Sword Born

TWO

Unfortunately we never got a chance to kill anyone. Because it became quite plain very early on that the renegadas in their blue-sailed ship weren’t interested in engaging us. Working us, yes; they drove us like a dog on sheep. But they didn’t come close enough to board, which certainly wasn’t close enough for us to stick a sword in anyone.

At least, not immediately.

First they drove us, then fell back as if to contemplate further nefarious designs upon our ship. From a distance. They lurked out there smugly, having shown us they could easily catch us. And yet did nothing.

After all, why waste your efforts on forcibly stealing booty when the booty rather foolishly destroys itself?

Not being much accustomed to ships or oceans, I knew nothing about tides. Nothing about how a ship’s draft mattered. Nothing about how things could be lurking beneath the water that could do the renegadas’ work for them.

It didn’t take long to figure it out. About the time the captain and his crew grasped the plan, it was too late. And I found out firsthand about tides and drafts and things lurking beneath the water.

I have to give him credit: the captain tried to rectify his error. Running for an island to escape the enemy is not a bad idea. Except he either didn’t know about the reefs, which seems unlikely, or thought he knew the channels through the reefs well enough to use them. Because I found out what happens when an ocean-going vessel with a deep draft sails into a series of reefs that, at high tide, wouldn’t matter in the least.

At low tide, they did.

Maybe he thought the renegada ship was as deep-drafted and would run aground. It wasn’t, and it didn’t. They just chased us onto the reefs, where, even as our captain frantically ordered his crew to come about, our boat promptly began to break up into hunks and chunks.

Trees float, yes. But they also do a good job of splintering, cracking, bashing, smashing, crushing, and otherwise impaling human flesh.

I did everything I could not to be bashed, smashed, crushed or otherwise impaled. This involved using both hands, which meant the sword had to go — even with renegadas lurking outside of the reefs. Del and I both took to ducking, rolling, leaping, sliding, cursing, scrambling and grabbing as we snatched at ropes and timbers. About the time Del reminded me that I couldn’t swim, which I knew already, and announced she could, which I also knew already, I realized there was someone else in our party who was unlikely to be particularly entertained by having a ship break up beneath his feet. Even if he did have four of them.

Del was in the middle of shouting something about tying myself to a big hunk of timber when I turned away and began to make my way toward one of the big hatches. This resulted in her asking me, loudly and in a significant degree of alarm, what in hoolies was I doing, to which I replied with silence; my mouth was full of blood from a newly pierced cheek. I plucked out and tossed aside the big splinter as best I could, and reached to grab the hatch next to my feet.

"Tiger!"

I spat blood and bits of wood, dragged open the hatch. If I could get down to that first deck, I could unlatch the big hatch in the side of the ship, the one above the water-line which, when opened, dropped down onto land to form a ramp. Which is how we’d gotten the stud on board in the first place. Cloth over his head had made him a bit more amenable, and I’d managed to lead him up the ramp and into the ship’s upper cargo hold. Ropes had formed a fragile "pen," layers of straw bedded him down. A cask of water was tied to a timber, and I personally doled out the stores of grass and grain. After two weeks he’d actually gotten pretty good about only kicking and biting occasionally.

"Don’t go down!" Del shouted. "Tiger — you’ve got to get off this ship now, tie yourself to something —"

We weren’t all that far from the island. Del likely could swim it, so long as she wasn’t injured by the ship’s breaking up. So could the stud — but not if he was tied. And I’d tied him well, too: a stiff new halter, a twist of thin knotted rope around his muzzle for behavior insurance, and two sturdy lengths of thick rope cross-tying him to two different timbers. He wasn’t going anywhere… which had been the whole idea at first, but now wasn’t quite the desired end. Or it would be his end.

I slipped and slithered my way down the ladder, uncomfortably aware that water was pouring in from every direction. I heard shouts, screams, and prayers as the sailors were trapped, crushed, impaled, or swept out through gaping holes. It was pretty amazing how quickly a ship can break itself to bits.

And a body, too, come to that.

"Tiger —"

I glanced back, shook wet hair out of my eyes; saw Del coming down the ladder. "Get out of here!" I shouted. "Go on — I’ll bring the stud out…" I spat blood again. "You can swim… get out into the water —"

"You’ll drown!" she shouted back. "Or else he’ll kill you trying to break free!"

