"Crom and Mitra and all the gods and fiends be damned!" swore Conan loudly in and in a hoarse voice. "When will this accursed journey reach its end?"
As if in response, the Kraken, a portion of whose thick hide he stood upon unsteadily as it rocked back and forth in the swell of the Western Ocean, shuddered deep within its innards, nearly knocking Conan to his sodden feet.
As he stooped to retain his balance and avoid being swept into the endless waves, Conan reflected grimly that he had endured this most unnatural journey for some days now, with nothing but rainwater to drink – and that aplenty, for many violent storms had crossed his path since departing the distant shore of Mayapan – and nothing but shreds of dried meet and fruit from the dwindling stores on his person to eat, supplemented by the odd unlucky fish swept onto the Kraken's broad back by the waves, and which Conan had to dispatch with his bare hands and eat raw.
The wind had howled in Conan's face and roared in his ears, and the beast rocked under his feet, until even his iron stomach began to feel sick, and he began to fear that the Kraken would never lead him to the Hyborian shore, but rather to death from exposure on the waves – though even as the thought passed his mind, he dismissed its lack of reason, as the beast could easily drown him whenever it wished just by diving deeper. And besides this, some hidden intuition on his part sensed that whatever fate awaited the Crystal Skull, which had lain dormant ever since his departure from the Mayapani shore, it did not involve sinking back into the waves from which he had found it. He somehow doubted such a fate would save it from ending up in Set's scaly grasp in any case.
After a time the swell began to lessen into calmer seas, and Conan felt his heart skip a beat as he saw what lay on the horizon – ships, an entire armada of them! His rejuvenated eyes could see even from afar that they were roughly of Hyborian type, albeit there was something subtly different about their shape that he could not quite trace. As Hyborian navies never went far from sight of land, he knew he must be very close now to the shores of Hyboria, which likely lay just out of sight over the eastern horizon. He felt a strange upwelling of sentiment in the pit of his stomach – strange at least for a hard man and adventurer like him – as he realized how alien to him the strange lands of Antillia and Mayapan hnd been, and how alien to them he must have been. While he had been a man of the world since his youth, and cut from a very different cloth than his generally insular and provincial Cimmerian kin, somehow he realized that this Hyborian and its neighbouring lands was at least where he belonged no matter what further strange adventures awaited him there.
Conan's excitement was swiftly tempered by a warning voice in the back of his mind, which caused him to focus again on the ships, at least ten-score of them, which though still distant drew closer into view moment by moment as the Kraken proceeded at its swift but steady pace on a bee-line towards them. He could see now that they were very dark, moreso than one would expect even at this distance, and although they were broad wooden sailing ships or galleys of the Hyborian type, there was something bout the shape of their prows and the cut of their sails which was foreign to the Zingaran and Argosseans ships with which he was so familiar.
Then it hit him like a thunderbolt, as he recalled the long-vanished days when he had prowled the coasts of Kush and the Black Kingdoms beyond with his first love, the pirate-queen Belit of Shem. "Crom!" swore Conan out loud. "It is the Black Ships of Khemi – and the entire Stygian navy, by the looks of it!"
And so it was. Conan instantly wondered if this was Set's first obstacle thrown up against him in his quest to cheat him of his due – and set up so close to the Hyborian shore, and yet so far. But then it seemed strange to him that the Stygians, albeit ancient worshippers of Set, would carry out the whims of their dark and inscrutable god in a way so clearly aimed against a single mortal man, albeit one of exceptional significance.
As the Kraken drew still closer to the fleet, Conan could see many bronze-armoured soldiers on its decks, and realized that this fleet was prepared less for a battle at sea than for a full-on invasion or assault by shore – although the target he could only guess at. Then he thought of his strange encounter with Conn in the mystical mirror by the fountain of youth, and how it was clear that Stygia was once against stirring against Aquilonia as foremost of the Hyborian realms and chief centre of the worship of Mitra, Set's divine foe – at least in the Hyborian world. Of Kuthlan, Conan had never heard before his adventures in Mayapan.
The alarm sounded from the ships and Conan realized that he had been spotted – or at least the broad back of the Kraken had been spotted, though some miles off. The Crystal Skull, dormant since it had put paid to Xipe and his armies on the beach by the hither shore of Mayapan, began to glow strongly with its clear inner light, and Conan had no doubt that action was at hand – though what course it would take, he realized wryly, was largely beyond his control.
