Pirate Wars-Wave Walkers book 3 Read online

  Kobalins with harpoons. Even if they’d lost their weapons when they fell into the throat, that didn’t make them any less dangerous. Their long claws and sharp teeth were as lethal as knife blades.

  Griffin walked out of the light of the room and climbed slowly down the hill with his lantern. He looked watchfully about him, taking pains to appear determined as he did so. No victim is more preferable to kobalins than one in deadly fear; it makes it easier for them to strike at their prey from ambush.

  Ebenezer closed the door behind him. Griffin heard the bolt snap. The rays of brightness around him were cut off and only meagerly replaced by the weak shimmer of the lantern. The edges of the circle of light were just three or four yards apart. Beyond it, all was darkness.

  Everywhere there was bubbling and splashing as the water dripped off parts of wrecks and seeped into the mire. The sounds were hardly distinguishable from the whispering speech of the kobalins.

  Griffin nervously shoved some of his braids out of his face with the crook of his arm. His blond hair was plaited into dozens of them. That was really a hairstyle of the slaves brought over to the New World from Africa. It was only rarely seen on one of the white inhabitants of the Caribbean, so Griffin was especially proud of it.

  He’d just reached the foot of the hill when he heard a snarl. From the right. Out of the darkness.

  He raised the saber high, and then something shot at him as if it had been slung in his direction with a catapult—a spindly, thin body with scaly skin on which the lamplight broke in oily rainbow colors. The kobalin’s hands, with their long claws, were wide open, and his mouth gaped like the jaws of a shark.

  Griffin let himself drop, and as he did, he thrust the blade upward. Steel cut through skin and muscle, a scream sounded, then the body disappeared somewhere in the shadows and moved no more. A long-drawn-out smacking indicated that it had sunk into the mud of the stomach.

  That was easy, Griffin thought as he struggled to his feet. An oily shine gleamed on his blade. The kobalin must have taken him for a confused, starving castaway. But now the others were warned.

  If he only knew how many he had to deal with!

  He held the lamp on an arm stretched over his head. A rustling was audible somewhere in front of him, followed by the lightning-fast splish-splash of rushing feet.

  At least one, thought Griffin. Probably two or three. He hoped not more.

  Something hit him in the back and made him stumble forward. He cried out, stumbled into a depression between the wrecks, and plunged forward. A moment later it was clear to him that the fall had saved his life: A claw swished through the air over his head. The blow would probably have broken his neck.

  But then he rolled onto his back and hit his spine on something hard. The lantern slid out of his hands and sank into the morass a yard beyond him.

  In its last light Griffin made out his opponents. There were two of them. Their furrowed grimaces were like unfinished accessories arranged around their wide-open mouths—as if the creator of the kobalins had concentrated all his powers on the gigantic throats and sharp rows of teeth, like a child who loses interest in a piece of clay and apathetically squashes the rest of his work together.

  Griffin struck blindly over him with his saber in the darkness and at the same time tried to prop up his body with his left hand. But his fingers sank into the dark muck with a sound like a smacking kiss. Again he slashed, but his blow went wild. Instead he felt something grab his right ankle in the dark and pull on it, just outside the range of his reach. A second hand gripped his other leg, and now the creatures began to pull in opposite directions.

  They’re going to tear me apart! The thought flashed through Griffin’s mind in a fraction of a second. Without stopping to think, he sat up and slashed a desperate stroke across his spread legs toward his feet. The pain that seared through his back with the abrupt movement was murderous.

  Then—resistance! A cutting sound, followed by a mad kobalin screech.

  His left ankle came free. But the strength of the creature to his right forcefully pulled him farther, away from the wounded one.

  Kobalins are sly, mean creatures, but they are stupid and a little childish. If they can kill an opponent slowly and painfully, they prefer to, rather than slaughtering him the quickest way—because killing is like a game for them and the longer it lasts, the greater their pleasure.

