The Grasping Coils

Prologue 

    The dark, bald-pated man finished encircling himself and a companion in a ring of rock salt, his saffron robes stained with sweat. In one hand he grasped a black candle, in the other an obscenely formed mandrake root. Wetting his dry lips he turned to his compatriot, a swarthy, mustachioed man clad in black silken finery.


    “I must ask a final time Zarono, are you certain of this course? Tis grim sorcery you ask to be worked merely to allow you to bed this harpy. Surely for a man of your prowess there are more comely, less troublesome wenches to be had.”

    “Aye dog!” sneered the man who was known on the high seas as Black Zarono. “Work your damned mummery! That northron she-dog will learn the folly of spurning my affections!”

    “Very well. Move not from the circle.”

    The bald man raised his arms and began speaking in a low, sibilant whisper. Gradually his voice increased in volume. The short hairs on the back of Zarono’s lace-wreathed neck stirred at the dread, esoteric mutterings. He knew not why.

    Beyond the circle, in the stifling air of the sorcerer’s cramped workshop, there formed a wriggling shape as if of smoke. Tendrils seemed to writhe about a bloated axis, and in that gravid center was the suggestion of a maw that worked in answer to the sorcerer’s enunciations.

    Then, abruptly, the muttering ceased, and the smoky shape dispersed as if blown on a cool breeze.

    “It is done. The woman shall be bent to your will within the hour. Now, as to the matter of payment.”

    Zarono smoothed his moustache and brought forth a purse in his left hand.

    “Ah yes! I have not forgotten your payment, Hapuseneb.”

    With uncanny speed, Zarono drew his cutlass and ran Hapuseneb through. The sorcerer, eyes wide with surprise, crumpled to the floor.

    “Apologies, Stygian, but should word get out that Black Zarono had to resort to sorcery to get a woman, my reputation would be sorely damaged! Tis nothing personal, I assure you. Farewell!”

    Chuckling, the buccaneer exited the sorcerer’s dwelling, into the seedy Kordavan alley in which it was sequestered. His polished leather sea-boots clicking on the flagstones.


    Alone and dying in the floor of his workshop, Hapuseneb of Stygia began working his last enchantment…

I 

 

    In the luxurious master bedroom of a seaside villa situated in a wealthy quarter of Kordava, Sigyn of Asgard regarded herself in a full length mirror of polished silver. Gone was her usual garb of furs, leather, or mail; now she stood clad in a sleek gown of diaphanous, pale green silk that rippled and stirred gently in the cool night sea-breeze from the open balcony doors. The gown was long, brushing the tops of her bare feet, but it was scandalously low cut in both front and back, and slit up both sides to the hip. Her tawny hair, normally bound in braids or flowing in wild disarray, was now expertly coiffed and piled high on her head, some of it shaped into golden ringlets that framed her face. Jewelry and ornaments worthy of a Zingaran noblewoman adorned her body.

    “I cannot go out like this, Zapaya; surely there is a better fitting gown.”

    Her companion, a raven tressed, olive-skinned Zingaran woman, clad in a similar gown of scarlet, giggled languidly from the opulent couch she lounged upon. Zapaya was officially a girl of King Ferdrugo’s seraglio, but her shrewdness and intelligence had put her in the position of managing the king’s properties, of which the villa was one.

    “No, Sigyn, it‘s supposed to fit like that. And that color! It matches your eyes perfectly! I had hoped you would be more grateful, I went to great lengths to find a gown to fit a woman of your beastly stature.”

    “Bah! You can see… Everything!” Sigyn sneered.

    “So? I would think you’d be anxious to flaunt what the gods have so graciously bestowed upon you! Are all you northern barbarians so modest?”

    “Tis not modesty, I bear too many scars to wear such a garment. Same for this hairstyle, it exposes the fact that I’m missing a chunk out of my right ear.”

    Zapaya scoffed. “Barely noticeable, we'll hide it with an earring. That scar on your thigh,though... Mitra! What happened?”

    Sigyn ran her fingers over the scar, a pale, raised circle the diameter of a big man’s finger.