"For the days when a good sword in my right hand was enough!" exclaimed Conan, to the empty air. "Though perhaps they shall return soon enough."
Even as Conan finished speaking, a volley of arrows shot forth from several of the Stygian ships which detached themselves from the main body of the fleet, aimed broadly in Conan's direction – evidently they must have thought some curious vessel approached, and were under orders to engage with and sink any vessel not among their own number.
"I have the feeling this will not end well for them – am I right, you great brute?" The Kraken's gelatinous body shuddered again in mute reply.
Even as the hailstorm of arrows descended towards Conan from a rapidly clearing sky under a bright, hot, sun, the Crystal Skull shot forth a brilliant stream of light, which arced hundreds of feet into the sky before its light streamed out into a broad, shimmering dome which swiftly descended towards the choppy surface of the sea. The arrows then began bouncing harmlessly off the shimmering shield of light, like hailstones off a pane of glass, to a cry of dismay from the Stygians which Conan could hear even from afar.
"No, I think this will not be a good day for the dogs of Stygia at all!" said Conan with a broad grin.
The entire fleet turned about now, arcing away from where Conan suspected lay the shore and towards Conan's direction – evidently determined to end this strange threat, and whatever dark magics it might employ, rather than leave their rear exposed to attack by a hostile vessel and the strange sorcerer whom it seemed was aboard.
A vast tentacle suddenly shot out of the sea, and darted towards Conan, its grappling end wrapping around his body with surprising care even as it left free his right arm, which bore the staff to which the Crystal Skull was affixed. As it lifted Conan high above, the dome of protection which emanated from the Skull grew larger, until it encompassed a vast area around and about the Kraken's girth. The seas about the beast began to froth and boil as more arms began shooting forth out of the water, and the beasts two great, yellow slitted eyes and snapping, beaklike mouth revealed themselves.
Conan could hear the screams and cries of shock and horror from the Stygians now, as they realized they were dealing not only with a sorcerer from out of the depths of the Western Ocean, but moreover with the most legendary and fearsome of all sea monsters – the great and terrible leviathan known far and wide as the Kraken!
Shower after shower of arrows sailed up from the Stygian fleet, only to deflect hopelessly off the translucent dome of protection cast by the Crystal Skull. Meanwhile, the Kraken surged toward the massed Stygian fleet, whose admiral too late gave the order to disperse his ships so that they did not present a closely-grouped target for this awesome foe.
Conan could only stare from far above with mixed pleasure and awe at the horrific scene of carnage and chaos which ensued as the Kraken ravenously tore into the Stygian fleet, ships timbers and masts cracking like matchsticks and whole ships being lifted up and smashed brutally against the waves like the toys of a frolicking child in a bathtub.
The Kraken had over half a dozen of its cruel tentacles in play now, each able through some means Conan could not understand to pass through the dome of protection even as it magically repelled the increasingly desperate arrow volleys of the Stygians. Each tentacle was capable of grappling and destroying a ship on its own, and when one ship was smashed to pieces and torn asunder, that tentacle would then be employed snatching up and devouring the hysterically screaming sailors who had survived the destruction and thrashed desperately about in the waves before being tossed wholesale into the Kraken's ravenous maw. Then the bloody scene would repeat itself with another ship, and then another. Conan shuddered to think that only some supernatural force or forces he did not understand or control spared him from suffering exactly the same ghastly fate.
In an amazingly brief span of time, certainly less than one turn of the glass, the entire Stygian fleet was annihilated as those ships which too late turned about and sailed haphazardly in whatever direction they could to escape the Kraken's wrath did so in vain. The Crystal Skull grew pale, and then clear as the unknown force which had streamed forth from it all this time dissipated into the ether. Conan could see nothing of the fleet now but shattered beams, masts, jetsam and flotsam floating about haphazardly on the waves, the odd survivor who clung to the wreckage to stay afloat either sobbing with terror or laughing shrilly with madness.
These few survivors the Kraken ignored, and Conan mused that perhaps even its fathomless hunger had at last been satiated. Then it sank lower into the waves, though still its limbs and face remained visible as they had not when crossing the high seas, and the beast resumed its steady progress eastward with it seemed added urgency. It did not return Conan to its broad back, but kept him uplifted in the air by way of the arm which still grasped him while its other arms surged and churned forward in the waves to give the beast added speed towards its goal.