Water gushed against my knees. Over the screaming of the crew, the roar of the water, the dangerous death-song of a shattered ship, I heard the panicked beat of hooves against wet wood and the squealing of a frightened stallion. I slipped, was swept aside, caught something and pulled myself back up.

"Go!" I shouted at Del.

But she has her share of stubbornness and nothing I said could make her go where she didn’t intend to go. For the moment it appeared she didn’t intend to leave me. Fair enough. I wasn’t about to leave the stud. He might yet die, but by any god you care to name he wasn’t going to die tied up and helpless.

By now the ship was in pieces. There was no storm: blue sky and sunlight illuminated the remains uncompromisingly, so that I could see where our portion of the ship began and left off. Abruptly. A stiff wind shifted the wreckage against the reefs, pushing pieces of it toward the island, pieces of it out to sea. Larger portions remained hung up on the reefs. Ours was one. If it stayed steady long enough for me to reach the stud, to untie or cut the knots he’d undoubtedly jerked into iron —

I went down as the ship shifted, creaking and scraping against the reef. I heard Del’s shout, the stud’s scream. I clawed my way up again, spitting water, shaking soaked hair out of my eyes. Something bobbed against my knees, threatening balance again; I shoved the body away, cursing, and made my laborious way through rising water toward the thrashing stud.

He quivered as I got a hand on him, felt the heat of his flesh beneath the layer of lather. He was terrified. The knots, as expected, were impossible, and I had neither knife nor sword.

"Hold on," I muttered, "Give me a chance —" - The ship heeled over. What had been above the water-line now was not.

I came up coughing and hacking, one hand locked into the stud’s floppy, upstanding mane; like me, he needed his hair cut. I hung on with that hand; with the other I reached over his muzzle and up between his ears, grabbing the headstall. "Don’t fight me —"

But of course he did, which made it all the harder, and to this day I still don’t know how I managed to jerk the halter over both ears. Once that was done, though, the rest came away easily. I peeled the knotted noseband off and tossed the halter, still cross-tied, aside. There was only one thing for it now.

Thigh-deep water makes it tough to swing up, so I didn’t even try. I just grabbed bristly hanks of mane and scrambled up as best I could, flinging a leg across his spine. He quivered and trembled beneath me, fighting the rising water, the enclosure, the stink of fear and death.

"— out —" I gasped, pulling myself upright. I slammed heels into his ribs, felt him leap and scrabble against the pull of the water. I bent low over his neck as he fought for balance and freedom, trying to save my head a battering. "— out"—

But out wasn’t easy. And as he crashed his way through the shattered timbers and boards, I prayed with everything I had that nothing would spear him from beneath. He was loose, now; all we had to do was get clear of the wreckage, get off the reef, and head toward the island.

Even as I lay against him, I looked back toward the ladder. Back where Del had been.

Had been.

Oh, bascha…

"Del — "

The stud swam his way free of his prison as it scraped off the reef and sank. He scrabbled against the reef, grunting with effort. I had images of his forelegs stripped of flesh, tendons sliced —

"Del — ?"

Where in hoolies was she — ?

The reef was treacherous. I felt the stud falter beneath me, slipping and sliding. Felt him go down, felt the fire bloom in my own leg. I came off sideways, but did not let go of mane even as I fought for footing in the pockets and gullies of the reef. Sandals were stripped off entirely.

"— up —" I urged, trying to suit words to action myself. If we could get free of the reef, back into open water —"Go —" I gasped. "Go on, you flea-bitten, lop-eared —" I spat out a mouthful of saltwater, sucked in air, "— jug-headed, thice-cursed son of a Salset goat —" I used the reef, tried to launch and jerk myself up onto his back again. Made it partway… and then he lurched sideways, hooves slipping, scrabbling; something banged me in the head, graying out my vision. More flesh came off against reef. And then he was free at last, lunging off treacherous footing into water again, swimming unencumbered, save for me. But if I let go —

Never mind.

