Salt Storm: The Salted Series: Episodes #31-35 by Galvin, Aaron (read 50 shades of grey .TXT) 📕

above, high chieftain. Short-Shore panted. Our healers and Watawa the Open Shell say that the son of Silent Hammer is likely beyond their aid.

Cursion frowned. The boy will die, then?

It would seem so, said Short-Shore, his voice hesitant.

Something’s wrong, Garrett thought then. But, why is he afraid to tell us?

Cursion too cued upon the Night-Stalker’s hesitancy. Speak on, old friend. What troubles you?

Many things this night, high chieftain, but Red Water most of all, said Short-Shore. My warriors have heard him spreading word among the people that your Orc-son is a spy sent among us by the Blackfin. Aye, that Garrett Weaver were sent to cause civil war among our tribes and divide us before we ever could reach New Pearlaya. Also, that the Orc attack on the son of Silent Hammer were meant to distract us. All so that Garrett Weaver might swim away and rejoin his brethren seawolves before returning to his uncle with news of our plans.

Spy? Garrett cried out at the accusation. We’ve been through this already! Ishmael is the one who brought me here! If I was a spy—

Cursion quieted him with a motion of his hand. Patience, son. He glanced at the Night-Stalker leader. For I gather our friend has not yet told us all.

No, high chieftain, said Short-Shore. There is much and more, I fear. It were also heard that Red Water claimed we should all be better served if the son of Silent Hammer were to die from the wounds given him by the Orcs. Aye, that the death of his son might serve the purpose of all to light the fires long-cooled in the heart of Atsidi Darksnout and bid him to give up his cry for peace. All that he might call his warriors to war with our other tribes.

Cursion’s lip curled. He wished the boy to die?

Short-Shore nodded in silent reply.

Cursion frowned. And here I had hoped after all the long years of his banishment, Red Water would take up his father’s mantle and restore honor to his people and his name. Instead, it seems he would rather keep to a legacy of betrayal and cast its shadow further upon the Bull Nation.

Aye, high chieftain, said Short-Shore. Forgive me for bringing such ill tidings.

It was not you to stir them, my friend, said Cursion, clapping Short-Shore on the shoulder. Come. He turned to motion Garrett too. It seems our peaceful swim is over for now, my son. Much as I would rather remain with you, I must—

Garrett winced when the high chieftain cried out in pain.

Cursion’s tail stiffened, his arms flailing outward before reaching back to grab at what had struck him from behind. As the high chieftain wheeled around, Garrett saw a coral dagger driven nearly to its hilt, deep in Cursion’s back, just beneath his left shoulder. No sooner did the high chieftain turn to meet his assailant, Short-Shore offered him a second wound – driving another of the daggers that once lined his belt into the high-chieftain’s belly. And when Cursion grabbed hold of the Night-Stalker leader, Short-Shore plucked both of his daggers free and stabbed at the high chieftain over and again.

Father! Garrett shouted, using his tail to send him rocketing into the crimson-stained water that swirled around the Nomad pair.

Short-Shore continued to stab at Cursion, even as the high chieftain’s hand clamped around the throat of his assailant to strangle him.

Snarling, Garrett flung himself at Short-Shore, striking him in the middle of the chest and driving him backward and away from Cursion. For all his speed, the Night-Stalker leader then used the force of momentum against him.

Short-Shore grabbed hold of Garrett’s bicep with one hand, the other wrapping around his midsection. Garrett’s skin tingled with the brief, cold kiss of an iron blade upon his back. The next he knew, the frigid, flat of the blade was gone, Short-Shore opting instead to again use their shared momentum to throw Garrett away and off of him, into deeper water.

Garrett tumbled end over end. By the time he managed to right himself, Short-Shore had swum between him and Cursion.

The Night-Stalker leader’s lip curled, his blade at the ready in the event that Garrett chose to swim at him again.

Beyond the Night-Stalker assassin, Garrett saw the Nomad high chieftain bleeding out.

The cloud of crimson surrounded and tracked with Cursion as he swam a stilted, meandering path toward Short-Shore. His hand weakly reached out as if he meant to ambush his enemy in the same manner as he had been attacked. Before the high chieftain could reach his assailant, however, a trident came raining down from the water above. Skewered by the unseen attack, the blow spun Cursion around as the three, razor-tipped trident blades shot through his flesh. To judge the rasped sound of his immediate Salt breath thereafter, one of the trident blades had punctured the high chieftain’s left lung.

Garrett cried out when Cursion no longer swam upright, his body and tail lain out sideways in the water, the trident still embedded in his shoulder, its handle angled downward into the Abyss.

Cursion raised his hand toward him. G-Garrett . . . the high chieftain muttered. Sw-swim away . . . my son.

Garrett saw that he could not. Short-Shore’s gaze had yet to leave him since their initial tussle. Were Garrett to try and flee for the surface, a worser sort waited for him in the above.

Ishmael grinned as he descended. The Sancul were wrong - it seems the White Shadow does speak after all . . . Ishmael stopped just beyond the reach of Cursion. Then, as now, you speak up too late, high chieftain.

Cursion whispered defiance as the other assassin from above came to swim at his level. Traitor . . .

Traitor? Ishmael toyed with the word. No. I would argue my actions here prove the lengths that I will go to save my people from such ignorance.

Garrett started forward, then, attempting to swim around Short-Shore.

The Night-Stalker leader met him there too though, cutting