Kingdom Of Royth

CHAPTER 13

When Blade awoke, his first reaction was one of surprise that there was a soft, comfortable bed under him, and not the damp stone floor of a prison cell with perhaps a little moldy straw thrown down on it. Then he looked about him and realized that he was in the Captain's cabin of Thunderbolt. From the steady rolling motion under him and the creak of timbers, he knew the ship was at sea. Then the door opened, admitting first a blast of icy wind, then Tuabir. The sailor was grinning broadly.

«The surgeon said you'd be with us soon, so I came by to answer all the questions I knew you'd be asking.»

Blade nodded, then decided that wasn't such a good idea. He found enough of his voice to ask, «Are we-prisoners?»

Tuabir looked indignant. «I-haul you back to face Cayla's bravos? The caretaker my lads were helping bag you thinks so, but what he doesn't know won't hurt him-or you.» He seemed to take it for granted that no further answer was needed. And for the moment Blade agreed with him. But there were other questions.

«Where are we going?»

«Thunderbolt's following a course due west. We're hoping to make landfall at Cape Xera, Druk willing, in about three weeks' time.»

So they were going to Royth after all. But:

«What about you-and the crew? Won't-?»

«All of the crew yet living are with me in this» That remark, Blade felt, left out a few details. «King Pelthros has a name for being easy with pardons to pirates who come to him of their own will, giving up the pirate life and swearing by Druk to be peaceable and honest to the end of their days.» Tuabir almost managed to say that with a straight face. Then he sobered and went on.

«I'm not feeling any great joy at giving up the Brotherhood. But now that Cayla has them eating out of her filthy white hand, there'll be no justice for any who go against her. Perhaps you should have stayed and fought her in the Council, for it was your running off that made her story believed as much as anything else. But no matter-you did what you thought was the best. It would have been a chancy thing to speak out anyway.» He shrugged.

«Has she revealed some of her-her other plans?»

«For the moment, no. There are many in her camp having no wish to strike a blow for the Serpent Priestesses of Mardha, who'd yet strike mighty blows against the Kingdom of Royth.»

«Yes, and she'll rebuild the Serpent shrines on the Kingdom's ruins. We must stop her!» Blade stopped, realizing that the blow on his head must still be addling his wits, to make him say such a foolishly obvious thing.

But Tuabir only grinned and said, «And after me just telling you why fourscore good men are forswearing the Brotherhood to take you to Royth… Ah well, you're needing more sleep, I think.»

Blade slept another twelve full hours, and when he awoke after that he was calm, clear-headed, and ravenously hungry. Alixa came in to bring him a tray of food and stayed afterwards for conversation and other things. They lay curled against each other in the bed while Thunderbolt beat her way westward, mile by mile.

As he paced the deck and looked out at the heaving gray sea, Tuabir expected that it would be some days before anyone even thought of hunting for them, assuming that he had been driven out to sea by bad weather. And it would be more days yet before they decided whether to send out ships to search, and even then they would probably decide against it. And then he thought of the risks he was running for the man who lay below in the Captain's cabin, risks that would keep Captains older and more experienced than he was in port. Most of Tuabir's nearly fifty years had been spent learning other things than philosophy, but he sometimes wondered now whether this Blahyd was not a man sent by Druk to influence many other men's destinies. And when he had finished that thought, he would shrug and grin and go stamping aft, calling for hot wine.

Whether by Druk's favor, Tuabir's and Brora's good seamanship, the stout hull of Thunderbolt, or merely common garden-variety luck, they made Tuabir's intended landfall only two days beyond his intended three weeks. Watching Cape Xera loom out above the gray feathers of mist that spread across the gently heaving swells, Blade had a feeling of relief that he quickly reined in. It was a case of «so far, so good.»

«Now we need to find ourselves a port,» he said. «One where Indhios isn't likely to be in control. And one where the garrison isn't going to be so nervous that they sound the alarm and call out the fleet before we can explain ourselves.»

«Srodki is the nearest,» put in Tuabir, looking at the chart.

«Aye, and part of the Chancellor's personal holdin' too. We'd be a flea leapin' into a furnace if we went in there,» said Brora shortly.