    “Arrow wound. It festered and made me ill for some time. One of your civilized leeches would have lopped my leg off, no doubt. I was far from civilization at the time, and I recovered.”

    “What a strange life you lead, Sigyn. No matter! Scarred or no, you are a handsome woman! We’ll have you many a wealthy, aristocratic suitor in no time!”

    Sigyn recoiled in horror. “Ymir! That is not my intent!”

    Zapaya yawned and stretched, catlike, and rose from the couch, “You said you wanted to know how civilized aristocracy lives, the reward your received for that bit of work you did for Ferdrugo has afforded you that opportunity! A wealthy husband would allow you to live like this all your days.”

    “The price I had of Ferdrugo for recovering his niece was for a pile of gold and the use of this villa until I grew weary of it. I’ve no wish to live out my days thus, married to some rich fop, no matter how handsome he may be! I’d make for a poor wife, Zapaya. I tend to grow bored and wander off.”

    The Zingaran grinned wickedly. “Well, you can attract your pick of playmates then, no one says you have to marry them.” Zapaya scowled at the Aesir a moment and approached her, abruptly poking her under the ribs with a manicured finger. “You’re starting to fill out. I guess the rich victuals of our chefs are more nourishing than the rugged fare you normally subsist on.”

    Sigyn started to angrily retort when a rugged voice rang out from beyond the balcony.

    “Ahoy! Message from Cap’n Zarono.”

    “Damn!” cursed Sigyn. “I’d hoped we’d heard the last from that cur!”
    Sigyn had drawn the attention of the buccaneer when both had attended a performance by the renowned Aquilonian minstrel Rinaldo, who was touring the larger cities along the western coast. Sigyn, having an aversion to pirates and lecherous rakes, had rebuffed his advances to the point of felling the buccaneer with a buffet to the jaw. Sometime later, two of his crewmen died with cleft skulls trying to abduct the Aesir she-wolf.

    Stepping out onto the balcony, the two women regarded the speaker who stood upon the sand, a bandy legged, bare chested Shemite, clad in stained pantaloons with a scarlet rag twisted about his head. A great cutlass was thrust trough the sash about his waist. He gazed up slack jawed, mesmerized by the pulchritude displayed as the women leaned out over the balcony railing.

    “Stop gawking and speak, dog!” snapped Zapaya. “Then begone, before I summon the guard! You know damned well who owns this house.”

    “I know!” sneered the Shemite. “Tis of no matter! Cap'n Zarono bids milady Sigyn to reconsider his invitation to visit him aboard his ship, as he now has her lover aboard as his guest!”

    “Lover? Which lover?” scoffed Sigyn, “What nonsense is this?”

    “Tycho of Nemedia he names himself, some of the lads intercepted him on his way here, laden with all manner of scented unguents and oils. I figure him to old to tangle with the likes of you, Aesir, but to each unto their own I reckon.”

    Zapaya gasped and seized Sigyn’s arm. “Tycho is a masseur, I sent for him, thinking you might find his services enjoyable. I did not dream he would fall afoul of Zarono’s blackguards!”

    Sigyn addressed the pirate. “I know not this Tycho. Set him free, he has no part in the matter.”

    “Then it would be all the more tragic should some ill befall him while he’s a guest aboard The Raven! Best ye come along, if you’ve a care for the old dog’s safety!”

    Before Sigyn could reply, there came a tumult from downstairs, near the entrance of the house that faced the beach. The women wheeled and raced to the stairs, Sigyn snatching up a stout broadsword that lay across the bed.

    On the ground floor they found four pirates had burst through the door and killed the guard posted there. The guard had sold his life dearly, for one pirate lay sprawled in a widening pool of crimson. The remaining three were more or less duplicates of the buccaneer who hailed them from the beach, Wolfish, wiry men clutching cutlasses in their rugged, sinewy mitts.

    “I’ll handle these dogs.” Sigyn muttered to Zapaya. “When I engage them, get thee to the guard house and summon help.”

