The Crystal Seas

Chapter ELEVEN

Several things surprised Blade when he crept back to consciousness. The first thing was that he was awake at all. That was a pleasant surprise. Then he realized that meant he was in Fishman hands. That was neither a surprise nor pleasant.

But apparently they meant to keep him alive and in good shape at least for the moment. The chamber in which he was lying was not only not underwater, it was even dry and lit by sunlight pouring down through a hole in the roof. The walls of the circular chamber sloped up toward the hole, forming a cone some thirty feet high. A brief touch told Blade that the walls were as smooth and slick as glass.

The floor of the chamber was about twenty feet across. Most of it was covered deeply with clean, dry, blue-gray sand. Blade himself was lying on a foot-thick bed of dried seaweed. In a yard-high niche in the wall, a stream of water trickled down from above and vanished down a white-painted drain. Blade stuck a finger into the water, then cautiously tasted it. Somehow the Fishmen had managed to contrive fresh running water out here in the middle of the ocean, hundreds of miles from the nearest land.

Blade found that his mind was beginning to work clearly again. That meant he found it hard to sit still. He rose and began to walk around the chamber, keeping close to the walls but searching the sand-for what? He wasn't sure. Something to use as a weapon, to start with. Then a way out, if possible.

There was a way out. He found it almost at once. In fact, he nearly fell into it. In a pit in the sand in the very center of the chamber was a pool of water. Again Blade dipped a finger and tasted. Salt water. He looked down and saw a vertical rock-walled shaft plunging away and down into blackness.

Fine. Except that this was a way out for a Fishman or a man with an air mask, and right now Blade was neither. Diving down that tunnel blindly might simply lead to his running out of air and dying miserably, to make a grisly find for some Fishman sentry a few hours or days later. He wasn't desperate enough to throw his life away like that. The Fishmen could come and kill him, if they wanted him dead.

But did they? Blade suspected that if they had wanted him dead, they would never have brought him here. For some reason he was more valuable to at least one Fishman alive than dead. Most probably the woman, he realized. That opened up all sorts of interesting possibilities.

Now that he was out of danger for the moment, he could sit down and think about the war between Talgar and the Fishmen. And he could not keep his thoughts from returning to the notion he had considered as the fleet sailed toward battle. Was somebody-probably in Nurn-playing a deadly game with the two peoples of the sea? Admittedly the notion of a game of that kind lasting three hundred years was rather improbable. But in Dimension X, the improbable usually turned out to be what was actually happening.

And if some game player in Nurn had decided to suddenly raise the stakes? That would explain the sudden increase in the savagery of the war, as both sides poured out money and goods for arsenals of new weapons from the Empire's workshops. Could somebody in Nurn have decided that it was time to make a clean sweep of both Talgar and the Fishmen, so that Nurn could rule the seas itself?

Blade didn't know. All the pieces he had seemed to fit. But he also realized he didn't have enough of the pieces to be able to make a complete and accurate picture even for himself. However, he was certainly in the best place to pick up some more of those pieces. If he could manage it, that woman was going to answer a few questions.

Blade swept his eyes around the chamber and noticed that something was now floating on the surface of the pool. It was a small, circular, close-woven basket, made of some sort of reed and covered with oil or grease to waterproof it. Blade reached out over the pool and caught hold of the basket by the handle. As he lifted it, he felt a slight resistance. Too late he noticed a thin cord trailing from the bottom of the basket, a yellow cord that plunged away into the depths of the shaft. Damn! He had probably just given a signal to some watcher down below.

Well, if the damage was done, he might as well at least find out what was in the basket. It took a good deal of time and some raw fingers before he could get the lid off. Inside the basket he found a circular loaf of bread and a half a dozen dried salt fish.

Blade stared at the bread and fish for a moment. His stomach set up a rumbling like an exploding gasworks to remind him of how hungry he was. Fine. It looked like they wanted to provide him with a meal. And for prison food, it didn't look too bad.