  This characteristic came to Griffin’s aid now. The kobalin could easily have killed him in the darkness. But the feared attack did not come.

  Griffin tried to kick away the claws that held his leg. In vain. The creature’s long fingers sat as firmly as C-clamps. Now the kobalin was pulling him along through the bog, through puddles and mud holes, over hard wooden edges, fish skeletons, and bones, which broke beneath him and tore his clothing and his skin. Once it seemed to him that his face was being brushed by grass—until he realized he was lying with his head on the matted fur of a lion cadaver.

  The cries of the wounded kobalin behind him became softer, turned to gurgling and sobbing. Then they broke off.

  Suddenly Griffin’s leg was free.

  Stuffy darkness surrounded him on all sides.

  Smacking steps to his right.

  Before he could spring up, claws seized his braids and pulled his head back into the mud. But still the kobalin did not kill Griffin. It snatched the saber from his victim with one grab. In a twinkling, Griffin was disarmed. Steel clattered in the distance. The kobalin had thrown the blade away.

  Dumb, thought Griffin. Kobalins are really terribly dumb.

  Not that this insight was of any help to him now.

  He tensed his neck muscles, supported himself on his arms, and sat up swiftly. There was a fearful jerk, and with a yell he realized that he had sacrificed patches of his scalp and at least one or two braids—they remained behind in his opponent’s claws. But he was free.

  Somehow he got onto his feet, while behind him the muscular kobalin arms snapped into emptiness like scissors.

  This time Griffin didn’t stop to fight. He’d learned his lesson. He ran, almost blind in the darkness. Suddenly in the blackness he saw a narrow strip of light, floating behind the parts of a wreck, which looked like huge ribs: Ebenezer had opened the magic door, a torch of light by which Griffin could orient himself in the darkness. The monk must have noted that the lantern was out. He knew that Griffin needed a signal that would point the direction to him.

  “One’s still alive!” Griffin called, panting, toward the doorway. “At least.”

  If he received an answer, it was lost in the smacking and splashing of his steps. The kobalin storming behind Griffin was also now entangled in pieces of wrecks and trails of algae. A shrill gabbling sounded at Griffin’s back. Was the kobalin laughing? Or was he summoning other survivors of his brood?

  Griffin ran. Stumbled. Fell. Jumped up again and rushed on.

  He reached the foot of the hill. The door at the top stood wide open. Flickering light poured over the slope and the makeshift board steps. The door stood isolated at the highest point of the rise, merely a frame with an oak panel and, except for the brightness, betraying nothing of what could be found behind it. Quite certainly not a room, for the hill on the other side was empty. Nevertheless, the glow of the great fireplace fell through the frame.

  Where was Ebenezer?

  Griffin was now clambering up the steps on all fours. His boots were full of mud, and he was afraid of slipping off the boards if he didn’t support himself with his hands, too. He looked over his shoulder and saw the kobalin not six feet behind him—also on front and back claws, except that this posture looked natural for him. The light from the doorway bathed him in a scaly shimmer, an iridescent play of color. Even while climbing he waved his claws, trying to grab Griffin’s leg, feeling, snapping, and snarling.

  “Griffin!” Ebenezer’s voice. “Stay where you are!”

  Stay where he was? He wasn’t about to.

  “Watch out!”
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  Something large flew over him, missing him by only a hairsbreadth. Because that did make him halt, it didn’t hit him. It hit the kobalin instead.

  There was a hollow klong, then the creature cracked backward onto the steps, finally lost his grip, and disappeared into the depths. Griffin turned around and saw him land at the edge of the light, caught between two timbers and half buried under a mighty sphere, almost as big as he was.

  Ebenezer’s globe! The monk must have rolled it out of the back room and flung it out the door with both hands.

  The kobalin stretched out a trembling claw, then the movement slackened. His clawed fingers fell onto the globe, sought a hold for the last time, and then slipped down with a shrill screeching. The malice in his glowing eyes was extinguished. A broken spar had bored through his body from behind.

