The Tunnels of Woe

Book 1: A Bounty Like No Other

Chapter 5 Part 2: A Battle of Wills

Tirro let a bolt fly, burning a six legged crab man to charred meat just before its wretched pincers could snap the tiny woman in two. The sudden violence of the resulting explosion within the shelled monstrosities innards made the sea abominations scatter for a time, but they were soon back to swarming the still singing merwoman. Whether they’d been pushed to a frenzy or knew the next bolt would take time to fire was beyond the deckhand’s knowledge but the results were the same.

The merwoman’s song changed to a shrill cry for an instant sending the majority of creatures to the ground flopping and twitching like beached fish. Quickly the song returned to the usual tune, and none too soon either. The seahag was mere feet from grasping her victim in an outstretched tentacles. Like a snake all the remaining leathery appendages retreated back to the hag who growled in frustration. A noise that rattled one's bones, and shook a man's chest with its shattering sound.

With that uncle Curroz had brought their skiff up against a rotting dock which jutted out from the leering cyclops skull like a dagger to the giant’s brains. The bolt was still reloading in Tirro’s arbalest as both uncle and nephew jumped ashore. Curroz brought their polearm, and with a clang Tirro heard the sound of his third to last bolt lock home in the crossbow. Best make these shots count.

As the pair of lightly armored sailors charged forward they slew denizens of the cursed lagoon sprawled upon the rocky steps. They were stirring quickly though still dazed, but that state was rapidly changing. Soon there would be another swarm upon them. What Tirro would do for a cohort of his cousins in the cuirassiers to contend with the fiends in plate armor and enchanted weaponry.

Tirro had just finished bloodying his long dagger into the exposed neck of another shark man, this one with the face of a bullshark but tentacles for hair, when a calloused hand flew out from a nearby cage catching the deckhand in the ankle. Tirro managed to not hack the offending appendage in a back slash like his instincts were demanding.

Instead he followed arm up to the owner’s eyes. A merman in strange dress similar to the singing merwoman, but his were what appeared to be light armor made of a form of studded leather the deckhand had never seen before. A stained cress was just visible beneath the grime on his chest piece depicting chariots flying over the ocean pulled by horses with fins on their backs and legs.

The merman pointed to the lock on the gate with an intense expression on his blue hued face. The intent was clear, and Tirro didn’t doubt they could use every sword. If indeed he could find the merman a blade for the struggle before one of the sea mancreatures tore him to pieces. Making a decision, Tirro slammed his blade into the lock, and to his shock the massive lock shattered.

Tirro could say why, but he sensed the merwoman’s song was breaking the power in this place. As if years of salt spray had made the very rocks upon which the cursed island sat brittle, and ready to fail. The thought occurred to the deckhand then. If this island was an artificial machination of the seahag then her power waned so would the cursed skull and crag. All this went through Tirros mind in a rush as the seahags pounding song assailed the sweet bubbling brook of the merwoman’s tune.

Tirro was so captivated for a moment that he started when the merman he’d freed opened the gate with clang, and ran forward with practiced agility. The freed prisoner broke locks as he flew toward the struggling merwoman, his red flowing hair streaming behind him as he came like a knight’s banner in the wind.

Uncle Curroz was close behind only pausing a moment to finish off a beady eyed sea gremlin covered in fins with goblin-like face using the ax head part of the polearm. Tirro’s was on their heels as a crowd of some twelve mermen swarmed out of the cages in matching leather armor and sigils forming a tight circle around the first merman. Tirro had realized his escaped fugitive must be a commander of the mermen. A spot of luck. Tirro was very pleased he’d restrained himself from cutting the mercaptain’s arm off a few moments ago. As an old Veni proverb went “Enemies rise from hasty blows, but allies flourish over buckets of foeman blood.”

They had already ran to find enemies in this world. Tirro had enough tutors on war, and historical expeditions in the past to know being outnumbered and running low on supplies in a hostile land was not a promising omen for safe passage to friendlier waters.

However, where there are antagonists there are always those they have antagonized for centuries. Tirro knew as he saw the merwarriors descend upon the gaggle of recovering undersea horrors that only God’s providence could have led them to allies mere moments after battling the Almighty’s enemies. Joyous prayers of thanks were in order if they were enough to survive the seahag and her braver minions.

The mermen used the sharp fin cartilage on their forearms as extended daggers while wading a gore soaked path through their enemies. Their skill was great, but Tirro felt as he watched that this was a tactic of last resort. Where their weapons were would remain a mystery as they had no time to search for them. A blessing then that most of their enemies were dazed, and only now recovering.

A blast marked the use of Tirro’s crossbow singeing and then impaling a monstrous sea serpent with legs to the black stones on their path. The horrific beast had slithered from a hole and had made to lunge at the backs of the mermen. It made a horrific screech as the worm wailed just before the bolt burst, blowing green gore across the crags they ran on. Two bolts left.

Tirro could hear the shot churning home in his crossbow as he joined the small cadre surrounding the singing merwoman. Most of the warriors had pilfered spears of twisted make and crude design from the sea goblin abominations. They were pitifully short, and comical in the six foot tall, broad shouldered mermen’s hands. Still, a weapon was a weapon when your arms were lacking.

The beasts around them churned and howled over the enchanted song. They were free of their shock and daze. They seemed a mix of furious, frenzied, and terrified. For behind all this racket was the steady sound of trumpets under the waves. They grew louder and less muffled by the minute, and more and more bugles joined in from every direction. A vast horde was forming under the waves. They were coming, and the monsters knew it.

How long could the ragtag prisoners and warn mariners hold? There were many abominations left though a fair number were melting away into the sea as the sounds of the approaching host increased. Tirro didn’t think they would get far. He could hear the rumors of trumpets surrounding them now. They were in a ring of steel, or whatever these mermen crafted their weapons from.

The shink of his bolt sliding home made Tirro search for a target. The demons boiling around them in their masses seemed to be growing their frenzy and courage to overwhelm their scratch line around the merwoman. The battle of song and wills over their head seemed to be in a stalemate with both parties involved sweating and squirming as their songs clashed in the air.

It felt to Tirro like he was in one of his great grandfather’s mock calvary charges again during the fair tournaments. The energy around them shifted as the song of the seahag and the merwoman battled the air for supremacy. The storm would threaten when the deep baritones of the seahag dominated, and then the sun would return when the sweet spring time stream of notes from the merwoman brushed the roiling clouds away. At that moment Tirro had a burst of inspiration.

With a calm air he stepped past the circle of warriors with his uncle at his side questions all over the elder man’s eyes. Tirro jumped upon a rock gathering the attention of the roiling demons before aiming his weapon across their ranks. By now the denizens of the dark lighthouse had learned that weapon’s power for many cringed and sought cover in the rocks. At the last Tirro whipped around, and let fly directly into the distracted seahag’s face. Right down her throat. The deckhand smirked at the chaos he’d just unleashed.

The Story Will Continue Every Wednesday.

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