Free Slow Turns The World by Andy Sparrow

it would not release its grip.  
    The ship was pitching under the strain as Torrin drew level with the deck. He saw in an instant the twenty or more men hauling the rope and others standing near.  A tall, dark-skinned, man leapt towards him, grasped Torrin by the belt and pulled him to safety.   He fell sprawling and gasping upon the deck next to Valhad.  The serpent, jaws still locked upon the rope, was raised lashing madly above the deck.  There was the sound of steel drawn from leather and a man bearing a great curved sword leapt to the balustrade.  The blade flashed in a sweeping curve and buried deep into the serpent's neck, nearly cutting it through.  Blood, mucous and foul fluids sprayed from the severed throat, the jaws released and the dying beast crashed into the sea.  There were a few cheers, but mostly there was muttering and sounds of discontent.
    The swordsman cast a contemptuous eye over Torrin; it was the man they had met on the mountain, who had commanded the Asgal.  It was the same curved blade, harsh voice and lust for cruelty.  The man stared back at the crew who still stood watching him in brooding silence.
    “Have you no work to do?” he growled, swinging his blade idly.
    “We have useful work, be assured of that.”  The man who spoke emptied a bucket of water across the deck nearly wetting the swordsman's feet.  “We have to make amends for you and your doing.” As he said the words he spat upon the deck. The swordsman strode away, bristling with anger.  The man who had pulled Torrin to safety looked down on him and shook his head.
    “That was cruel sport played upon you,” he said, “and we did not all enjoy the game.  The Captain would not have allowed it.  There will be angry words when he comes on deck again.”
    “Who was that man?” asked Torrin.
    “He is called Kalor.  He is servant and protector of the Lord from the north who has bought the passage of the ship.”
     “This Lord commands the ship?”
    “No.  The Captain commands.  The Lord pays for passage and knows where we are bound.”
    “Which is where?”
    “Who can say?” he shrugged,  “We are told nothing.  I only know that we sail north-westwards.”
    Torrin pulled himself to his feet, unsteady after the long vigil on the ice without much food or sleep, still shaken after the ordeal on the rope.  Looking at the fast-receding iceberg he saw a scaled head break from the water and turn cold regarding eyes towards the ship.  The dark-skinned man watched beside him and they both heard the venomous hiss, seemingly filled with a vengeful hatred, escaping from the surviving beast's open mouth.   The bared fangs closed and opened threateningly, before the serpent slipped beneath the waves again.
    “I hope you bring better luck to us than Kalor,” he said grimly.
    “Why, what has he done?” asked Torrin.
    “It is said that he who cuts the head from the serpent in one blow shall have good fortune, shall be a king, but he who fails…”
    “Brings bad luck?”
    “Indeed.  Kalor was told this when we saw you upon the berg.  He sought to bring himself good fortune and the crew like any man who brings that cargo aboard, so they did his bidding without calling upon the Captain.  Now it has turned ill and a reckoning must be made.”
    “A reckoning?”
    “Those who live upon the sea have their own ways, as I have learnt; as you will now learn, for you belong to the ship.  I am called Trabbir; come with me now and eat.  Tell me how you came upon the ice and then rest.  Rest, before your new life begins.  You belong to the ship.”
    Trabbir led down a steep stair into the midst of the ship.  The air was dank with the smell of sweat and grease, the compartment dimly lit by flickering oil lamps.  There, in the crew’s quarters, between the swaying hammocks and sleeping litters, they sat together at a long table suspended from gently creaking ropes.  All the while there was a rumble and grinding