  Ebenezer’s hands seized Griffin and helped him up.

  “Was that all?”

  “I think so…yes.”

  “Are you wounded?”

  “Yes. No. Not really.” He had the feeling of having to dig for each word through walls of pain in his head. Dizziness threatened to cloud his consciousness. “Only a few scratches. Otherwise nothing.”

  Ebenezer pulled him over the threshold into the light. Griffin fell onto his knees on the floorboards and supported himself with his arms.

  “Kobalins have never attacked Jasconius before!” said the monk, while Griffin blinked up at him. “The deep tribes never dared to in the old days.”

  Griffin gasped for air. “I told you the kobalins are going to war. You wouldn’t believe me then. This won’t be the last attack. The Maelstrom has taken control of the kobalins. They won’t stop for the whale, or for much larger things either. They’re going to destroy everything.”

  Ebenezer took a few undecided paces through the room before he stopped. “I mustn’t allow something like this to happen again,” he said, as if to himself. His face hardened as he turned to Griffin. “And I will not allow it.” There was a new decisiveness and seriousness in his voice. “Looks as if we have to change our plans.”

  “Our plans?”

  Ebenezer nodded slowly, as if his head were heavier than usual, and at the same time his words seemed to have more weight. “The tavern must wait. Now we have to deal with cleaning up this filthy lot first.”

  Griffin swallowed, then the corners of his mouth twitched into the beginnings of a smile.

  “Does that mean—,” he began.

  “We’ll help your friends against this pestilence,” interrupted Ebenezer as decidedly as a captain who was laying out a new course for his crew. “Jasconius will take us to Aelenium by the fastest route.”

  Ray Flight

  The stalls of the flying rays were located in the hollow dome of the coral mountain cone towering over Aelenium. The steep peak, dozens of waterfalls plunging down its sides to lose themselves in canals and ponds below, looked as if someone had cut off its natural tip ages ago. Instead there was a broad plateau at the top. In the center of it gaped a circular opening, fifty feet in diameter. It served the rays for flights in and out of their refuge.

  It was the not first time Jolly had been up here—Captain d’Artois had already taken her and Munk up with him—but the sight of the countless ray pits arranged in a ring around the cave walls still appeared to her as impressive as it was disquieting.

  The hall was roofed all over. Light, and sometimes rain, came in only through the large opening in the center. Although flying rays didn’t live in water, they liked their environment damp—and so the rainwater was directed by channels to their pits, where it collected. There the remarkable animals lay flat on the ground in the dampness most of the time and appeared to sleep until someone woke them to ride out on them.

  There hadn’t been time to find out much more about the amazing creatures, and Jolly treated them with hesitant respect. Unlike the hippocampi, which in spite of all their differences were similar to horses—not only in appearance but even more in behavior—she didn’t feel at ease with the rays. Spread on the ground in the corral pits, they seemed torpid and heavy, but when they lifted themselves into the air, they possessed a majesty that took one’s breath away. They were slow—the sea horses glided through the water a great deal faster—and yet they commanded enormous strength. Every ray could carry three riders, even more in a pinch. A blow of their sharp tail would kill a man within seconds.

  Two rays were all ready to leave when Jolly and Munk entered the shelter. The animals lay outstretched on the floor, side by side, not in their pits but in the middle of the circle of light that fell into the shelter through the roof opening. The captain waited beside one of them.

  Jolly cast a backward glance over her shoulder. She looked straight into the face of the morose Captain Walker and had to smile for the first time that day. He, Buenaventure, and the princess were staying close behind her. They looked as if they intended to attack anyone who came even one step too close to their protégée. Jolly felt deep affection for the three people who’d been so much to her in the last weeks: friends, comrades, and not rarely her protectors.

  The three were not the only ones who’d come to take leave of the polliwogs, however. A whole train of people followed them on their way to the rays, among them Count Aristotle and the members of the council in their splendid robes, cloaks, and silken shawls.