    “Nay! Tis hopeless! They are three strong men!”

    “I’ll manage. Get ready! Run when I cross swords with the curs.”

    Sigyn strode purposefully down the last few steps, stopping on the landing were the stairs handrail and a nearby column would make it difficult for all three buccaneers to assail her at once. The trio of pirates stood their ground, bristling. Eyes ablaze. Their faces bore not the grinning leer of men who anticipated tormenting a helpless victim, but rather the grim countenance of warriors who awaited bitter combat. True, they faced a lone, near naked female, but she stood taller than any of them, and the muscles that rippled under her bronzed flesh and the pantherish grace of her movements were those of a born slayer. Had she not already killed two of their number?

    Sigyn brandished her sword and bared her teeth in a wolfish grin.

    “Look at you eager little sailors! Which of you would be first to embrace me?”

    Guardedly, the buccaneers crept toward her.

II 

 

    Tycho of Nemedia languished in the hold of the pirate galley, fuming in the small circle of light cast by a single tallow candle set on a crate just beyond his reach. For the umpteenth time he strained against the coils of hemp binding his wrists, to no avail. At last he desisted and tried to move his battered body into a more comfortable position. Aye, battered he was, but a number of the red-handed dogs that had seized him nursed hurts of their own. He grinned through pulped lips.

    Earlier that evening the masseur had received a messenger from Zapaya who bade him come to the villa and practice his trade. This was not unusual. Guests at the villa often enjoyed the soothing effects of the Nemedian's strong hands. Having barely reached the halfway point in his journey he was set upon by a half dozen of Zarono’s sea-dogs. The buccaneers no doubt expected some smallish, easily cowed fop when told they were to abduct a masseur, instead they were confronted with a wiry, red-bearded giant with fists of stone.

    Tycho had not always been a masseur, nor had he always been of Nemedia. Enslaved as a child, he had spent most of his early life battling in arenas as a gladiator, eventually earning his freedom. Afterward he earned a living touring the land as a prizefighter, but his years of fighting for the amusement of others eventually sickened him, and learning the art of massage, he made that his profession, foreswearing violence and killing.

    This did not mean he would abide violence visited upon him. The pirates who finally subdued Tycho came away with blackened eyes, missing teeth, crushed noses, and at least one broken jaw. Tycho chuckled with grim satisfaction at the memory of feeling the bones crack beneath his fist.

    “Something amuses you about this situation, bone cracker?” Zarono had entered and now stood over Tycho, hand on hilt and sneering.

    “Aye, dog! Loose these bonds and I’ll share the joke with you!”

    Zarono laughed heartily. ”That’s the spirit! I admire a man who faces death with a jest on his lips! Nay, I think it best you stay trussed up for awhile longer, Sigyn will either hand herself over to me for your release, or attempt to rescue you, either way, she will be mine!”

    “Cretin!” spat Tycho, “I’ve told you I know not this Sigyn! Why would a wealthy noblewoman risk falling into the grasp of a blackguard such as you to save a low-born stranger?”

    Again, Zarono sneered and chortled. “Noblewoman? Not so! Sigyn is naught but an uncouth savage from Nordhiem, come into temporary wealth. In troth, when I learned you’d been summoned to the villa, I thought you a lover of hers and ordered you seized. I see I was mistaken, and you truly know her not. But no matter! I suspect some barbaric code of decency will compel her to come to thine aid anyway, such is the way of these savages.”

    Tycho spat at Zarono, the blood flecked spittle dribbled down his polished boot. The buccaneer grinned broadly, removing a leathern gauntlet from his hand he leaned forward and struck Tycho savagely across the face with it.

    “You’re a man of indomitable spirit, redbeard! Would that I could have you as part of my crew! Alas!”

    A crewman entered and threw down a crust of stale bread and a piece of stinking, moldy cheese, along with a bowl of water.

    “You’ll have to manage eating as best you can with your arms bound behind you, none of my worthies wish to risk feeling those fists of yours again. Alas, the fare we offer is as poor as our accommodations, but try to enjoy your stay as much as possible. Oh, and mind the rats!”

