“At this rate, balance depth is five hundred feet, by my estimate,” said Norrieav. “That’s another way of saying we’re all dead. The midships deadweights will have to be dropped also. Roval, come back for a breath between them, understand?”
“Still sinking.”
Roval’s shaven head vanished beneath the water again, and moments later there was a slight pop and lurch as the starboard deadweight dropped away. Roval returned.
“Dentards, they are. Three, four dentards. Fast, curious. Swam down after the deadweight.”
“Rate of sink slowing.”
Again he took a breath and ducked under. For some moments there was just the creaking of the timbers, then a thump and scraping sound, followed by another thump. Norrieav took an ax and ducked under while D‘Arto hauled Roval’s rope in. It was almost a full minute before Norrieav and D’Arto dragged Roval back inside. The sorcerer’s left arm was gashed below the elbow.
“Dentard had him,” gasped Norrieav. “Whole school of them out there.”
“Port deadweight dropped, sir,” Roval managed between clenched teeth.
“Balance point,” reported Hazlok.
Something bumped and scraped at the hull of the gigboat.
“They smell blood,” said Terikel.
“Lisgar, hold him up. D’Arto, bind his arm, stop the bleeding.”
“Ascending,” said Hazlok.
“How deep are we?”
“Hard to say. We’ve been off the scale for some time.”
There was a dull but powerful boom as something collapsed.
“That was an empty jar, I would guess, sir,” said D’Arto.
“Descending again,” Hazlok said unhappily.
“Sir, permission to drop the aft deadweights?” asked Terikel.
Norrieav looked at her, then rubbed his eyes for a moment. “Go ahead,” he said reluctantly. “But return between weights, and wear the tether.”
Her head vanished under the water. Norrieav took Roval, and Lisgar spoke a pale filament that wrapped around his hand.
“Still sinking,” said Hazlok.
They waited. D’Arto finished bandaging Roval’s arm. There was a muted pop as the rope holding the distant deadweight parted, then a series of echoing bumps and scuffles. The tether was pulled tight for a moment, then went slack.
“Pull her in!” shouted Norrieav. “D’Arto, Roval, help me.”
“Too easy, no weight on the end!” cried D’Arto.
The end of the tether was roughly severed. For a moment there was only the creaking and gurgling of the sinking schooner.
“Terikel,” whispered Roval.
“Slowed, but still descending,” said Hazlok, his voice suddenly rising in pitch. “Not enough, boatmaster! That was not enough—”
“Hazlok, quiet!” said Norrieav.
“—and the indicator float is jammed, and the air in here’s squeezin’ with the pressure, soon there won’t be room for our heads—”
“Hazlok!” shouted Norrieav.
Hazlok froze. Lisgar leaned over to the tube.
“Indicator float jammed,” the deacon read.
“Terikel is dead,” whispered Roval.
Hazlok released his breath in a cough, then took several great gasps.
“My … my station,” he managed, seizing Lisgar’s wrist and holding the light closer to the tube.
There was a distant pop. They stared at each other in the dim light.
“Terikel!” exclaimed Roval. “She must have almost severed the last deadweight before the dentards got her.”
They cheered the dead priestess as one, but almost at once something was bumping and scuffling nearby. Something scraped at the gigboat.
“Dentard!” said Norrieav. “What’s it doing?”
“Maybe it eats ships, sir?” said D’Arto.
“Maybe some crewmen live on in trapped pockets of air when ships sink,” said Roval. “It might be common.”
“So common that dentards have learned to unwrap the packaging on their food,” said Norrieav.
Large jaws worried at the gigboat’s hull. There were deep, ululating cries from outside.
“Roval, I’m taking an ax and going out,” said Norrieav. “If I don’t return, take command.”
“Wait, sir,” panted Roval. “I shall go. Less to lose than you.”
He spoke a casting into his right hand, then fed it yet more etheric energy in a series of breathlessly chanted words.
“Indicator float still jammed,” reported Hazlok.
