King Vogt and the Guardians of the Round Table (ALCS Game 1)
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King Vogt and the Guardians of the Round Table
I. The Battle of Lake Erie
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
II. The Quest for the Holy Grail
Interlude
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
III. The King of the Wind
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
IV. The King of the Sea
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Chapter 12. The red sails filled just as the last Guardian finished climbing aboard, and the four small whaling schooners sailed out of the bay. The old shipwright stood on the dock with his hat clenched tightly in his hands. As the ships pulled away, he silently counted the twenty-eight men who were surely sailing to their doom:
King Vogt stood at the rail of the lead ship with Sir Adell, DeLauter, Kwan, Martinez, Halpin, and Fry. In the second, Sir Ramirez took the helm, with Sir Lowe, Bazzana, Rocchio, Genao, Hedges, and Bailey. Sir Smith captained the third, with Armstrong, Espino, Festa, Gaddis, Herrin, and Sabrowski at the lines. And Willis the Wise stood at the helm of the fourth, with Sir Williams, Messick, Griffin, Bibee, Cantillo, and Cecconi on board.
For a day the wind carried them into open waters. But on the second day, it died. The red sails went slack and the ocean was still as a lake. The white clouds hanging motionless overhead reflected on the water, making it look as though the four ships were floating in the sky.
But that night a fog rolled in, and the Guardians awoke to find themselves inside a cloud, unable to see their own bows. They tied the four boats together so as not to lose each other in the haze and waited for the fog to lift.
By midday the fog hadn’t moved, and by late afternoon it still pressed in on all sides. There was no sun, no sky, and no horizon. Only the creak of the lashings. The knights sat on coils of rope and sharpened blades for the fourth time.
Sir Martinez anxiously stabbed the tip of his claymore into the wooden deck. “Will this fog ever lift? I’m tired of staring at gray.”
As if in response, the thick wall of fog in front of them split down the middle, and parted — like a stage curtain being drawn aside — revealing the trap that had been set:
Before the four small whaling schooners loomed the large hulls of four sloops-of-war. Each hull was blacker than the next, laced with a phosphorescent lime-green light that ran through the grain of the wooden planks like veins under skin. A purple anchor hung from every black bow, and on each of the charcoal sails dripped the number ‘727’ in green and purple paint.
On the decks of the four sloops-of-war stood the twenty-six Cursed Crusaders, lined along the rails in silent ranks, each wearing a black suit of armor accompanied by a black helmet and purple visor. And in their hands they held long pikes that burned lime green.
Only then did the Guardians look past the Crusaders’ ships and stare in disbelief at the enormous wall of water swirling around the eight vessels. It was one hundred stories high, and as purple as the anchors hanging from each of the cursed ships’ bows.
The calm had never been calm. King Vogt and the Guardians were in the eye of a purple hurricane.
From above, it must have looked like eight toy ships floating in a circular purple bathtub. But from where the Guardians stood, they were looking up at four black hulls with twenty-six Cursed Crusaders staring down, a swirling wall of purple water entrapping them, and a storm raging overhead. It was a sight that would have shaken most… but the Guardians were not intimidated.
Then, at the rail of the lead ship, strode a man wearing black armor the same as the other Crusaders, but instead of a black helmet and purple visor, he wore a black bicorn captain’s hat with purple trim topped with a curling lime-green feather. Overhead, a blackened sky crashed with lime lightning breaking through the stormy clouds.
“King Vogt!” bellowed down the captain of the Cursed Crusaders. “I know that you and your Guardians are on a quest for the Commissioner’s Trophy. But we seek the Trophy as well. I also know that you recently defeated the Black Sox army and King Venable, King of the Wind.”
King Vogt called up, interrupting, “So you’ve heard of us, but who might you be?”
“Who mi— Who might I be?! You will soon learn!” The captain crusader leaped up, standing proudly on the railing of his ship, and spread his arms wide, gesturing around him. “This is the enchanted fleet that was given to me by the Demon of the Deep… and this is my crew of Cursed Crusaders. I am Captain Cash — King of the Sea!”
As the purple wall of water swirled around the eight ships and the storm raged overhead, Sir Cantillo leaned over toward Sir Griffin.
“He calls himself a king?” he muttered to Griffin. “If he’s a king, then where’s his crown?”
Sir Griffin cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted up. “Hey, King of the Sea! If you’re a king, where’s your crown?”
Captain Cash cast a fiery glare at the insolent knights and pointed at the lime-green feather in his hat. “This is all the crown a king of the sea needs.”
