He snatched the head with his free hand, shook it at the wheeling, screeching flock above, and roared, “Come down here again! See what you get!”

He punctuated his challenge by hurling the severed head at the nearest of the harpies with deadly accuracy and incredible force. It struck her full in the face, cutting off her screech like the blow of an ax. She flipped ass over fangs as she tumbled from the sky to crash into the storm churn, three spans off the port sweeps.

Kratos only glowered. Killing those vile creatures wasn’t even fun.

No challenge.

Kratos’s glower deepened as the storm gave him a glimpse of the merchantman he’d been pursuing. The big ship still had two sails up and was pulling away, running before the wind. Another instant showed him why his ship was falling behind. His oarsmen were cowering in fear of the harpies, pressing themselves into whatever space they might find below their benches or shielded by the thicket of oars. With a wordless snarl, Kratos seized a panicked oarsman by the scruff of his neck and, one-handed, lifted the man up over his head.

“The only monster you should fear is me!” A quick, effortless snap of his wrist cast the coward into the waves. “Now row!”

The surviving crew applied themselves to their oars with frantic energy. The only thing Kratos hated more than harpies was a coward. “And you!” He shook a massive fist at the steersman. “If I have to come back there to steer, I’ll feed you to the harpies!

“Do you have the ship in sight?” His bull-throated roar caused the steersman to cringe. “Do you?”

“A quarter league off the starboard bow,” the steersman called. “But he still has sail! We’ll never catch him!”

“We’ll catch him.”

Kratos had pursued the merchant ship for days. The other captain was a shrewd and able sailor. He’d tried every trick Kratos knew, and even a few new ones, but with every passing day, Kratos’s sleek galley had herded the merchantman ineluctably toward the one hazard no vessel could survive: the Grave of Ships.