But he wasn't that hungry yet, and he was suspicious. Carefully he picked up the bread and began examining it-for what? He didn't know exactly what he was looking for. His suspicions were formless, almost instinctive. But he had learned to trust those instincts of his. And once more he was right.

In the bottom of the loaf, where a casual and hungry diner would never see it, was a small, neat hole. It was not the kind of hole left in the crust of a loaf of bread by the baking. Blade held the loaf up to his eye and looked at it narrowly. Definitely something long and hollow had been pushed into the bread.

Blade picked up a handful of the seaweed from his bed and carefully wrapped it around his hands. Then even more carefully, he broke the loaf in two, trying to make the break at the hole.

The bread broke somewhat raggedly. With narrowed eyes, Blade examined each piece in turn.

Yes. Very faintly, so faintly that a man not looking for it would never have found it, the bread around the hole was discolored. The discoloration was faintly yellowish, like a saffron stain. Holding his breath, Blade brought the stained area close to his nose, then took in a quick breath. The odor was as faint as the color. If he hadn't been looking for it, he would probably never have detected it.

Blade looked sourly at the fish, and his stomach rumbled again. It was very tempting to assume that whatever drug he was supposed to get was in the bread only. But the stain in the bread could be like the old trick of putting an easily visible microphone in a bugged room. Someone who was wary but not quite wary enough would rip out the «bait» microphone and then talk freely-right into another microphone lurking somewhere else: The Fishmen could be expecting him to detect the drugged bread, then gobble himself into a stupor on the fish.

With a sigh he put the cover back on the basket and carried it over to the seaweed bed. Hands still wrapped in the weed, he carefully buried the bread and fish away under the weeds. Then he overturned the basket and lay down on the bed. He wished he knew exactly what reaction the drug was supposed to produce. Finally he managed to contrive what seemed like a good imitation of someone who had sprawled unconscious, arms and legs flung out and breathing slow and shallow. It would have taken a keen observer to notice that his head was turned slightly toward the pool in the center of the chamber, and the eyes in that head were slightly open.

The guard at the lower end of the shaft waited for a full hour after the broken end of the basket's cord came drifting slowly down through the water. Then he summoned the Lady Alanyra.

She came as fast as she could flash through the water, not waiting to call her guards or even send word to Oknyr. She wore only her war garb, for speed and agility. But she carried her Robe of Ceremony in a pouch on her back. To question the Stranger was indeed a ceremony, one that might be the salvation of her people. Even of the Talgarans, perhaps, although she knew of none to whom she could confess that last hope.

She was brisk with the guard.

«Has there been any sound or movement from above?»

«None at all, Noble Lady. The Truth-Finder must be deep within him now. All is silent.»

«Good.» She pulled the pouch off her back and took out the robe. The warrior frowned.

«You would go to this prisoner alone?»

«And why not? With the Truth-Finder in him, he can harm no one.» The guard dropped his eyes under Alanyra's steady gaze, and busied himself with the knot on the hilt of his sword. Alanyra quickly donned the robe, then stepped to the entrance of the shaft. It stretched up, into a darkness broken only by a small circle of light incredibly far above. Then she thrust herself off the bottom in a single graceful motion and surged upward.

The circle of light gradually became larger as she approached. Just below the surface, she stopped to check that her sword moved freely in its scabbard. To question the Stranger alone was necessary. To do it unarmed was folly.

Slowly Alanyra lifted her head above the surface and gazed at the sprawled form of the Stranger. He seemed even more magnificent out of the water than he had in the sea, with long muscular limbs and a massive chest and flat stomach. He was two fingers' width taller than Oknyr, the tallest Sea Master she knew-tall enough to make her feel almost like a half-grown girl.

But was he the Stranger she had long hoped for, the man who might bring victory-or even peace-to the troubled crystal seas? That was why she had put the Truth-Finder in the bread and the fish. Under its influence, he would answer any question she might put to him, unable to lie or conceal anything he knew. The Truth-Finder had proved four previous Strangers to be men of little worth. Now their bones were gathering coral far down on the Reefs of the Clan. Would this man make the fifth? Alanyra hoped not. The situation between Talgar and the Sea Masters was more terrible than ever before. And-yes, she had to admit it, at least to herself-this man was gloriously beautiful, in a way that the other four had not been.