  Jolly didn’t particularly like any of these men and women. She found them arrogant, spoiled, and ungrateful. Certainly they all recognized what Jolly and Munk were prepared to do. And yet most of them clearly considered the plan to be the polliwogs’ duty—as if it were the unavoidable fate of the two of them, no matter what Jolly and Munk thought about it themselves.

  But Jolly had long ceased to fret about that. She worried about other things. The Maelstrom. And the masters of the Mare Tenebrosum, those powers over another, incomprehensible world who had first created this gigantic whirlpool. Originally the Maelstrom was intended to serve as a gate into this world. But he had closed himself to his creators and now practiced his reign of terror without them.

  Jolly walked up to Captain d’Artois. Out of the corner of her eye she saw the one-eyed Ghost Trader in his dark robe pull Munk aside and speak to him. The blond boy nodded again and again.

  The two were beginning this journey together. They’d known each other for many years. The whole time, the Trader had tried to prepare Munk for this mission without his knowledge.

  “Everything all right?” asked Soledad.

  Jolly half turned around to the princess. In spite of their age difference Soledad had become a true friend. “No,” Jolly replied.

  The princess smiled sadly. “Believe me, if I could, I’d go.”

  “Munk and I will do it.”

  “Of course.”

  Neither one of them sounded especially convinced, but there was nothing more to say.

  Walker detached himself from the others and touched Jolly on the arm. He seemed to feel even more uncomfortable in the presence of the flying animals than she did.

  “Good-bye,” he said simply, but his face was grim with concern. “Good luck.”

  “We don’t need it. We’re polliwogs, after all.”

  He stared at her for a moment in surprise, before her sarcasm got through to him. Then he laughed, forgot the closeness of the rays, and bent forward far enough to hug Jolly one last time. “See to it that you get on my nerves again soon, all right?”

  She couldn’t answer, merely nodded and waved to Buenaventure, who stood there the entire time with eyebrows raised.

  With him you never knew whether that was a sign of concern or skepticism or whether it merely belonged to his dog face. He scratched behind his left ear—which made him look even more animal-like, though he did it with a human hand—then he tilted his head and actually looked as though any moment he was going to let out an anguished howl.

  Jolly lowered her eyes. She didn’t want to burst into tears now, not here and not in front of the members
of the council. The captain seemed to sense what was going on in her mind. Quickly he grasped the reins, swung himself into the saddle, and motioned Jolly and Soledad to mount behind him. While the Ghost Trader and Munk took their places on the other ray, their animal also came alive. The first movements traveled through the animal’s outspread wings like waves.

  A moment later the ray bore them gently upward. Jolly felt the heartbeat of the animal beneath her, very quiet and steady. And with each beat she regained a little bit of her composure.

  She sighed and looked down just as the second ray left the ground and sailed through the ceiling hole to the outside.

  Walker and Buenaventure stood close together looking after them, their faces betraying their anxiety and helplessness. The council members waved exuberantly, but Jolly took no notice of them at all. Munk, on the other hand, calmly waved back, like a king taking leave of his subjects. He’d taken on many such gestures in the past weeks. It pleased him to be revered by the nobility of Aelenium. Didn’t he realize that they’d forget him just as quickly as they’d welcomed him into their ranks? If the mission of the polliwogs were unsuccessful, they’d just be two more victims of a hopeless war.

  “Captain d’Artois?” Jolly bent closer to him as the ray floated over the edge of the plateau and the chasm of the coral cliffs appeared beneath them.

  “Yes?”

  “If Aelenium survives…I mean, if the Maelstrom is defeated, but I don’t come back, can you do something for me?”

  He nodded seriously without turning around to her. “If I survive—of course.”

  “Can you look for Griffin and tell him…” She was silent, thought for a moment, and then took heart. “Can you tell him that I liked him very much? Much more than he can imagine?”

  “I will gladly do that.”

  “Tell him that I’ve often thought of him in these final days. I would really like to have seen him again before we left.”