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

Who is to say the Sancul should stop with the defeat of New Pearlaya? Cursion replied. Why should the Sancul cease their conquering with the Merrows and Orcs destroyed? Why not then turn upon us also, after our numbers too have been lessened for the shared fight? He shook his head. If the Sancul have legions of their own people still in hiding, then truly we bring nothing to their conquest to come. And if we bring nothing to add, then we are little more than servants and tools for them to use. Aye, and with our losses meaning nothing to their eventual victory.

So, you would ally us to the Open Shell’s plan, then? Ishmael asked. To warn the Orcs and Merrows? Ally ourselves with the supposed might of New Pearlaya?

I said nothing of agreement there either, said Cursion. It were time I requested of the Sancul, as I would request further time from this council now also. All that we may together decide the fate of our people, rather than surrender to impulse and fear-mongering.

We are precious short of time, high chieftain, said Ishmael. It will not be long until our people swim before the pearly gates of the Salt capital. What then awaits us and our people there but enemies on all sides, if you refuse the offer given to us?

I know not what lies in the future, said Cursion. No more than you either, Red Water. I would ask this council only to take this night for thought that we might rejoin on the morrow with our shared decision to lead our people forward.

The way forward is to war, high chieftain, said Ishmael. As it has ever been all this way in our journey unto the pearled city. He cocked an eyebrow, glancing at Garrett. Or perhaps you only seek to delay us with the same request you made of the Sancul?

Cursion flared. If you have something to speak to me, then let you say it outright, boy. Do not mince riddles with me.

Very well. Your lost love, Makeda, awaits in the pearl city, no? The mother of your Orc-son? Ishmael asked. Aye, the same city you murdered her father in, then fled from. All rather than continue the fight and to sack the city in full for the glory of our people.

Atsidi Darksnout sprang forward then, his sword drawn, tail firing him onward to arrive at the side of Cursion in an instant. Watch your tongue, boy. That is the high chieftain you speak with.

I’m not speaking with him, fool, I’m speaking to him, said Ishmael. And put your sword away, Silent Hammer, lest I take it from you and steal your tribe from beneath you too. You think the Hammers do not long to join the rest of us in the swim to war and blood-letting? Oh, but they do, old one. Ishmael said in such a way that Garrett’s blood warmed to its stirring call. We are all of us chieftains of our tribes only so long as the people allow, or else until a stronger hand comes to take them from us. We are not Orcs bound by foolish thoughts of honor, or, worse, their loathsome, Merrow cousins holding endlessly on to the dream of a royal and noble line stretching back to the beginning of time. No, he swam away from them, presenting himself to the council once more. We know strength when it swims before us. What it is to honor the old ways and the forms that even time itself has not dared to change from our first shaping. For we are Nomads! The true rulers of the five oceans. He glared at Cursion and Atsidi both. And if the pair of you have forgotten that truth, then perhaps you are not the sort to lead our tribes in the fight to come.

Cursion sneered. And you named the Open Shell a traitor.

Aye, said Ishmael. Just as I would name one who lay with a she-Orc and welcomed their bastard son into our fold.

Garrett could not hold his tongue any longer. He too swam into the mix. Welcoming me? He spat at Ishmael. You were the one who brought me to the Devil’s Triangle! I wouldn’t have even known to go there, or who White Shadow was, if it wasn’t for you!

Ishmael smirked. Aye, I returned you to our people, said he. And yet you scorned that gift too, Garrett Weaver. You abandoned our tribes and swam for the shore the moment such a choice was offered to you, boy. What led you to rethink that decision and rejoin us now, hmm? Did the notion finally settle within you that we were soon to fall upon the pearl city and kill both your kindred Orcs and your mother too?

Garrett grit his teeth. My mom is already dead.

Is she? Ishmael asked. Odd. I had not heard it sung among our people yet that the daughter of Orcin had been slain. How then did she die, boy?

I’m not talking about Makeda and you know it, said Garrett. Makeda killed my real mom. And the Orcs either murdered, or took, everyone else I loved away from me too. You and the Sancul can take them all down for all I care.

Brave words, said Ishmael. But words of themselves mean nothing, boy. It’s actions alone to win the trust of me and my people, Orc.

Garrett was about to speak against him further when a pair of seashell horns sounded in the above, their melody dark and bellowing over and again in signal of those below. For a moment, Garrett thought it were a pod of seawolves to fall upon them. Yet none of the other Nomads among the council seemed to share his concern. All had looked upward as the horns continued to sound, the divers rapidly descending.

Those aren’t Orc horns . . . Garrett realized a moment later