THE TRYPHON ODYSSEY (The Voyage Book 1) by S.D. Howarth

Author:S.D. Howarth [Howarth, S.D.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-05-18T22:00:00+00:00

.*.*.

Dagmar's mind flared, dragged back to consciousness by self-preservation hoisting him up by the balls. Terror slid icily down his back, gripping his insides in a crushing embrace, stifling action and thought. He stared frozen at the approaching blackness of the towering cliff of rising water, turning the orange sea an ominous sickly colour in its shadow.

He saw immediately what the others missed. The dreaded storm front trailed the wave, poised to pounce. His mind almost tumbled into madness as his outlandish dream swam into focus. He grimaced at fate's macabre jest. The motherfucker of all jests. He'd asked for a nice pair of tits, not the doom of ancient Atlantis to embrace him.

"May the seven gods save us!" Petrification fled when adrenaline surged through him, so strong it was choking. Dagmar fumbled up the brass cover he'd slept upon and hurled the residual power to raise their bows. He thrust the power down below his feet to force the stems outlandishly clear of the water. It occurred so, so slowly, as though he was using his back and not the mystic arts. In desperation, Dagmar thrust the sterns down and the boats forward, seeking to use their mass for his gain.

Inch by tortured inch, the bows clawed skywards, scrabbling upwards, raining water rivulets over the plating as they slowed. Everything rattled as they slid towards the trough preceding the wave within a swirling, billowing canopy of water. It erupted over them as dark as inside a coffin. Dagmar could feel the crystal vibrate beneath his hand. Hot and stinging, as though alive and struggling to do as he bid.

He knew it was not enough. Nothing would be and the slide backwards became faster, almost beyond control as the forrard half of the boats lost contact with the waster. He was losing it and shook from the strain of pressing down and forcing his will on the controls. Dagmar closed his eyes and scrabbled for greater power—fuck any consequences. However, with the sunjammer crystal, a controller's mana was irrelevant, in contrast to arcane skill and focus. It was how they were taught. Yet at this precise moment, he'd try any fucking thing! Unfortunately, his despairing clutch at mystic straws was futile.

The bows slammed headlong into the side of the enormous wave. Spray exploded in a stinging shower of moisture, saturating anyone not already sodden. Dagmar only partially raised the bows, and even then, they buried themselves several feet into the wave. The crash jerked the masts and everyone to the extent of their restraints with a brutal crack. Icy sea surged in, an amber caress across stout ribs and chilled feet, before scouring away anything loose.

Trevir tumbled backwards from the bows where a frantic hooked finger snagged a ringbolt, boots scrambling with shrill squeaks against the cupola inches from the sunjammer's face. The water crashed over the bows in a torrent and lifted everyone on a surging tide as they flooded.

Through the crimson gem-glass Dagmar saw Trevir dragged to safety.

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