Willis the Wise then stepped forward, staff in hand, and addressed the captain. “Captain Cash, you claim that your fleet is enchanted. And yet though your crew is certainly cursed, I fail to see anything magical.”
Cash smiled slowly. “You want magic, old man? Not only does my fleet come from the Demon of the Deep, but unlike your fleet, these ships can’t sink.” He boasted arrogantly. “Nothing on the ocean can touch them!”
“Paint and a feather?” Griffin called up. “Is that the whole spell?”
The Cursed Crusaders had had enough of the mockery, and Caminero popped up at the rail of the nearest ship, drawing back his green pike — and hurled it like a javelin — a streak of lime shooting across the water. It struck Sir Griffin, cutting his forearm.
As Griffin staggered back, clasping the wound with his hand, King Vogt roared, “Cut the lines!”
Blades fell on the lashings, and the four Guardians’ ships broke apart. The red sails caught the hurricane’s wind at once, and the four whalers surged away from one another as the sea-battle began.
“You think you can run?” Cash called after the schooners. “There’s nowhere to hide!”
Cash yelled to his crew, “Ignore the others! Focus on Willis’s ship!” Pointing his finger toward the fourth schooner, he roared, “I want the two insolent knights who mocked me!”
The four black sloops-of-war came around as one, enclosing the ship captained by Willis the Wise. Meanwhile, the other three Guardian ships sailed toward the edge of the eye, putting distance between themselves and the fight so they could circle back around and find an open angle of attack.
But they were still far off, and the Cursed Crusaders were closing in around Willis’s ship. Sir Griffin knelt behind the rack of harpoons and tied a strip of cloth around his bleeding forearm, pulling the knot tight with his teeth.
“Still got one good arm,” he said, pulling one of the harpoons free, its long coil of rope resting at his feet.
“That’s all you need,” said Willis the Wise confidently. The arch mage then called out to the others, “To the harpoons, men!”
Sir Griffin and Sir Cantillo hurled harpoon after harpoon across the water at the Crusaders and their ships, the black armor ringing with each throw that struck true. But even as the Crusaders staggered back, more stepped up to take their places.
Green pikes whistled back from the sloops-of-war, lodging in the masts and gouging the planks of the lone schooner. At the helm, Willis the Wise leaned his whole weight into the giant wheel, trying to steer the small ship through the shrinking gap between the black hulls. But there was nowhere to go.
“Brace yourselves!” Willis shouted.
Then, out of the swirling spray — a red sail appeared as Sir Ramirez’s schooner came charging back across the water — the wind finally at its back. Ramirez stood at the wheel, shouting out commands to the crew, while Sir Lowe and Sir Bailey braced themselves at the bow, harpoons already raised.
The schooner cut through the Crusaders’ naval blockade just as the front sloop’s bow was about to crush Willis’s stern, and slammed into the black hull’s side, knocking it off course.
“Now!” Ramirez roared.
Lowe and Bailey, hurled one harpoon after the other. Seven iron points punched into the sloop’s black bow, and the ropes trailing behind them snapped taut. Ramirez threw his weight into the wheel, and the little schooner swung hard to port, dragging the great sloop’s bow with it.
The anchor swept past Willis’s stern, missing it by a few feet, and the sloop-of-war slid wide, its hull groaning against the lines.
“Cut it loose!” Cash shouted from the rail, and green pikes slashed through the ropes. But the damage was done. The sloop had lost its angle.
Before the Crusaders could recover, King Vogt’s ship tore in from the other side, its red sail bulging with wind. There stood King Vogt at the helm with Sir DeLauter and Sir Adell at the bow. The schooner cut through the four sloops-of-war, and the two knights let the harpoons fly. Four of their harpoons wedged into the wood of the sloop while another two struck a pair of Crusaders, who toppled backward off the rail and into the purple sea.
For a moment, it seemed the Guardians had turned the tide. But Captain Cash only laughed, standing on the rail of his ship, calm as ever, as his Crusaders severed the harpoons’ ropes and the storm raged around them.
“Your efforts are futile!” he called. “Did you not listen when I told you my ships cannot be sunk? Nothing can defeat the Demon of the Deep!”
He lifted both hands above his head and called up to the heavens, “Release the Demon!”
From the depths below, a haunting high-pitched wail echoed, and the purple water began to churn, almost boiling. Far behind the Crusaders’ ships, the sea bulged upward as if something enormous were shoving the ocean out of its way. A long, rolling wave rose out of the swell and rushed toward the fleet.
The Cursed Crusaders knowingly gripped their railings as it closed in. As the wave hit, all eight ships were jostled up and down, timbers groaning. The Guardians stared down into the purple waters as a hulking black mass glided just beneath the surface, four green eyes staring back up at them.
