The Crystal Seas rb-16

by Джеффри Лорд

  One by one the rest of the ship's raiding company dropped into the water and drifted down to float around Blade. Finally came Nezdorn, commanding the company. With quick hand signals he formed the forty men into three lines, one above the other. Then he pointed his short-sword away to the east, and the company moved out.

  On land Blade held the leadership of a sesg (like a platoon) and the rank of armsmaster to Nezdorn's company. But under the crystal seas he was only an ordinary fighter of the Guards. He was willing to leave things that way for a time, until he learned all the complicated tactics and the even more complex code of signals the Talgarans had devised for fighting under the sea.

  Blade was in the second, or middle, line. Like the other men armed with short-swords and spears, he was close to the center of the line. There he could swim rapidly to either flank to reinforce the archers. And from where he was, he could defend the spare weapons and masks and the men who towed the floater nets containing the firepots that would be dropped into Fishmen dwellings.

  They swam on through the crystal seas. Far out to the left, Blade could see the dimly moving shapes of another company of raiders from another ship. The bottom was beginning to rise toward them, showing purple-blue masses of coral and patches of sand with a golden tint. Nezdorn dove down to sample the sand. He came back up quickly, making the hand signals that meant, «Approaching reefs.» He had no need to make the signal «Stay alert!»

  A school of slate-gray trinzans glided past between the company and the surface. They had the sleek outlines of Home Dimension sharks, and from what Blade had heard, the same nasty dispositions. But they seldom attacked large groups of men, unless they had been driven to a frenzy by blood in the water. That, however, could easily happen before the end of this day. Blade reached down to make sure that both his swords were still held in their scabbards by their quick-release clips.

  The trinzans were barely out of sight when Nezdorn suddenly tipped headfirst and stared toward the bottom. The eyes of his men followed him. On the bottom sixty feet below was a conical pile of coral blocks with a hole in the top. Sitting around the hole were four bluish-white human shapes. They wore no airmasks.

  The Fishmen must have been watching the trinzans also. They saw Nezdorn's approaching raiders at the same moment Nezdorn saw them, but they reacted faster. One of the Fishmen plunged down through the hole in the top of the cone. The other three sprang upward, finned feet churning the water. They arrowed away toward the east, legs moving so fast that they seemed mere flickering ghosts.

  Nezdorn spun completely around in the water. One hand shot down toward the Fishmen sentry house, and four raiders from the left flank shot down, carrying a firepot. He spun farther, and his other hand shot out toward the sentries who were fleeing to give the alarm. Blade and five others from the right went arrowing away after them.

  The Fishmen had a head start and the desperate need to give the alarm to their comrades. But Blade and his companions had an equally desperate need to keep that alarm from being given. Both parties plunged through the water faster than Blade had ever believed anything human could swim. But then the Fishmen lived in the sea, and the diving warriors of Talgar were much at home in it.

  Soon Blade and his comrades were overtaking the Fishmen. One of the enemy had a bow, but they were still outside underwater bowshot, barely fifty feet. Not for long, however. Suddenly the Fishmen made a dive for the bottom, heading for a rearing mass of pasty-white coral that loomed on the sea bottom like a crumbling mansion out of a ghost story. Blade could see holes in the mass easily large enough to admit a man. If the three Fishmen got in there, finding them in time would be impossible.

  So Blade poured out his strength, plunging furiously after the three fugitives. He remembered not to draw his swords until the last moment, so that he could use both hands for swimming. He remembered to keep head-on to the enemy, presenting the smallest target to their archer. He passed into bowshot, saw the archer raise his spring-loaded crossbow and saw something flash out from it. A rippling in the water, and the bolt was sailing away into the sea. A moment later Blade was up with the three Fishmen.

  Suddenly he was unable to remember that he had no real quarrel with the Fishmen. As always, he accepted the laws of a battle-kill or be killed. And Blade was always firmly determined to be as hard to kill as possible.