    Zarono and the crewman climbed out of the hold guffawing in laughter at the Captain’s jest.

    Alone again, Tycho grew aware of a scuttling sound, and pairs of tiny red eyes reflecting the candlelight in the dark.

III  

      The scurrying rats fired a desperate plan in Tycho’s mind. Struggling over to the food left by the pirate, He grasped the cheese, and as best he could, smeared the pungent stuff on the ropes binding his wrists. His ankles were likewise bound and secured to an iron ring in the floor, but he felt if his hands were freed, he would be able to untie his feet.

    Then a large rat, braver than his fellows, leapt up on the crate beside the candle. A great, gray creature, it rubbed its forepaws together as though in diabolical anticipation. It leapt down to the floor again, and in doing so, dislodged the candle and plunged the hold into darkness.

    Mustering up every ounce of will at his disposal, Tycho lay totally still. He felt the rats swarm about him, and, drawn by the cheese, begin nibbling on the ropes. Inevitably the rodents little teeth would sink into his flesh. He shuddered at what foul diseases the little beasts might carry, but desire to be free crowded out any other considerations.

At last the rats damaged the ropes enough that they yielded to Tycho’s strength and he freed his arms. Striking out about him he cleared the rats away and went to work untying his legs. Intent on his work he did not notice the shadowy form that approached him in the dark until it loomed before him. Without conscious thought he struck out with his right fist at what he judged to be the shapes head, and felt the impact of his blow shiver up his arm and heard a satisfying thud.

    Evidently the shape returned the blow, for there was a savage impact on his jaw and a shower of sparks before his eyes, and he found himself sprawled on his back.

Slowly he regained his senses and the power of movement, he saw the candle was re-lit. Shaking his head, he forced his eyes to focus on the outrageous figure that now squatted beside him. It was a tall, powerfully built woman, her long blonde hair and tattered gown of green silk sodden and dripping with seawater. Incongruously, she wore a broad leather belt strapped about her hips from which hung a great broadsword, and an ill-fitting chain mail shirt that was barely long enough to cover her breasts. The left side of her face bore a fresh laceration and was beginning to swell.

    “You damn near took my head off with that blow, by Ymir!” she whispered.

    Tycho gasped in horror at the thought he had dealt such a clout to a woman. “Mitra! I am sorry! I thought you one of Zarono’s curs come to torment me! I beg forgiveness milady!”

    “Tis a small matter, twas mine own folly for sneaking up on you in the dark, besides, I walloped you shrewdly as well. Let’s call it even. You must be Tycho the masseur. I’m Sigyn.”

    “The woman Zarono seeks! You must quit this place! He brought me here to lure you into his clutches.”

    Sigyn drew a poniard from her belt and cut the bonds from Tycho’s feet. “He sent some of his minions to my house to tell me as much, and to make another attempt at taking me by force. They’ll not tread the planks of a ship again, by Ymir!”

    “Why does he go to such lengths to have you?”

    “He sought to bed me and I said him nay. He’s a handsome fellow to be sure, but I dislike pirates. They’re the same ilk as the Vanir raiders that plagued my tribe in my youth.”

    Deducing Sigyn‘s race by her accent and the reference to the Vanir, Tycho inquired; “The Aesir are raiders as well, are they not?”

    “Oh, yes, to be sure, but my people never were. It’s all to do with my raising, I warrant. At any rate, Zarono could not take no for an answer. It baffles me, there are plenty of wenches about who look just like me that he could have his pick of.”

    “I find that unlikely.” chuckled Tycho.

    “Zarono’s plagued me for weeks after our first meeting. I cannot dissuade him. You’re a man; you’d have better insight into his thinking than I.”

    “I’ve no answer. No one enjoys being rejected,I suppose. but I always resigned myself to my fate and moved on. How did you get onboard undetected?”

    “Swam out and climbed the anchor chain. I think the dogs expected me to arrive in a boat and present myself trussed up like a goose. They were shamefully unprepared. Now come, we may not have it as easy getting off the boat! Take this poniard.”