Roval ducked under the surface, and a moment later a brilliant flash of light lit up the water around them. The dentards around the Shadowmoon bellowed and ululated, but the sounds quickly faded. Roval returned.
“They are creatures of the depths, sir,” Roval explained. “It will be some time before they regain their sight and their nerve.”
“Float still jammed.”
“We still have the anchors,” said Norrieav. “Roval, we both go out, but you just provide light, understand? Maybe we can work faster than one alone. D’Arto, Hazlok, help with the tethers.”
Roval spoke another casting, then they went out together.
“Estimate, sort of really deep,” said Hazlok.
There was a deep scraping, followed by a pop.
“Anchor gone,” said D’Arto.
“Estimate, really deep and either going up or down.”
Norrieav and Roval did not return. The scraping started again.
There was another pop, followed by a softer scraping sound amid the creaks and gurgles.
“Estimate, sir, er, hopefully not so deep.”
Norrieav reappeared, then hauled Roval’s head into the air. The sorcerer coughed water.
“Estimate, ah, um, deeper than is probably safe.”
“Didn’t we die a few hundred feet ago?” gasped Roval.
“Call the reading,” prompted Lisgar.
“The reading is … one really tightly jammed gauge. Estimate, er, really, seriously deep.”
“We’re ascending,” said Lisgar.
“What?” Hazlok laughed, with a slightly hysterical edge to his voice. “D’ye have your own gauge?”
“Actually, yes. That was at water level a minute or so ago. Now it is just clear.”
He pointed to a small eating knife that he had pressed into the timber beside him. This time there was no cheer to draw the dentards back, but there was a definite improvement in the mood of the ship’s company.
“I’ll go out again, dump anything loose and heavy,” said Roval.
“That would be helpful, but we are already ascending,” said Norrieav.
“It is my way of saying good-bye.”
“To Terikel?”
“Ah, yes.”
“Look … just out of curiosity, did you ever, like …”
“Give her one?” suggested Hazlok.
“Open your heart to her!” shouted Norrieav, although he was now glaring at Hazlok.
“Never,” said Roval. “It is not my place to make such suggestions.”
“But why?”
“The Special Warrior Service turns men into something more than just exceptional fighters. We are trained to be stronger and faster than most, we are masters of all fighting arts, and on top of that we are tenth-level sorcerers, experienced darkwalkers, and have a university education. There is a temptation that goes with all that, a temptation to think of oneself as a god. To counter this, there are rules, and one rule is that we may only respond to the advances of a woman, we must never make such advances ourselves.”
“Shit, glad I never joined the SWS,” said Hazlok.
“So, all that business with you and Terikel in the master cabin—”
“I do not know!” confessed the warrior-sorcerer. “I think it was honorable. I certainly took no liberties with her.”
“I‘se definitely never joinin’ the SWS,” Hazlok said firmly.
Roval made a series of quick forays outside, and
dumped some metal fittings over the side. D’Arto’s anvil also went into the depths.
“Pleased to report, the gauge is working again,” said Hazlok. “One twenty-five and ascending.”
“Hear that?” said Norrieav.
There was a distant boom—creak, boom—creak. It did not sound at all like any animal.
“Shit!” exclaimed D’Arto. “The Kygar.”
“What? After all we went through?” cried Hazlok. “Is the galleymaster blind? He saw us sink—we were on fire to prove it.”
“Perhaps he knows the Shadowmoon’s secret,” mused Norrieav. “Have you any more bold, daring, and devastatingly stupid plans, Roval?”
“My last one cost Terikel her life, sir,” replied the sorcerer. “I am having trouble thinking of anything else just now.”
“We can’t sink again, not without the weights,” said Norrieav.
“I adored her.”
“If we tried to fight they would probably just laugh.”
“Perhaps if I had just smiled at her more often … .”
“We could abandon ship and swim for Helion.”
“Or maybe I should have paid her a few compliments.”