«Goddess of the Foam, let him be the true Stranger!» Alanyra breathed to herself. Then she reached for the edge of the pit and pulled herself out of the water. The sodden robe clung to her body, molding every curve, but she knew that the fiber would dry in minutes. She took two steps toward the sleeping man, readying in her mind the words that would wake him to respond to her questions. She took a third step.

And as she did, a long muscular arm snaked out and grabbed her ankle. Before she could scream or even take another breath, the grip tightened. She found herself flying head over heels through the air, to land on her back in the sand with a thud that knocked all the breath out of her. One arm was caught under her. With the other she reached for her sword. But before she could move it half the way, the Stranger sprang up on his knees and clamped his other hand down on her wrist. He did not speak, nor did he try to hurt her. But his grip was as unbreakable as if his hands had been iron shackles.

In desperation she opened her mouth to scream. In a move so fast that her eyes couldn't begin to follow it, the Stranger snatched her sword from its scabbard. He threw it across the chamber, so hard that sparks flew as it struck the far wall. Then he clamped the hand that had been holding her sword wrist over her mouth. What she had intended to be a scream audible clear down to where the guard sat came out a whimper and a gasp.

She thought of trying to bite the hand that was over her mouth. Then she looked into the piercing eyes of the Stranger, and the thought died. This man would not harm her by choice-only if he thought she was putting him in danger. But then he would not hesitate. And there was a strength in those hands and arms and body that she knew could tear her limb from limb with ease. She would not risk provoking that strength into action. And-again she admitted it with reluctance-there was an odd stirring of pleasure in those powerful hands on her body.

Now he was pulling the robe from her body, tearing the tough fibers as though they were wet seaweed, tearing them into long strips. One went around her face, filling her mouth until she could just barely breathe. Two around her legs, one at the ankles and one at the knees. Two more around her legs, one at the ankles and one at the knees. Two more around her arms, one at the wrists and one at the elbows. The knots were just tight enough to have no play, as though the Stranger had been able to judge her strength simply by looking at her. The idea of that sort of skill frightened her more than a little. With limbs so completely immobilized, she couldn't even hope to roll across the sand and vanish down the shaft.

Now the man was standing up and walking across the chamber, to retrieve her sword, then returning to sit cross-legged in the sand in front of her. His eyes roamed over her bare body, obviously lingering on breasts and hips and thighs and between her legs. There was no distaste in those eyes as they roamed. Indeed there was undeniable admiration. And Alanyra could not deny that she found it pleasant that the Stranger admired her. It was exceedingly odd that she should care what this unknown man thought of her. But it was true nonetheless.

The Stranger laid the sword across his knees and smiled at her. It was the last expression she would have expected, after the last few minutes. Surprise momentarily robbed her of the ability to think clearly. The Stranger had to repeat his first question before she could answer him.

«Who are you?»

It didn't occur to her to lie. «I am the Lady Alanyra, Chief of Clan Gnyr.»

«Where am I?»

«You are in one of the chambers in the Reefs of the Clan.»

«Why am I here?»

Alanyra hesitated. Anger flickered in the Stranger's eyes. She could not keep out of her mind a picture of those hands working on her body with the intent to bruise flesh, break bones, send terrible pain shooting through her. Never mind that the man could not escape punishment for whatever he did to her, that his own death would be long and slow if he harmed her. That obviously didn't play any part in his thinking. He wanted answers to his questions and would go straight after them until he got them, however he needed to get them.

«Since I saw you killing the yulon on the reef, I have wanted to-«She hesitated. «Capture» didn't sound right. «I have wanted to meet you. Your fighting skills make me wonder that you are perhaps from no people in the world.»

Was the man hesitating, as if for once he was in doubt of what he should say? He must be! Alanyra suddenly found it easier to breathe.