    Tycho held his palms out and shook his head. “Nay girl! I will not use a blade. I’ll smite a man with my fists, but my days of spilling blood with steel are behind me.”

    “That’s a peculiar viewpoint to hold in times such as these, masseur. Very well, ready your fists and follow.”

    Sigyn turned and led the way to the stairs the led to the only egress from the hold. Tycho regarded her attire with a more skeptical eye;

    “That mail shirt you wear will offer little protection.”

    “True. I took it off one of the Zingaran guards the pirates slew when the entered the villa. These southern men are damned small of stature. Still, it may serve to keep an arrow out of my heart or turn an ill-aimed sword thrust.”

    She swarmed up the steps to the hatch, her bare feet making no sound on the timbers. Carefully she peered out of the hatch and surveyed the deck. There were pirates along the rails and she could make out the form of Zarono standing on the quarterdeck.

    “I hope you can swim, Tycho, it seems our choices are to either make a break for the rail and dive into the bay, or fight the whole damned crew.”

    “I’m a strong swimmer, I vote for the former.”

    “Good choice. No time like the present then.”

    Sigyn pushed open the hatch and clambered out onto the deck. Followed by Tycho. The masseur looked out across the bay and suppressed a shudder; the lights of Kordava seemed hideously distant and tiny. He feared he was not so strong a swimmer as all that.

    They had barely cleared the hatch when a guttural voice cried out from the rigging.

    “Avast! Intruders! Intruders aboard ship!”

    Buccaneers sprang into action and swarmed toward Sigyn and Tycho. The Aesir drew her sword and shouted.

    “Get ye over the rail, masseur, I’ll delay these curs and follow.”

    “No! We go together!”

    “Why must you argue? Go!”

    Tycho relented and raced for the rail. A hairy brute of a pirate reared up before him, an axe raised high to strike. Tycho’s fist lashed out and felled the man like a pole axed steer.

    Zarono bellowed from the quarterdeck. “Capture the girl alive. Kill the red-bearded cur!”

    “To hell with you, too!” yelled Tycho. He reached the railing and looked back.

    Sigyn was ringed in by pirates, her broadsword licked out and a dark, Kushite buccaneer reeled back clutching his throat, vainly trying to stem the fountaining of blood from his severed jugular. Next a fair-haired pirate tried to tackle her as she recovered from striking the Kushite. But Sigyn wheeled away from his grasp with tigerish agility and struck off his head with a downward stroke. The head bounced of the deck and rolled in a welter of blood, coming to rest at the feet of Zarono, who was methodically making his way toward Sigyn. Cursing, he irritably kicked the head across the deck and continued along his way.

    “Hold!” he bellowed. And the crew stepped back, still surrounding Sigyn, but staying out of reach of her bloodied sword.

    Zarono grinned and twisted his moustache, and addressed the barbarian from behind the barrier of his minions.

    “I am thrilled you accepted my invitation, Yellow-Hair, though I’d hoped to find you a more gracious guest. I will have to recruit more crewmen when this fiasco is over.”

    Sigyn swung her sword about until the point of the crimsoned blade was pointed at the black-clad buccaneer. “When this is over, you’ll do your recruiting in hell, you foppish son of a whore!”

    Zarono scowled. “Most unseemly behavior for a lady! And not anymore compliant than you were the night we met! It seems that fool Hapuseneb was a charlatan! No matter. Step aside me hearties, and I’ll show you how to tame a shrew!”

    Laughing, the crewmen parted and allowed their captain to pass, then closed their ring again behind him. Zarono doffed his coat and drew his cutlass.

    “Now we’ll… Mitra!”

    Before he could issue any taunting statement, he was forced to defend himself as Sigyn attacked without warning. It took every scintilla of Zarono’s considerable skill to parry her brutal assault. Zarono now knew his attempts to subdue such a woman were foolhardy. His options had been reduced to two: kill or die.

