Golden Age (The Shifting Tides, #1)(49)

He heard a series of unforgettable sounds: the crash of several sets of legs plunging into the water; the roar of the giant; the chorus of grunts from the ogres; bumping knocks of wood against wood as Cob fit the oars.

‘The tiller!’ Cob called with panicked urgency.

Righting himself, Dion saw that the tiller was hard against the stern. Cob had the oars going but with the tiller angled the boat would turn in circles. He grabbed at the pole and centered the steerage.

Waves pounded at the hull, pushing the vessel back to shore. Risking a glance behind, Dion saw snarling monsters now waist deep in the water, just a dozen paces from the stern.

But Cob had his jaw set and pulled hard at the oars. The light vessel rose over the crests of the waves and drew away from the pack of raging wildren. Looking back, Dion saw the creatures finally halt.

Their prey had escaped.

As the boat reached calmer waters Sal went up front to help with the oars. For a long time they rowed only to increase their distance from shore, and then both the oarsmen slumped in exhaustion.

They exchanged wide-eyed glances.

‘Come on,’ Dion said. ‘Let’s get the mast up.’

The sun had risen by the time they mounted the mast and fit the sail, running it up and finally setting the boat to rights. Dion pushed the tiller, turning the boat until they were once more oblique to the distant landmass, still too close for comfort. Wind filled the sail and the sea was calm, as it often was in the early morning.

The growing light banished some of the fear from the previous night. But they had lost two men, and Dion kept wondering what he could have done differently.

‘We should never have brought Riko,’ Sal said.

‘It’s bad luck to speak ill of the dead,’ Cob murmured.

‘He saw some whale and called it a leviathan,’ Sal spat. ‘We should never have listened to him.’

Cob suddenly released the rope in his hands; his fingers went limp. He stared down into the blue water, then raised his head to look at Dion. His expression was strange, a look Dion had never seen before on the old man’s face.

‘I wouldn’t be so sure of that,’ he said.

Dion looked down into the water.

An expanse of serpentine flesh was passing directly underneath the boat. The monster was as thick as the biggest tree and it revealed its entire length to Dion’s eyes as it writhed and undulated, faster than the boat it was swimming beneath. The glossy silver scales went on and on, displaying a crest-like silver fin along its spine and a tail like an eel’s, swaying back and forth to propel the body forward.

Dion’s blood ran cold. ‘Serpent,’ he whispered.

‘Where?’ Close to the front of the boat, Sal’s movements were frantic as he tossed his head one way and another, peering into the depths. ‘Where?’ he cried. ‘I can’t see it!’

‘Under the boat,’ Cob said calmly. ‘We’re dead men.’

Not being able to see it was worse than knowing where it was. The serpent was smaller than the one at the narrows. But unlike the eldran who had helped clear the trade route, this monster was wild.

Cob shook his head. ‘Something has agitated the wildren in this area. Perhaps the eruption of Mount Oden. Perhaps the passage of the Ilean warship. Perhaps something else altogether.’ He met Sal’s eyes and then Dion’s. ‘Pray to the gods. There’s nothing else we can do.’

Dion heard a mighty splash to his left, in the direction of Cinder Fen. He caught sight of a curled body, gone as swiftly as it had appeared. The sea heaved, creating waves where the serpent had plunged.

He reached for his bow and quiver.

The three men stared silently into the depths. Dion began to hope it had left.

Then he saw it again. This time he caught full sight of the angular head and spiky frill as it traveled under the ship. He prepared his bow. Once more it vanished from sight. Dion drew in a shaky breath as he waited.

The serpent’s angular head suddenly shot out of the water a dozen feet away; in an instant it was heading directly for the boat and its occupants. Open jaws revealed incisors the size of daggers jutting either side of its mouth, yellow with extreme age. Remembering his experience at the narrows, Dion saw that this serpent’s eyes were different. Wild. This creature wanted only prey.

Dion had the string against his cheek, anticipating the serpent’s movement. As the head came forward, he released.

The arrow struck it in the very center of its eye.

Enraged, the serpent flung itself forward, passing through the sail, cutting a hole and stabbing into the water on the other side. A length of snakelike body came down on the boom, snapping it like a twig until the length of scaled flesh lay across the deck. The mast came crashing down.

The boat’s timbers creaked.

Dion grabbed another arrow and shot at the middle of the serpent’s body where he hoped to strike something important, but the arrow bounced off the tough hide. With the serpent’s long body lying across the deck, he saw the head of the beast circle underneath the boat, blood streaming from the wounded eye and clouding the water as it looped around the vessel.

‘It’s trying to squeeze the boat!’ Dion cried.

Spurred into action, Cob hefted his axe and swung with a strong overhead stroke at the scaled skin. His weapon bit hard, sinking to the haft, and the monster shivered.

The boat’s timbers cracked. Water began to seep into the floor.