways and over as Sethlarok drove a hole through the hull. As the beast struggled to worm its way free the ship was pulled upright in a confusion of broken bodies and churning sea. Jokalan lost his grip on the tiller and slid inexorably towards where the serpent thrashed against the portside. And then, from nowhere the woodcutter strode across the deck. He drew his sword as he advanced on the spot where the beast was caught, hood falling away, cloak opening to reveal a white tabard emblazoned with an oak of gold. Nemar!
Jokalan was up to the rail and over, hanging on by his fingertips, legs dangling over the serpent. There was a splintering of planks and a rush of water as the beast wrenched itself free. Jokalan hung at its mercy as the serpent reared from the sea, lifting its lean body on to the deck. The foundry man screamed at the gods as the beast's head was lowered and then he saw a flash of steel. The eyes of Sethlarok froze, registering its own decapitation before the head bounced on the deck and knocked Jokalan into the ocean. As the foundry master surfaced a high pitched keening split the air. Kethlarok was crying for his brother. As the headless body of Sethlarok slipped below the waves the second serpent dived benneath the hull and sent the vessel spinning in to fragments. Nemar gripped his blade as if he were clinging to the thread of life. As the broken vessel landed it listed irretrievably from a dozen breaches in the hull that allowed in torrents of water threatening to overwhelm the Black Swan completely.
Nemar braced himself for the end as Kethlarok circled the ship again. Half the crew had disappeared from sight. The rest clung to twisted rigging and splintered planks, useless against the spawn of the devil. And then the luck of the Lady came to the crew. Kethlarok bit down on the prow, snapping the figurehead of carved swan. In the same action it bit through the restraining rope of the crossbow and the bolt of iron flashed out and opened a large gash in the serpents neck. Kethlarok screamed and fell away to the deep. It surfaced a hundred yards from the boat and then in pain and rage ploughed on into the open sea and away from the bay of Eayet.
A flotilla of vessels reached the Black Swan as the crow’s nest vanished beneath the waves. Three surviving crew members and Prince Nemar were found clinging to wreckage and plucked from the sea. The prince clung to his blade. Serpentsbane the people called it, and the Prince was feted throughout the Summerlands. In Eayet they raised a statue to the serpent slayer, standing bold besides a monument to Captain Jokalan and the doomed crew of the Black Swan. Mayor Bannock lead the public in a respectful period of mourning before returning to the business of promoting the town. As news of the safe waters spread, trade returned to the port. With it came a tide of new businesses, built on tourists hungry for a taste of the legend.
‘Always knew the foundry master would be good for trade,’ remarked Bannock to nobody but himself as he relished the peace and quiet restored to the guild meetings with the foundry man’s passing. ‘All’s well that ends well, as they say.’
Somewhere in the ocean deep Kethlarok healed and waited and grew. He remembered the bay of hurt and pictured the oak of gold that brought the pain. One day he would return for the one who had slain his brother.