«I am probably not from any people you have ever heard of,» the Stranger said. «I came a very long distance to travel and fight among the people of these oceans. I came to the people of the Sea Cities of Talgar first, so I fought among them against your people at first. But I do not hate your people.»

These last words were said as if there could be no possible doubt about them. And in fact Alanyra found it impossible to doubt them. She also found it impossible to keep her heart from pounding in terrible excitement. Would this Stranger stand apart from both the Sea Cities and the Sea Masters, to play the long-dreamed-of part in her plans? She found the emotions running through her at this thought so intense that she knew tears were welling up in her eyes. It was wrong that a Noble Lady of the Sea Masters should weep for joy in front of a man who might be from anywhere, for all his apparent virtues. But it was also inevitable.

«You do not hate the Sea Masters?» Her voice wasn't quite steady. But she knew that if she waited until her voice was steady, she would wait a very long time.

«No. Why should I? I come from a far-distant land, and neither you nor the people of the Sea Cities have done anything to make me hate them.» He hesitated. «I am not even sure why you hate each other. You seem very much alike, even to some of your names for the creatures of the sea. You both call the great reptiles that you have tamed for war yulons, for example.»

This time Alanyra couldn't have said a word to save her life. Her throat was too tight. This was the Stranger! He couldn't have taken any of the Truth-Finder drug. He must have realized her plans and done something to avoid taking it. But here he was, speaking as freely as if he were filled with it, saying things she had dreamed of hearing for five years. It was a terrible moment, to have such a long and dearly held dream coming true before her eyes.

And in the form of such a magnificent man, she reminded herself. That was very good fortune indeed.

She found herself shivering, not with cold, not with fear, and not-she thought-with desire. She felt and then saw the Stranger's eyes on her, and the shivering faded.

«What is your name?» she asked him.

There was no resentment in his voice as he replied. «Richard Blade.»

«What is your Clan or City?»

«I am of the City of London, in a land called England. It is so far away that you need not be ashamed to have not heard of it. But I am much given to traveling far, and I have seen and learned much. I am a warrior, as you see. But I am also other things.»

«You are very handsome,» said Alanyra, then could have bitten her tongue out of her head for saying that. She wanted to keep that locked away in her heart for the moment. But-had the Goddess in the Foam perhaps willed otherwise?

«Perhaps,» he said. «But I do not think I want you for my woman.»

Alanyra jerked as if she had been slapped. And she felt almost as if she had been. Did she look as though she wanted to be his woman? She, a Noble Lady of a High Clan of the Sea Masters, to be the woman of this-this footloose warrior of London? She stiffened with outraged dignity and tried to roll over, to turn her back on Blade. But she couldn't. She wriggled and twisted and writhed, but she couldn't shift her position. Eventually she gave up the struggle, tears of frustration in her eyes. She was hard put to keep herself from whimpering like a child.

Blade stared at her, his eyes expressionless and his face like a stone mask. He might have been mourning her humiliation. He might have been rejoicing in it. She couldn't tell, either way.

Then he threw back his head, his mouth opened to show a mass of very white teeth, and his laughter roared out. It echoed around the chamber, so loudly that Alanyra wondered if the guard below would hear it. She realized that she didn't want him to hear it. There was something in the air that she didn't want to see vanish, something that would vanish if a third person came up the shaft.

Blade stood up, lifting the sword. For a moment Alanyra felt a chill of fear. Then he flung it lightly out into the center of the pit. It fell with a faint splash and vanished in an instant down the shaft. Alanyra stared at the bubbles, then back to Blade. She was still staring at him when he stepped over to her and hauled her swiftly to her feet.

She leaned against him, feeling the hard muscles of his bare body, while his hands tore at her bonds. Once more the tough fibers of her robe snapped easily under those hands. Then the hands were not ripping off her bonds any more, but roaming over her body. She felt them glide delicately down her back, then cup her buttocks. They squeezed and pulled at the firm flesh, pressing her groin hard against his. She felt a warmth slowly beginning to grow there. Unmistakably there was also a growing and hardening in Blade's groin.