  So his short-swords leaped from their scabbards and darted out toward the Fishmen. Underwater fighting was almost all thrusting, with weapons that presented the smallest resistance to the water moving along the straightest and shortest line to their target. A man trying to wave a long sword around underwater would be skewered six times over by one armed with a short-sword.

  The first Fishman jerked his leg out of the path of Blade's first thrust and replied with a thrust of his own at Blade's left arm. Blade had to twist and spin in turn to get the arm clear. But that left him in a better position to make a quick high thrust for the second Fishman's chest. The sword went in deep, almost jamming between the ribs. Blade barely had time to pull it free and plunge downward. A thrust from the first Fishman drove through the water where his back had been.

  Blade did a complete somersault in the water and came up facing his opponents, his back to the nearest hole in the white coral. The dying merman was drifting, trailing smoky blood from his wide-gaping mouth and punctured chest. The second came at Blade. The third broke away and headed for open water. Blade could only hope that the other raiders would catch that one. Then he had to turn his full attention to his present opponent.

  This one was good. He must know that he had only a few minutes of life remaining, but he fought as though he would be carrying Blade's head home in triumph at the end of the battle. He matched Blade thrust for thrust and parry for parry. Blade's strongest strokes clanged into the circular guards of swords that seemed to be everywhere at once.

  But Blade was half a head taller than the Fishman and must have outweighed him by a good forty pounds. He rammed one sword directly into the guard of one of his opponent's weapons, hooking and immobilizing it. Slowly he forced the other's arm back, until it was hopelessly out of position. The Fishman kicked at Blade, but only succeeded in twisting himself further out of position. Slowly the two cartwheeled in the water, as Blade forced the Fishmen's guard wider and wider open. He was waiting for a moment when the Fishman was not thrusting with his free sword.

  That moment came. Blade's own sword slashed down, a blow that traveled barely six inches, offering little chance for the water to grip and slow it. With all the strength of Blade's right arm and shoulder behind it, the sword bit into the Fishman's left wrist. His left hand opened and the sword spun out of it. Before the Fishman could draw back an inch, Blade drove home a conventional thrust. The Fishman stared at Blade for a moment, his mouth seeming to open in a smile as though he were acknowledging his defeat. Then the eyes glazed over, and the mouth twisted out of shape and began gushing blood. The dying Fishman twisted himself off Blade's sword and went on twisting slowly down to the bottom. Thirty feet below, he caught on an outcropping of coral and came to rest there, draped over it like a length of seaweed.

  Blade did not wait around after that. He sprang up to rejoin the other five raiders, who gathered around him and clapped him on the back and shoulders. He managed to smile, then made the signal inquiring, «Did you get the third?»

  There were bleak looks and headshakes from all five. Blade shrugged and joined them as they swam up to join the company. He suspected there would be an even bleaker look from Nezdorn when he heard the news.

  There was. But like Blade, the captain recognized there was nothing to be done now. Nothing except to move forward as fast as possible in the greatest strength possible, to do as much damage with the least danger in whatever time remained before the Fishmen brought up superior strength. He signaled the company to re-form. The usual underwater ballet swirled and twisted and the men darted into position.

  As the three lines started off again, there was th
e unmistakable thump and ear-squeezing pressure wave of an underwater explosion behind them. Blade looked inquiringly at Nezdorn. The captain ginned, and signaled that a firepot had just gone off in the Fishmen sentrypost.

  («Get any?»)

  («Three more.»)

  So the first clash had cost the Fishmen five warriors and a sentry post, without so much as one man among the raiders scratched. There could be worse beginnings to a battle-Blade had to admit that. And it was obvious that the company thought so too. They looked proud and confident of beating anything they met, as they swam on through the crystal seas, deeper into the territory of the Fishmen.

  Chapter NINE

  The messenger swam in through the hole in the ceiling. The Lady Alanyra rose from her chair and looked at him.

  «Well?»

  «The Air-Gulpers still continue to advance. They destroy or kill all in their path.»

  «That is their way. We cannot hope to change it in this one battle.»