“I don’t believe I am hearing this, Learned Roval. We are a hundred feet below the surface, up to our nipples in water, ascending into the view of a fully armed battle galley, and armed with just half a dozen axes and one cheap crossbow, yet you sit there lamenting you never made a move with Terikel!”
“Seventy feet,” said Hazlok.
“In fact, surrender is looking like a quite viable option, sir,” Lisgar suggested.
“The rest of you should abandon ship and swim back to Helion, sir,” said Roval. “I shall stay with the Shadowmoon and fight to the death to cover your escape.”
“No!” Norrieav said emphatically.
“She died here. I would wish that my blood mixes with hers in these dark waters.”
“Snap out of it!” cried Norrieav. “The Sbadowmoon has more secrets than any blockhead on the Kygar could know. We will fight.”
“Fifty feet, the mast top will be at the surface,” said Hazlok.
“Fight?” Roval exclaimed numbly.
“With respect, sir, with what?” asked D’Arto. “We have a crossbow and a few axes. That thing above us is a battle galley.”
“We got a couple of harpoons somewhere,” said Hazlok.
“Stand by to surface,” said Norrieav. “Hazlok, D’Arto, dive out and close the sink hatches. Roval, dive for the jars of lamp oil down below.”
The decks of the Shadowmoon broke the surface, and they scrambled out from under the gigboat into Miral’s light and the deliciously cool, fresh wind. The galley was nearby, turning in a wide circle.
“Hazlok, Lisgar, D’Arto, begin pumping,” ordered Norrieav. “Roval, dive for the lamp oil while I unclamp the gigboat.”
“Sir, why bother to pump if we’re abandoning ship?” asked D’Arto.
“Because we’re not abandoning ship, I—”
He was interrupted by a shriek from Lisgar. Roval raised his ax and waded toward the aft cabin hatches, where something was scrabbling out.
“Gets back, one of those dentards must have been trapped in there,” shouted Roval.
Terikel crawled out into Miral’s light. Roval dropped his ax and hauled her to her feet, wrapping his arms around her as the other began working the pump. Almost as rapidly, he pulled away.
“You—ah, seem uninjured, my lady,” he said hastily.
“How?” asked Norrieav.
“Air from the burst lockers, trapped by the cabin’s roof,” croaked the priestess, falling to her knees in the shallow water.
“Why didn’t you come back?” asked Roval. “I thought I’d—that you were dead.”
“Thought … more air for you under the gigboat. Also, too frightened … to move.”
Having found the fugitive vessel, galleymaster Mandalock ordered the Kygar back to get a really good speed established. Initiates with brilliance-castings swept the darkness as the top of the ram threw up twin waves. They closed.
“It must have capsized, then righted, who would have known it?” cried the galleymaster. “Come around farther, get a good run and bring us to maximum speed.”
Aboard the Shadowmoon there were traces of order amid murky chaos in the dark water under Miral’s cold, green light. The middeck was just above the water by now.
“Hazlok, unclamp the gigboat!” shouted Norrieav. “Roval, unseal those jars of lamp oil.”
“Lamp oil? Sir, we need oars!” shouted Roval.
“Lamp oil, damn you! I’m boatmaster! Pour it into the gigboat.”
“But, sir, we’re supposed to escape in that!” Roval pointed out.
“Shut up and do it! Terikel, can you cast one of those dazzle autons?”
“Yes, boatmaster.”
“Do so, and bind it just inside the front of the gigboat.”
“What? Sir, those things are highly unstable, they practically go off by themselves. A heavy-enough thump—”
“—will be ideal. Lisgar, D’Arto, keep pumping.”
Norrieav rigged a canvas cover for the gigboat while the oil was being poured into it. By now the galley was head-on, but at a distance. As Roval poured out the last jar of oil, Norrieav began cranking back the crossbow.
“A tendril-casting with contraction, if you please,” the boatmaster said to Roval. “Link the gigboat to this quarrel.”
“I can’t sink a galley with a casting!”