“The four eyes,” Hedges whispered. “Just like the old shipwright said.”
As the black mass slid out from under the fleet, the water went still. For a moment, the only sound came from the roar of the storm. Then, on the far side of the eye, the wave rose again. It followed along the edge of the purple wall, swimming back behind the Crusaders’ ships, and then charged again, faster than before.
As it reached the Crusaders’ ships, the Demon of the Deep dove down… and then surged out of the sea. Purple water poured off its body in sheets, and its torso rose high above the water to reveal its awe-inspiring size, its wings spreading wider than the four Guardian schooners together.
It was as black as the hulls of Cash’s fleet and bathed in the same phosphorescent light as the ships, with four green eyes burning along its back. With its torso raised, the Guardians could see four purple gills flaring open and shut on its underside. And behind it, a tail twice the length of its body whipped up from the sea, tipped with a green barb taller than two men.
Captain Cash spread his arms wide, still standing on the rail of his ship, and proudly declared.
“Behold, the Demon of the Deep!”
But then — Willis slammed his staff against the deck and called, “Time!” — and everything froze.
The giant wall of water circled no more, the ships and waves stood still, and the Demon of the Deep was suspended mid-breach. For a brief moment, King Vogt half-expected the Eternal Eye to reappear. Then he noticed that while the rest of the world had halted, he and the Guardians could still move. Willis the Wise explained:
“Don’t worry, sire, I have cast a time-stop spell. But while it gives us a momentary pause to strategize, we cannot affect the world around us.”
Sir Hedges spoke up. “It’s obvious we have to go for the devil ray’s eyes. The old shipwright told us about them.”
“No,” corrected Willis the Wise. “We must attack the four gills. If we go after its eyes, the beast still lives. But if we destroy its gills, it can’t breathe. And as Captain Cash said, his ships can’t be sunk, so our only chance is to kill the Demon of the Deep.”
“Then forget the enemy ships,” said King Vogt. “They’re no threat if the Demon falls.”
“Agreed,” said Willis. “But the gills are on its underside. We have to force it to expose its belly.”
Sir Ramirez studied the immobilized beast, its torso heaved high above the water. “Then we don’t fight it head on,” he said. “We sail past it. If we can make it turn to follow us, it may expose its gills.”
King Vogt ordered, “Ramirez, Willis, and I will lead the attack to distract it. Smith, you take the rear. When it leaves itself open, the gills are yours.”
With the strategy in place, Willis released time, and King Vogt roared, “Now!”
The Demon crashed back down into the swell, and the four red sails swung hard, racing in a line for the edge of the storm. Behind them, Captain Cash laughed as they fled. But by the time he realized that their plan was no retreat, the four red schooners had already come about and were racing back in a single line.
The Demon rose out of the swell to meet the oncoming line as the schooners swept behind the sloops-of-war. It reared up while its tail churned beneath the surface. King Vogt’s schooner led the charge, crossing in front of the giant ray from left to right, and shot underneath its great black wing as it came thundering down, trying to dash the ship to pieces. From the portside, Sir Adell and Sir DeLauter hurled harpoons at the gills, but the iron tips missed, glancing off the thick black hide.
As Sir Ramirez followed, cutting in across the beast’s front, Sir Lowe and Sir Bailey answered with two more harpoons, but also barely missed the purple gills, the harpoons clattering off the ray’s side. The Demon roared and swung its other wing at Ramirez’s ship, banking sharply.
As it did, Willis’s ship raced by next, drawing another furious swat, and by then the Demon’s whole attention was on the lead three. The Demon wheeled toward them, its wings hammering at the ships in front of it, as the fourth and final schooner charged in.
“We’ve got it now!” Sir Smith shouted from the helm, holding the wheel firmly with one hand and a harpoon in the other. The schooner slid under the shadow of the giant wings, and Sir Espino and Sir Gaddis leaned out over the railing and threw in unison. Both harpoons slammed into the nearest gill, cracking it like glass. The Demon bellowed and its whole body shuddered.
As his ship came level with the cracked gill, Sir Smith drew his harpoon back and let it fly. The iron tip drove into the cracked gill, bursting it apart. The Demon let out a horrendous scream and dove beneath the surface, the green glow of its barb disappearing last as the monster sank from sight — wounded but not dead.
On the rail of his sloop, Captain Cash had stopped laughing.
Sir Smith wiped the spray from his face and looked back at the Guardians’ ships.
“One down,” he said. “Three gills to go.”