  The messenger looked bewildered. «Noble Lady?»

  Alanyra shrugged. «Never mind. Have their raiding parties showed any signs of uniting yet?»

  «No.»

  «Then we will not move out yet. The whole force of our Clan is not to be wasted on one or two parties of the Air-Gulpers. We will wait until we can net five hundred or more at a time, like a great school of the lyknon. And the Stranger will be among them. Yes, the Stranger will be among them.» There was a note of passionate belief in her voice as she said that. The messenger looked at her, still bewildered. She noticed his expression and her mouth curved in a smile. «Go to the steward and ask him to give you food and drink before you return to the battle. You look weary.»

  «Noble Lady.» The messenger bent his body double, then straightened and darted out through the hole.

  Alanyra stretched her superb body, testing each muscle. Good. She would be as strong and fast in the battle that was coming as she had ever been. Not only her Clan but she herself would emerge with honor from this battle.

  She looked at the great wall map of woven byssus fiber that rippled gently on the wall and noticed that the Clan's Orderer of Battles was also looking at the map. She turned to the grizzled old warrior and smiled again.

  «You think I am putting too much hope in the Stranger, Oknyr?»

  No expression showed in Oknyr's scarred face or his one pale golden eye as he replied. But his voice had the precision and coolness Alanyra knew concealed doubt or disapproval.

  «I must wonder, considering that you have seen him only twice. And what have you seen in him? A mighty warrior, to be sure. His fight against the yulon was like something from the Epic of Chyr. But is it certain that he is anything unusual? Is it even possible that there can be such as the Stranger you dream of?»

  She sighed. «I admit I wish I could be more certain. But I cannot live without the hope that a Stranger will come to our people, to help us bring peace to the crystal seas.»

  «That is the attitude of a child, Alanyra,» said Oknyr. But his smile took the sting out of those words.

  «I know,» said Alanyra. «But in some ways I am still the child you taught to use weapons and swim with the warstrokes. I think you see that and know it, and that is why you continue to serve me. And because you serve me, I today rule the Clan Gnyr in succession to my brother, the only woman among all the Sea Masters to rule a High Clan.»

  «That is so,» said Oknyr. «But-«

  He was interrupted as another messenger darted in through the hole and doubled up. «Noble Lady, Honored Warrior-the enemy's raiders are beginning to assemble.»

  Nezdorn's party of raiders was no longer almost alone in the crystal seas. To their right and left moved other companies. Above, the surface was broken by the keel and churning oars of a boat. Blade knew the boat would be loaded with firepots and heavy bows for the battle that must be coming soon. The Talgaran raiders were drawing together into a force that could sweep aside any sentry posts or casual patrols. They could drive deeply into the reefs and undersea valleys where the Fishmen had their homes and workshops. Sooner or later the Fishmen would have to come out in force-and fight.

  A dull thud reached Blade's ears through the water. Another firepot going off-in what? Sentry post, home, fish pen? Blade didn't know. He only knew that those explosions had been thudding through the water for the past hour as the raiders swam on, deeper into enemy waters. The Talgarans were leaving an undersea trail of destruction as they moved on.

  If the Fishmen were choosing not to fight for the moment, there were still plenty of them about. Almost any time he looked up, Blade had seen faint pale shapes darting along in the distance. The scouts stayed out of range and almost out of sight. They could neither be attacked nor driven away. They were always there, silent, swift-moving, ghostlike in the distance. Gradually their never-ending watch over the advance of the Talgarans began to have its effect. The arrogant confidence that had filled Nezdorn's company after the brush with the sentries began to evaporate. Dour and grim looks began to appear again.

  No one said it out loud, but the captain said it quietly to Blade as they swam for a moment close together. «I don't like this watch they're keeping on us. It could be that's all they can do, and they're simply trying to warn their own people to get out. But I doubt it.»

  Blade didn't need convincing. His suspicions that the Fishmen were laying an elaborate trap were fast deepening. More and more, Stipors' passion for an all-out attack on the Fishmen began to seem like suicidal folly.