«Then what of Pyreira?» said Tuabir. «It's next beyond Srodki. We'll be in more danger of storms than of men if we go on cruising hither and yon offshore.»

«True indeed,» replied Brora. «Aye, Pyreira it must be, then. But I little like passin' north about the Ayesh Islands this time o' the year. Be we get a norwester and we've a good chance o' bein' driven straight among'em.»

The northwester that Brora had feared was already beginning to rise by nightfall when they rounded the northern tip of Grand Ayesh. Thunderbolt pitched with a steadily fiercer motion that forced Blade to hang on to the railing as he walked back and forth with Tuabir, inspecting the rigging. By midnight, they had to abandon any attempt to use the oars. The rowers could hardly sit on their benches, the oars as often as not flailed uselessly in the air, and the pumps were hard at work to throw out the water that poured in the oar ports every time Thunderbolt stuck her nose in deep. If they had been in no haste, they would long since have turned and run before the gale. As it was, it was nearly two in the morning before Tuabir came up to Blade and suggested that course of action.

Blade agreed. For all the small-boat sailing he had done in Home Dimension and his crash course in seamanship here, he was still an amateur where Tuabir and Brora were professionals.

To run before the gale, Thunderbolt first had to be turned broadside to the rising sea, an operation even Blade knew to be dangerous. The tiller was triple-manned and the rowers took their places. One side's rowers were ready to push, the others to pull, in order to swing the ship around before the waves could capsize her.

The darkness was now almost total. The wind blew sheets of spray out of a blackness as deep as that of the Pit itself. Only by judging the motion of the ship could Tuabir tell the best moment to turn. Blade saw him standing spraddle-legged as the deck heaved under him. Then he cupped both hands over his mouth and bellowed into the gale, «Coming about!»

Blade felt the motion of the ship change from a pitch to a roll and clung to the railing as the deck tilted over to a fifty-degree angle and green water sluiced over the leeward railing. For a long moment Thunderbolt hung there, tilted over at a preposterous angle and lurching slowly around onto her new course. The deck was just beginning to tilt back to something more normal when with a tremendous boom and crash a wave larger than any before roared out of the night. Thunderbolt heaved herself up in a wicked corkscrewing motion. From aft Blade heard a tremendous smashing and splintering sound.

As the wave passed away under them and the water poured off the decks, Blade saw Tuabir coming rapidly forward. «The rudder's gone!» he gasped.

Blade had a short moment's we're-doomed feeling, then said, «We'll have to steer with the oars. Thank Druk this is a galley.»

«Aye. A sailing ship would be finished here. And if we can't keep off the rocks, we'll be finished too. Druk grant us a beach for a landing place.»

For the next three hours, there was nothing but the whistle of the wind, the hiss and boom of the waves, the monotonous clanking of the pumps, and the occasional thumpings of the oars. Tuabir and Brora made no effort to keep the men continuously rowing. Only when Thunderbolt threatened to swing round again broadside to the waves did Brora bellow orders, in a voice that was beginning to crack with fatigue and strain, to keep the oars moving until the ship was safe again.

Tuabir hoped the gale might drive them far enough east to let them clear the northern tip of Grand Ayesh. Once clear of the land, they could ride out the gale at sea and then when it subsided row back to the first convenient landing place. But when a miserable gray dawn crept tentatively over the sea, the long, dark line of Grand Ayesh's north coast was clearly visible, stretching too far to leave them with any hope of clearing it.

There were nowhere near enough boats for all the men aboard, and even if there had been, no boat could live in the boiling surf that thundered around the approaching rocks. Their only hope was to cling to Thunderbolt herself until she took the ground, then swim for it, unless by some miracle they drove ashore on sand, in which case the ship might stay in one piece long enough for the gale to subside.

Except for a handful of men at the oars to keep the ship end to waves that were getting shorter and more jumbled as the water shoaled, the whole crew was up on deck now. Brora was busily making ready a long rope, with which he hoped to swim to shore. At Tuabir's orders, most of the crew discarded seaboots, long coats, and everything else that might weigh them down in the water. Most of them, like Blade, stripped to shirt and trousers, a dagger, and a pouch on their belt. Blade's pouch, apart from a flint-and-steel lighter, held Duke Khystros' signet ring and the notes on the pirate conspiracy, securely wrapped in oiled leather.