    Tycho, standing by the rail forgotten, had decided he would not stand by and allow Sigyn to contend with the crew by herself. No matter how strong or skilled she was, it rankled the masseur to see a woman so menaced by vile blackguards.

    He busied himself freeing a belaying pin to use as a bludgeon, when something in the water alongside the ship caught his eye. There seemed to be a disturbance that churned and foamed the waves. There was an object there, or was it objects? A barrel? A discarded ship’s mast floating in the bay? As if by some previous cosmic arrangement the clouds parted and moonlight shown down upon the pirate vessel.

    Tycho stared baffled, unable to process what his eyes told him. A colossal, serpentine object rose out of the bay, indeterminate of length. The part closest to him was as wide and thick as a whale, its rubbery surface encrusted with barnacles. It tapered along its length to a point, and along one side of it Tycho saw rows of great saucer-like suckers, big around as the wheels of an oxcart. With a blast of spray, another snakelike colossus, twin of the first, erupted from water.

    “Here!” bellowed Tycho. “Behold! We are undone!”

    Sigyn and Zarono disengaged from their duel and they, along with the observing pirates, turn their attention to the bellowings of the masseur.

    Three of the massive things now reached up from the depths, taller than the galleys mainmast. They were joined by two more on the port side of the ship. With what looked like leisurely slowness one of the objects came crashing down on the Raven, crushing the forecastle.

    “Stir yourselves, dogs” Howled Zarono, “Repel these things ere we lose the ship! To arms!”

    The pirates swarmed into action, the fight with Sigyn forgotten. She stared up at the writhing, elephantine coils as they began to grasp at the pirate vessel. Tycho, gripping an ineffectual belaying pin raced to her side.

    “What in Mitra’s name are those things?”

    “Tentacles.” muttered Sigyn. “Always tentacles.”

IV  

      When it became clear the tentacles would crush the Raven to splinters, Sigyn leapt into the bay, yelling for Tycho and any who would listen to do the same. Striking out toward the lights of Kordava, she swam as though all the demons in Arallu pursued her. After an eternity, she drug herself from the waves and lurched upright on the beach. By some miracle, she had retained her sword, and now used it for support as she looked about. She saw no sign of the Raven or the behemoth that sunk her. Here and there, illuminated by moonlight and the faint glow from the city; she saw ragged forms stumbling out of the water. The one closest to her was familiar.

    “Tycho!” she exclaimed, and started to run over to the masseur. She found her movements hindered by her sodden gown, the once elegant garment, along with the ill-fitting mail shirt she’d hastily donned, had become twisted and disarrayed about her body during her swim. Becoming an obstacle to both her mobility, and her modesty.

“Damnation! I was a fool to let Zapaya coerce me into this silly rag! How do these Zingaran girls accomplish anything?”

    By the time Sigyn had rearranged her attire sufficiently, Tycho had arrived by her side.

    “That was a near thing! Are you hurt Sigyn?”

    “Nay, just waterlogged, nothing a warm fire and a flagon of ale won’t fix. You?”

    “I am unscathed. Exhausted, but unscathed. I saw a few buccaneers escape, but no sign of Zarono.”

    Sigyn spat, and began wringing the brine out of her hair.

    “Good! With any luck the bastard drowned. Ymir! If cretins like Zarono were the only men I’d ever experienced, I’d likely share the same attitude as a Hyrkanian lass I met in Aghrapur. She… Tycho? Are you listening?”

    He was not. Tycho stared, wide eyed and slack jawed over Sigyn’s shoulder. The Aesir whirled about, sword at the ready.

    A few furlongs down the beach, the massive tentacles reached out from the waves. Slamming down upon the sand, they writhed and grasped, hauling a ponderous, colossal bulk out of the sea. Bit by bit, it emerged. What hellish, abyssal darkness had birthed the thing Sigyn could not speculate, but she had seen its tiny brethren drying in racks among the fishmonger’s stalls.

    “Atali’s tits! It’s a damned giant octopus!”

    “It’s making for the city, the warehouse district…wait! What’s that?”

    Sigyn followed Tycho’s pointing finger. There, sprinting furiously from the Octopoid horror, was a tiny, black clad figure.