  «They are still coming on,» said Okynr. He was looking at the map again. It showed a line of red-headed pins stretching almost from one corner to the other. Two of Oknyr's apprentices were busily moving the pins about. In the center of the red line a single gold-headed pin shone out. Alanyra's golden eyes were fixed on it as though it were drawing her gaze by some irresistible force.

  «And the Stranger comes with them,» she said quietly. «I knew he would. Such a warrior would come.»

  «If he is what you hope he will be,» said the Orderer soberly. «Is there any reason except your own desires why he should be that?»

  «Yes,» said Alanyra. «There is the need of both the Sea Masters and the Sea Cities for peace, a need that few on either side recognize. If this man is indeed from some unknown land, he may see with clearer eyes than most of us. He may see as I do, and aid me.»

  «He may also be a brainless, heavy-handed killer, like so many of Stipors' men,» said Oknyr wearily. «He travels with the Conciliar Guard, and it has long been Stipors' policy to have such about him.»

  Alanyra shrugged. Her full breasts swayed under the light robe she wore in her chambers. The Apprentices found it hard to keep their eyes on the map. «If he is such, the Truth-Finder drug will reveal him, as it revealed the others I thought were Strangers. But the prophecy remains-that the Goddess in the Foam would one day recognize our need and send us this Stranger. You cannot deny this, Oknyr?»

  «No, I cannot and will not,» said Oknyr, wearily. «But if he does not come soon, none of the Goddess's people will be left to be aided.»

  «Indeed,» said Alanyra. «But I think it is time our Clan's warriors were moving out. Go give the orders. I shall retire to my chambers, to meditate and garb myself for war.»

  «It shall be done, Lady.»

  «And be sure that all understand it clearly. The fair-skinned man among the Conciliar Guards is to be taken alive, at all costs.»

  «I will do my best.»

  Alanyra rested a long-fingered hand on the Orderer's shoulder. «You always do, Oknyr. May the Goddess be with you today, as she has been in the past.»

  The crystal seas ahead now showed more than the darting figures of the Fishman scouts. More solid clusters of the enemy were approaching. They still stayed well out of range of the Talgaran archers, but they did stay in sight, gliding along ahead of the raiders.

  Occasionally the scout boat above would get a clear shot. Arrows from the huge bows mounted in its bow would flash down
in silver flurries of bubbles. But they seldom hit anything. The Fishmen would scatter for a moment, then reform. And each time they re-formed, it seemed that there were more of them. Before half an hour had gone by, Blade could see more than a hundred of the enemy continuously in sight.

  The feeling that the Fishmen were playing with the raiders grew stronger in Blade. It was a cat-and-mouse game with a vengeance. And it was not improved for Blade by the knowledge that he was among the mice.

  Nezdorn's hands went into action. Then his fins moved faster, and he swam out in front of the company. From right and left the archers glided in to join him. More hand signals, and a dozen warriors from the canter of the line also swam out to join the captain.

  Blade was among those dozen. To his right and left he could see each company in the Talgaran line doing the same as his. These little vanguards would serve to prevent the Fishmen from breaking the main line with a sudden attack. Perhaps they might also pick off an odd enemy or two who wandered within bowshot.

  It was becoming a nightmare, in any case-the endless slow swim through the crystal seas in pursuit of an endlessly retreating enemy. Blade saw growing strain and tension in the face of every man in the vanguard around him, from the captain on down. In his mind, conviction was growing, the enemy's trap would be sprung soon. The raiders were getting too far into the home territory of the Fishmen. If they were not stopped soon, they would do more damage than the Fishmen could possibly afford. It would be soon.

  A bright flash cut through the blue-greenness off to the right rear. Blade began counting. A heavy pressure squeezed at his eardrums for a moment. That must have been a bigger firepot than usual, going off a good mile away. Blade found that his neck muscles were getting cramped. He wiggled his head from side to side, then looked down.