She took advantage of the new freedom of her own hands to raise them to Blade's head. She ran her fingers through his hair, twirling the long tough strands between them, then bringing her hands down to stroke his cheeks. Her grip on his face tightened, and she tried to pull it down to bring his lips against hers.

She might as well have tried to pull the head off a stone statue. The cords in Blade's neck stood out as he easily resisted the tug of her hands.

Then suddenly his eyes were looking into hers, his neck muscles relaxed, and his head swooped down. His lips pressed down on hers, strongly, insistently, the lips of a man with an utter conviction that he wants something and will get it. Blade opened his mouth, and his lips spread out to surround Alanyra's, curling over and under them, warm and seeking. Even more warm, even more seeking, his tongue crept out from between those white teeth, to play against her mouth. Her own tongue came out to meet his, as though it had been drawn out.

She could hear Blade's breathing quicken, and she began to feel her own doing the same. The warmth in her belly was growing faster and farther too. It was growing faster and farther than she had ever felt it grow with any man before. Only charging into a battle had ever made her feel this way. But now-

Now Blade's lips were pulling away from hers. A moment's frustration. Then she felt them caressing her throat, the sides of her neck, the lobes of her small ears. It was as though a spark-fish were sending little jots of its life-spirit through her. She twisted in his arms, and this time she did whimper. But it was not in frustration. Slowly she was losing the ability to sense anything outside the two of them, herself and Blade, standing here on the sand, slowly writhing against each other, slowly exciting each other to a higher and higher pitch.

His hands were shifting from her buttocks to her hips now, tightening their grip, lifting her straight up into the air. She rose until his eyes could look straight into hers for a moment. A brief moment. His head dipped, and she felt his lips moving on her shoulders and down over her breasts. The nipples had long since stiffened into almost painfully tight little buds. Now his lips were around them, and once more it felt as though he were drawing sparks out of her body. These lips were warm and wet, and they were absolutely maddening. She wanted to scream. And this, all of it, while he held her in his hands in midair, as though she were a child. For a moment fear of such strength in a man almost chilled her desire.

That lasted only seconds. He lifted her higher and higher for a moment, then slowly lowered her down on the piled weed. It crackled under her weight, and she felt it prickle against her bare skin.

Then all other sensation vanished as he lowered himself down upon and into her. Deep-deep-incredibly deep! In a second her whole existence came to be focused around what was in her, sliding in and out of her, driving her slowly higher and higher in her passion. She whimpered again, sobbed, bit her lips until they bled, to keep from screaming or shouting or bursting out into hysterical laughter.

Then she was not rising slowly any more, but hurtling up toward her peak. She felt that peak growing and swelling within her, farther, faster-then it exploded within her. She clawed at Blade's back. She ground her hips and buttocks into the weeds, trying to twist and turn herself around his maleness, to get more and more of it. She wanted more of it, even while the furious pulsing spasms ripped through her muscles. She raised her legs and pounded her feet on Blade's buttocks, trying to hold him, trying to drive him deeper into herself.

And he was still moving, still solid, still driving into her-and now she was driving up toward a second peak, and this time she could feel that he was coming along with her. His eyes were glazed, his breath rasped, his whole body seemed wound up like the cord of a crossbow. Then all the tension went out of his body, and it was heaving and twisting and writhing along with hers. All the breath went out of his lungs in a single long rasping wssssssh, and it seemed that all the fluid went out of his body in a series of powerful, hot pulses.

Eventually the erotic fog cleared out of Alanyra's head so that her senses began working normally again. Her mind remembered where she was, who she was-and who she was with. She raised herself on one elbow and looked cautiously at Blade.

His eyes met hers. His face crinkled into a smile, and he said quietly, «Lady Alanyra. I would like some food, if you can manage it. And without any drugs in it this time.»

It was a long time before Alanyra could stop laughing enough to say yes.