    “Zarono!” sneered Sigyn. “This should be good!”

    “Aye, but that thing will be into the city shortly, we must do something!”

    “What do you suggest?” asked Sigyn incredulously, “It’s the size of a mountain!”

    “I don’t know! It’s slow; we can run ahead of it and alert the citizenry. Maybe find a wizard or something to stop it!”

    Sigyn pondered a few heartbeats, gazing upon the rows of great warehouses that the beast slithered inexorably towards.

    “Wizard, eh? Come! I have an idea!”

    Running headlong, the twain overtook the lumbering mollusk and soon found themselves upon the cobblestone streets of Kordava’s warehouse district. Sigyn cursed and fumed as her bare feet were pummeled by the knobby surface.

    “Curse me for picking up this damned wee mail shirt over a pair of boots!”

    At length they caught up with Zarono. The buccaneer leaned panting by the wall of a warehouse, and was much the worse for wear. Gone were his sea-boots and coat, He was clad in sodden breeches and the remains of his black silk shirt. His formerly well kept moustache hung limply about his scowling lips. Sigyn gleefully ran up and brandished her sword under his nose.

    “Ha! Where is your confounded arrogance now cur! Shall I run you through?”

    “I am unarmed, savage! Would you strike down a defenseless foe?”

    “Yes! Particularly a murderous cutthroat like you! But perhaps it would be more amusing to let the octopus eat you!”

    “Enough!” interjected Tycho. “The thing is upon us! Behold! It smashes the buildings before it!”

    The masseur spoke true. Before the battering tendrils of the colossal beast, the timber warehouses were being ground to splinters.

    “The damned thing is following us!” observed Zarono bitterly.

    Sigyn glared at him and spat venomously. “It’s following YOU, foul bastard! And that gave me an idea! I saw them load some threescore kegs of lamp oil in yon warehouse the other day while I was about town. We’ll lure it there and when it smashes the kegs and gets sodden with oil, we’ll set the great bastard alight!”

    Tycho nodded. “Seems plausible, we’ll try it!”

    Zarono laughed cynically. “And you think to use me as bait? You fools have another think coming! I’ll have no part of this!”

    Tycho seized the buccaneer by his lace collar, and brandished his fist in his face. “You will, or by Mitra I’ll pummel you senseless and drag you to that warehouse! No doubt this fiasco is all your doing, and hundreds on innocents are now at risk! It behooves you to help undo this terror you’ve wrought”

    Zarono scowled bitterly.

     “Lead on.”

V

    By the time they located the correct warehouse, the creature was well ashore and demolishing buildings as it crawled. Elements of the city guard turned out and assailed it with spear and arrow to no effect, and retreated when the massive tentacles pulverized several guardsmen.

    Smashing the lock, Sigyn threw wide the warehouse doors. Row upon row of kegs filled the room, floor to ceiling.

    “Zarono, get ye to the rear entrance and wait there, flee when the thing starts to demolish this building. Try and flee a moment sooner and I’ll gut you! Tycho, find a torch or lamp, anything to light this oil. I’ll smash open a few kegs.”

    Sigyn belabored several kegs with her broadsword, and soon the floor was covered in lamp oil.

    “Mind your footing! And be damned careful once we light the stuff, or you’ll fry like a panfish!”

    “No chance of that.” stated Tycho, returning empty handed, “Nothing, not even flint and steel. The owners of this stuff are taking no chances.”

    “Then we must look elsewhere! We…TOO LATE!”

    There was a great rending, and the roof was lifted from the warehouse. The huge coils smashed down and sent forth a welter of timbers and lamp oil. Sigyn was hurled to the floor. Struggling to her feet, slipping about ridiculously in the puddled oil, she heard Tycho wail in pain and despair, he had been struck down and pinned beneath an avalanche of loose barrels. She raced forward and struggled to free him.

    “Nay Sigyn! Flee! You cannot shift the barrels! Together they must weigh a thousand minae!”