I kicked as best I could, trying to hold up my own weight even as he dragged me. He swam strongly, nose thrust up into the air. A hoof bashed my knee, scraped off skin. I got my head above water long enough to gulp breath.

"If I live through this," I told him. "I’m either never going on board a ship again"— hoolies, there went the other knee —"or else I’m going to learn how to swim —"

But for the moment, luckily, he swam for both of us.

I twisted, peering in snatches over my shoulder, looking for Delilah. My immediate horizon was transient at best: I saw a lot of slapping waves, the looming hulks of unidentifiable pieces of ship, floating casks, chunks of wood bound with rope. And a blue-sailed ship beyond, swooping in now like a desert hawk.

It crossed my mind, even as I hung on with all my strength to a panicked stud-horse, that the renegadas could not have meant the ship to break up so definitively. I could see the intent: to run us hard aground, then come in for the kill. But surely it was next to impossible to find any of the supposed goods they were after, now that the ship was in pieces.

Then again, maybe they hadn’t intended the ship to break up quite so — dramatically. Or at all. Could be they meant to trap her, and were as startled as any of us by her quick demise.

I heard shouting. Couldn’t say if it came from members of our ship’s crew, or the renegadas. All I knew was I’d swallowed a gut-load of saltwater and had left a strip or two of skin on the reef. But I was alive, and so long as I didn’t lose the stud I’d stay that way. So long as he made it to land, that is.

The next moment I wasn’t so sure he would, or I would. His hooves struck something substantial, and he floundered. One hand slipped out of his short mane as he jerked and flung his head, seeking balance; my feet banged on something hard and rough. My turn to fight for balance. There was land under us, or reef, or something. Enough for the stud to plant all four hooves, and for me to slip and slide and eventually lose footing and handholds.

Before I could blurt out a word, before I could get my feet under me, the stud lurched off whatever we stood on. He was in the water again, swimming as strongly as before. Beyond him I saw a rim of land, a line of skinny, tall, spike-headed trees. He’d make it, I realized. He was but ten horselengths away. I, on the other hand, well…

I managed to stand up. It was reef, not land. Water slapped at my knees. Most of me was out of it now. I was in absolutely no danger of drowning — so long as I stayed on the reef.

A body floated by. My heart seized up as I saw the blond hair, then realized it was one of the sailors. I turned, trying to look beyond, trying to see anything that might be Del. Then a floating piece of wood banged into me and knocked me right off the reef.

Ah, hoolies —

Timber.

Floating.

I snatched at it, caught it, hung on with everything I had. Kicked my way closer, tried to pull myself up on it enough to get part of me out of the water. It rolled, bobbed; I got a mouthful of seawater for my trouble. Finally I just locked my hands into a strand of rope and hung on, floating belly-down. So long as I kept a death-grip on the timber, I wouldn’t sink, wouldn’t drown. Of course I had no idea where it or I might wind up. For all I knew it would float back out to sea… so, I applied myself to working out the magic it took to aim and steer the timber, which I thought might be part of the mast. If I kicked just so; if I pointed the wood in a specific way, and then kicked… hey. Maybe this is how you learn to swim — ?

Not likely.

However, it did result in the mast and me ending up closer to land than to open sea, and I let out a long string of breathless invective as at last I felt sand beneath me, not reef.

Water sucked it out from under me almost as quickly as I found it. I staggered, caught my balance, lurched forward. The wind had stirred up the water enough to make footing and balance treacherous. I dragged myself out of it, feeling sand sliding beneath bare feet. Eventually I got free of waves and managed to escape the ocean altogether, staggering up onto the packed, wet sand of the beach.

I turned back, looked for Del, for the remains of our ship: saw a ship, all right, but not ours. And people clambering over the sides, dropping down into a smaller boat. Several gestured toward the broken-up remains. Toward land. Toward me.

Throw the dice, Tiger. Let them pick you up, put you on board a fast, sleek ship, give you food, rhuum; or run like hoolies.

I ran.

At some point, after I had stopped running, I fell asleep. Or passed out. Or something. I only woke up when a hand closed on my shoulder.

I lurched upright from the ground, then finished the movement by springing — creakily — to my feet. I had no weapon, but I could be one.

Except I didn’t need to. "It’s me," Del said.