The seas were steep and ragged now. The wind blew the spray from their tops in a continuous sheet. The men aboard Thunderbolt were as wet as if they had already been in the water. A jagged black slab of rock reared itself out of the water to port, the waves geysering spray in fifty-foot sheets as they beat against it. The water was shoaling fast now. Blade and Tuabir stood in the very bow, trying to pierce the gloom and spray and make out what kind of land lay dead ahead.

Then there was a grinding, a cracking sound, and a tremendous jolt that seemed to slam Blade's spine up through the top of his head. Not a man aboard Thunderbolt remained on his feet. The ship lifted again, but not fast enough to keep a green wave from crashing down on her and sweeping the length of her upper deck. Blade felt himself being stretched out by the tug of the water like a man on the rack and saw half a dozen men with a less iron grip than his go sailing over the side with despairing cries. The ship lifted and surged forward. Then she struck again, harder, and a third time, harder still.

At the third shock, Blade felt the whole ship strain and then sag and, looking aft, he saw the deck already beginning to buckle. Some submerged rock had driven up through Thunderbolt's bottom, snapping the keel like a twig and impaling the whole ship like a butterfly on a pin. She was still rising and falling as the waves surged under her, and the grinding and splintering as her timbers began to pull apart rose to equal the thunder of the waves.

Looking forward, Blade saw that by a small piece of good fortune, they were less than a hundred yards from a sandy beach. But by a larger piece of bad fortune, most of that hundred yards was a spouting cauldron of foam as the waves broke and died on a maze of submerged rocks. Blade could see sullen gray and black masses looming amid the white. But Thunderbolt would carry them no farther. It was time to rely on their own muscles. Blade looked at Tuabir, who nodded, then stepped forward and shouted over the wind:

«All hands, prepare to abandon ship!»

Most of the pirates could swim. For those who couldn't, Blade and Brora took axes from the carpenter's stores and began chopping out pieces of the railing. But whether swimmers or non-swimmers, they were all hanging back, as though hoping that somehow there would be some alternative to plunging into the angry water.

Blade would have gone first, to show that it could be done. But he felt himself to be in a sense the Captain and therefore by the tradition of the seas (both here and Home Dimension's) the last man off. He did not have to wait long, however. Brora laid down his axe, raised his hand in salutation to Blade and Tuabir, then tied the rope around his waist and the other end firmly to the mast. He turned, quickly took the three steps to the side, and plunged over.

No one aboard Thunderbolt moved. All were too intent on watching for the small, dark shape of Brora's head to reappear amid the flurries of white as the line ran out. Then a cheer, as not only Brora's head but half his upper body rose to view on the crest of a breaker, arms moving strongly. Then it sank from sight, rose again, sank, remained out of sight a long time-then suddenly a small, dark figure was staggering up out of the water onto the beach, the foam curling about his legs. They saw him sit down, then untie the rope from around his waist and retie it around a nearby boulder. He got to his feet again and raised his arms in a beckoning gesture.

That started the men moving, finally. One by one, they stepped to the side, slipped into the water, and groped for the rope. As more and more weight came on it, Blade saw it tighten like a bowstring. But it held, and soon the first men to go were joining Brora on the shore. A few heroic souls promptly stepped back into the water, forming a human chain reaching out to help their shipmates ashore.

Not every man made it. Too often those aboard saw bobbing heads and flailing arms swept away from the rope, as the men were pulled loose by the strength of the sea. Closer to shore, they smashed against the rocks as the rope fell and rose with the ship's motion.

In a time almost too short for Blade to believe, Thunderbolt's deck was deserted except for him and Tuabir. Just as well. The ship was slipping deeper in the water each time a wave surged past and dropped her. Green water flowed over the deck a foot deep each time a wave rose up under her. Tuabir turned to Blade and said, «Master Blahyd? You're the rightful Captain, but might I ask that I be last off the old lady? I've sailed aboard her twelve years now.»