    “Cease your wailing, redbeard! I’ve hauled boar carcasses across the ice that weighed more than one of these things.”

    “But the beast, Merciful Mitra! It comes!”

    Sigyn looked up, all before her was obscured by the great black bulk. All was darkness save for the pale glittering beak that worked and snapped hungrily, and two massive glowing discs, the things glowing soulless eyes, each one yards across.

    Sigyn screamed, and with inhuman strength, born as much of fear and desperation as anything else, hoisted a barrel over her head and hurled it at the chomping beak. The creature snapped up the barrel and quickly chewed it to bits. It brought a tentacle down, nearly squashing the Aesir, who deftly leapt out of the way and hacked at the member with her sword.

    Pinned beneath the barrels, Tycho was strangely calm. Grim amusement crept into his mind. Being somewhat of a thoughtful nature, he had from time to time speculated on the manner in which he would meet death. Being killed by an enormous octopus had never occurred to him. He chuckled at the absurdity of it all.

    His reverie was broken when a bright red glow streaked though the air, accompanied by a high pitch screech. The red, shooting star-like object struck the octopus just above the craggy, barnacle encrusted ridge the served as its brow, the lamp oil collected there burst into flame. Another of the screaming flares struck the thing broadside, igniting a conflagration there as well. Turning his head Tycho saw Zarono at the shambles of the rear entrance, with a bundle under one arm and a lit torch in his hand.

    “Get clear, you louts, lest ye’d be roasted like chestnuts!”

    He freed a long narrow cylinder from the bundle, and touched the end of his torch to it. There was a shower of sparks and the object leapt from his hand. It arced across the sky, trailing red fire and sparks, and where it struck the monster, the oil it had smeared on itself ignited.

    Now the colossal Octopoid gave forth a low, loud bellow that rattled the timbers and brought down more of the ruined structure.

    Sigyn returned to Tycho and frantically moved the barrels off of him.

    “Leave me, girl! I can not stand… my legs…”

    “Tis a small matter.” groaned Sigyn, and with an effort, she threw the masseur over her shoulder. Struggling under his weight and keeping her footing in the oil, she set out to the street. No sooner had they moved, one of Zarono’s comets struck the area they had just quit and set it alight.

    Carrying Tycho to what she judged to be a safe distance from the inferno, she deposited him on the street and collapsed beside him, groaning as her overtaxed muscles protested against the effort she’d demanded of them. The pair regarded the scene at the blazing warehouse as a crowd of onlookers gathered about them.

    The giant octopus was totally ablaze. It’s flailing tentacles spreading the blazing oil and stoking the very conflagration that was consuming it. It’s craggy hide blistered and cooked, giving off waves of black, foul, oily smoke. At last, the writhing ceased, the low bellow ended, and the leviathan lay still.

    “Well, that’s that!” stated Sigyn. “Zarono was not a total fiend after all, I suppose. I wonder what those fiery bolts he threw were? I didn’t take him for a sorcerer.”

    A nautical-looking old gentleman from the crowd chimed in; “Signal Rockets. Outfitters have them from Khitai. Damned handy for communicating at sea… and from sea to shore.”

    “Think ye Zarono escaped the conflagration?” asked Tycho.

    “I have no doubt he did, but I think he’ll skulk off and lay low for awhile after this debacle, then he’ll no doubt busy himself raising a crew and finding another ship, then he’ll become someone else’s problem. He’ll plague us no more.”

    “I am not so confident.” muttered Tycho. He rubbed his legs and moved them about experimentally.

    Sigyn ran her hands through her tawny mane, grimacing at the amount of oil it had absorbed. She glanced sideways at Tycho.

    “And how are you masseur? Are your legs still troubling you?”
    “They are fine, I will be myself again soon. I just need a bath, some wine, and a night’s sleep in a firm bed.”

    Sigyn snorted and laughed.

    “I suppose I’ll allow that, redbeard, but don’t malinger! Remember the summons from Zapaya? See to it you present yourself at my villa tomorrow! You have aching bones to crack, and stiff, knotted muscles to knead!”

The End