Then as the haze cleared on the eastern horizon, Conan from his lofty eyrie could clearly see the goal which spurred the monstrosity onward in a final surge of effort – the Hyborian shore itself! Conan could not believe his eyes, but he had at last reached his improbable goal, gazing upon the lands in which he has spent the entirety of his life and many adventures before beginning this strangest of all his many exploits nigh on a dozen years before.
The coast came more clearly into view, and Conan could now see why the fleet he encountered was Stygian and not Zingaran or Argossean – for the black pyramids and spires of the Stygian harbour of Khemi now rose up from the flat horizon under the afternoon sun, and their ominous profile was unmistakable to any mariner who plied the seas south of Shem towards Kush and the Black Kingdoms, as many sailors – and pirates – did to reap the great profits that came from selling the exotic goods of the black lands at a dear price in the Hyborian realms.
To his left, and therefore to the north, Conan could clearly see now the sandbars and marshes which marked the many mouths of the delta of the vast River Styx, emptying its emerald waters into the indigo depths of the Western Ocean. North of this still lay the broad grasslands of Shem, punctuated here and there by low cliffs and clusters of gentle hills, as the shoreline worked its way north to the western Shemitish trading cities such as Asgalun and Eruk which were too far to the west and north to be seen even from Conan's lofty vantage point.
Conan then noticed the vast cloud of dust, miles broad and high, which rose up from the Shemetish plains just north of the valley of the Styx. While he could not directly see the cause, he was seasoned enough as a mercenary and soldier of old to instantly recognize it for what he was, even had he not just encountered a Stygian fleet ready to deploy an army for an assault by shore – a dry and barren battlefield between two enormous armies, whose combined numbers must have been far in excess of a hundred-thousand men to kick up a cloud of dust so high and broad.
"My arrival comes not a moment too soon, it seems!" said Conan grimly. "I cannot doubt the Stygian schemes that Conn spoke of to me of in that bewitched mirror are at work here – I only hope he has not gotten himself and our army into more trouble than he can handle!"
The time passed quickly as the Kraken drew close to the arid coast of Shem, a broad, sandy beach coming into view north of the tangled green mass of the marshes and muddy sandbars of the Styx. Flanking this were sandy dunes, beyond which lay an endless chain of gentle, grassy hills and here and there small cliffs which lead east towards the site of the battle, which Conan's practiced eye gauged to be some ten miles or so east and inland from the shore.
At length, the Kraken's speed slowed and then came nearly to a halt as it surged into the shallows, using its tentacles now to pull its ponderous bulk over them rather than swim the final yards to shore. Finally stopping with a sudden halt a short distance from the sandy shore – both unwilling and perhaps incapable of fully leaving the watery element it called its home – the Kraken now gently lowered Conan onto the sands of the shore himself, releasing him to fall the last few feet onto the hot brown sands.
His mind still reeling at all he had just seen and heard – and perhaps at euphoria with his return to the Hyborian lands, after his dozen-years of self-imposed exile in Antillia and Mayapan – he turned about for a final look out to sea, and at the vast, dark bulk of the Kraken, to whom it seemed he owed some grudging debt of gratitude for fulfilling a task which otherwise would have been well nigh impossible to fulfil at all, let alone in such a short space of time, and sinking an enemy fleet into the bargain.
"You have the gratitude of Conan of Cimmeria, for what that is worth!" exclaimed Conan in a voice hoarse and cracked for lack of use these past months, "but all the same I will be glad never to see the likes of you again!"
The Kraken glared at him with its slanted yellow eyes and issued a low rumbling roar from within its gelatinous depths, as if to signal that it shared the sentiment. Then it pulled itself back from the shore, and within a few minutes it was far out to sea, soon disappearing entirely beneath the waves as it returned to the submarine depths from whence it had emerged.
"It will be many years before I am inclined to take ship again on the Western Ocean, after witnessing that!" said Conan to himself, still shaken by what he had witnessed. With all the mountaineer's inbred distrust of the ocean, even he for all his dauntless courage might never have taken ship with Belit the pirate all those years ago if he had any idea what sort of monsters truly dwelled in the deeps!
Another gleam began to issue forth palely from the Crystal Skull, and Conan snapped out of his reverie. Turning his back to the Western Ocean and facing to the east, and toward the battle, he sensed intuitively (if the Skull's silent thoughts to him were indeed but intuition) that he was needed at the battlefield, and with the utmost urgency. Moreover, he felt sure in his bones that his final confrontation with Set, and the fate of the world it would decide, was now at hand.