Blade nodded. The old sailor wanted to say goodbye to his ship, and Blade could hardly refuse. They shook hands, and Blade turned to face the water. He took a long running step, sprang, and plunged cleanly over the side into the sea.

Instantly the surge had him, but the rope was there, rasping against his side even through his shirt. He clutched at it with both hands, raised his head to get his bearings as a wave lifted him, then began pulling himself along the rope like a monkey. Sometimes a wave roared over him, pressing him down into the murky water until it seemed that his lungs would burst before he had a chance to breathe again. Sometimes he soared up on top of a wave until his arms practically pulled free of their sockets as he struggled to hold on. Foot by foot, the distance to shore shrank.

In one moment, he felt the bottom come up and slam hard against his legs, then the whole rope vibrated and he felt it go slack. Then there was a tingling boil of foam, as a receding wave collided with an advancing one. He was thrown forward, turned a complete somersault, then crashed down again, feet towards the land. With every bit of his colossal strength he lunged forward and staggered to his feet. Behind him the roar of another wave was building. He could stand up now, and so ran forward, ignoring the hands outstretched to help him. He didn't let his legs stop pushing him forward until he felt sand and grass under his feet; then he sat down and looked back toward Thunderbolt.

She had tilted over far enough to snap the rope. Blade saw the water rushing in and out of the splintered gashes in her hull. On the foc'sle was a solitary black figure. Tuabir. Blade waved frantically to the man, and thought he saw an answer. Then Thunderbolt sagged apart in the middle, plunging bow and stern deep into the water just as a wave struck. Blade saw timbers and foam rocket into the air, but the figure was gone. Blade turned away while his seawater laden stomach rebelled. When he looked back to the sea, Thunderbolt was gone also, and only the black shapes of scattered timbers remained, tossing their way toward the shore.

Brora's voice called his attention back to the land. He looked up. A double file of armed men was curling its way down the path from the top of the bluff toward them. They were armed in what Blade had heard described as the style of Royth-plate cuirasses, square wooden shields, swords and throwing pikes. But on the shields was the silver bear on the blue field of Count Indhios.

Blade heard Alixa gasp and saw her point to the men with a shaking finger and heard Brora curse. The rest of the men knew nothing about the affair of Indhios and what his device on the shields of the approaching men might mean, but they silently turned their heads to look.

As if in response to Alixa's gesture, the company commander halted his men some thirty feet away and dressed their lines. He himself stepped out in front and shouted at the pirates, his words coming raggedly against the wind:

«By the laws of the Kingdom of Royth and by the authority invested in me by the Lord of Grand Ayesh, the Count Indhios, High Chancellor of the Realm, and-«He lost the thread of his remarks and mumbled for a moment. This drew a laugh from the pirates. Then he recovered himself and went on. «By these I declare that you, being notorious pirates of Neral now under the authority of the King of Royth, shall at once forfeit your lives if you do not submit peacefully.» He turned to his men and motioned. The rasp of swords being drawn came clearly to Blade's ears.

The pirates were outnumbered nearly two to one, more in that some were wounded and all were exhausted, and had nothing but their daggers. Still, Blade heard a growl behind him as the pirates rose to their feet and faced the soldiers. He shook his head sharply. A fight would be suicide for all of them-and against soldiers in the pay of Indhios might also lead to Alixa's being «accidentally» killed. He stepped forward.

«We are forswearing the Brotherhood, Captain. I-«

«I have no authority to accept pirates into pardon, man,» said the captain crisply. «Now-will your ruffians disarm, or shall I order the advance?» And he cast an unmistakable look of recognition at Alixa.

Blade drew his dagger, held it for a moment while he glared at the captain, then threw it point down into the sand. Behind him, the pirates did the same. As the soldiers advanced, pulling ropes from their belts to bind the prisoners, Blade stood rocklike, cursing savagely under his breath. They had managed a desperately dangerous voyage in safety, then thrown it all away trying to reach a port where Indhios would not find it easy to reach them. Tuabir and a third of the crew were dead, and after all of it here they had stepped straight into Indhios' hands, as if they had steered straight up to his private landing place. It was a damnable irony, and might rapidly become much worse.