So it was. Alive and in one piece. Which gave me latitude to be outraged. "Where in hoolies have you been?"

"Looking for you." She paused. "Apparently harder than you were looking for me."

"Now, wait a minute," I protested. "I didn’t exactly plan to fall asleep. It was after I escaped those renegadas"— and threw up half an ocean, but I didn’t tell her that —"and I figured I’d better lay low for a while, then go looking for you." I sat down again, wincing; actually, I’d been so exhausted by the fight to reach land I hadn’t the strength to do anything but collapse. "Are you all right? — no. You’re not." I frowned. "What did you do to yourself, bascha?"

She shifted her left arm away from me as I reached out. "It’s just a scrape."

The scrape ran the length of her arm from shoulder to wrist. The elbow was particularly nasty, like a piece of offal left for scavenger birds. "Reef?"

"Reef," she confirmed. "I think we both left skin back there."

Now that she mentioned it, I was aware of the sting of salt in various cuts, scrapes, and scratches. I was stiff and sore and disinclined to move, and yet move was exactly what we needed to do. "Water," I said succinctly. "Fresh water. We need to clean off the salt, get a drink." My feet were a mess. I suspected hers were as well. "Have you seen any of the renegadas?"

"Not since I got back here in the trees and brush." Del’s hair hung in salt-stiffened, drying ribbons. There was a shallow cut over one eyebrow, and her lower lip was swollen. "I don’t think they ever saw me. They saw the stud, saw you… I made like a floater in the water, hoping they’d miss me. Once they headed off after you and the captain, I got ashore."

"The captain’s alive?"

"He was when I saw him." Del shaded her eyes and peered back the way I’d come. Seaward. "We could wait until after sundown."

I gritted my teeth. "We could. Of course, I might go crazy from the salt by then."

"Or get so stiff neither of us can move," she agreed, then eyed me sidelong. "There is one cure for that, though. And now that there’s room —"

I grinned. "Hoolies, bascha, you do pick the worst times to get cuddly!"

Del sniffed. "I am not ’cuddly.’ I am too tall for ’cuddly.’ "

I reached out and very gently touched the scrape on her arm. Del hissed and withdrew the arm sharply. "And too raw," I suggested. "Sand on top of salt? No thanks."

I moved, wished I hadn’t; got my legs under me. "Which way did the stud go?"

"That way." She jerked her head to my left. "He’s not exactly a boat, Tiger. He can’t very well swim us to Skandi."

"But he might take us to a boat." I stood up very slowly and couldn’t bite back a blurt of pain. "Ouch."

"You’re all sticky," she observed. "Is that blood? Tiger —"

"I got pretty intimate with the reef. With several of them." I worked my shoulders, waggled sore fingers. "Nothing but cuts and scrapes, bascha." I put out a hand. "Come on."

Del gripped it, used it. She set her jaw against any commentary on discomfort, but I saw it well enough in the extreme stillness of her face. Like me, she was sticky with oozing blood, fluids, salt, crusted with creamy sand.

I said it for her. "Ouch."

Del was looking at me. "Your poor face."

"My face? Why?" I put a hand to it. "What’s wrong with my face?"

"First the sandtiger slices grooves in one cheek, and then you get a splinter through the other."

I’d forgotten that. No wonder my cheek and mouth were sore. I fingered the wound gingerly, tongued it from inside. "Well, it’s just more for the legend," I said offhandedly. "The man who survives sandtiger attacks and shipwrecks."

Blandly, "But of course the jhihadi would."

I gifted her with a very black look.

Satisfied, Del smiled. "So, shall we hunt your misbegotten horse?"

"You mean the misbegotten horse who got me — nearly — to land, thereby saving my hide? That horse?"

"I’m only repeating what you’ve called him."

"I suspect he’s called us much worse."

"’Us’? I don’t ride him."

"Me."

"Better." Del tucked a hank of sand-crusted hair behind an ear. "Water, or horse. Which one first?"

"Horse. He’ll probably lead us to water." Rhetorically she asked, "But will he drink?" With much gritting of teeth but no verbal complaints, we moved slowly, quietly, carefully — and painfully — through the vegetation in the direction Del had seen the stud go.