“No, but I can. Everyone, to the sweep oars and stand by—Not you Terikel. Stand at the steering pole and notch it to fifth octen.”
It was a difficult shot, at night, at sea, and in only Miral’s light, with a wet bowstring, but the galley was a huge target. Norrieav fired. A thin sliver of light flickered through the darkness and struck the bow of the galley.
“Now row!” shouted Norrieav.
The tendril began to contract, drawing the gigboat away from the Shadowmoon . The Shadowmoon moved sluggishly, being still largely full of water, but move it did. The Kygar had lined up to approach broadside, but the Shadowmoon was turning. The faint tendril was lost to sight. The galley began to turn as someone realized the alignment with the target was changing.
“Get ready to duck under,” cried Norrieav. “If my device works, there’s to be flame everywhere.”
“Sir, under what?” asked the exasperated Roval. “That’s our bloody refuge you’ve just thrown at them.”
The gigboat struck the galley’s bow. Terikel’s dazzle-casting was disrupted. It detonated with a tiny core of intense heat amid a mixture of lamp oil and air. The mixture exploded. The sides of the gigboat had been designed and built to be exceedingly strong so they would withstand the pressures of being submerged. A plume of burning lamp oil was shot high into the air with a thunderclap blast, and it splashed down the entire length of the galley. Burning from bow to stern, the galley slid past the mostly submerged Shadowmoon and its astonished crew, oars clattering and splintering against its side and railings. The Kygar continued on, slowly losing momentum, then came to rest, trailing flames into the wind.
“Hazlok, Lisgar, return to the pump,” called Norrieav. “Terikel, to the steering pole and lock into the third octen. Roval and D’Arto get into the rigging and unfurl the mainsail.”
Norrieav tied down the sweeps as they worked, and the wind began to nudge the half-submerged Shadowmoon away from the burning galley. Presently he joined Terikel on the quarterdeck, working the pump while Lisgar and Hazlok went forward to unfurl the foresail. Terikel locked the steering pole and joined the boatmaster.
“We need to make headway,” said Norrieav as they worked the pump handles. “They’ll not be distracted for long.”
“On the contrary, sir, I think they will be distracted for quite some time to come,” said Terikel, staring back over the Shadowmoon’s wake at the blazing galley as it trailed flames and smoke into the easterly wind.
&n
bsp; Those aboard the galley were very much under the impression they had been struck by a fire-circle, and quite a large number of rowers, marines, and officers had leaped overboard on their own initiative. The blaze touched off by the gigboat had not, in fact, been so very serious, but with most of those who should have been fighting the flames leaping overboard, the fire was free to take hold with a vengeance. Those watching from Helion thought the galley had caught the fugitive and set it ablaze. The fact this was the second fire to be visible was confusing, but the watchers assumed that the correct explanation would soon be brought home with the victorious galley. It was an hour before another ship was sent out to investigate. Fortunately, the dentards were sufficiently intimidated by the fire that they did not investigate those struggling in the water around the blazing wreck, so there were few casualties among the crewmen.
By the time the Shadowmoon had been pumped empty and trimmed to sail due west, the Kygar was an orange point of light on the horizon. The sky had clouded over by then, and light rain was falling. Norrieav stood at the steering pole while Roval stared back along their wake for pursuers. Terikel sat hugging her legs beside the rail.
“I shall never, never set foot on another ship again once I return to Scalticar,” said the priestess.
“I have lost count of the number of times you have said that,” said Roval without turning. “Can we not change the subject?”
“My intent had been to spill burning oil ahead of the galley,” Norrieav declared, breaking his silence of the hour past. “The fountain of fire was a timely accident.”
Norrieav beat at the gong until the crew had gathered before him.
“I declare the vessel stood down from battle stations,” said Norrieav. “Learned Elder, I am your servant.”
The others returned below. Terikel cleared her throat.
“If you have any more creative innovations like that, sir, please keep them to yourself,” she said, looking straight at Norrieav. “Ships are dangerous enough as it is. Submersible warfare is more than this world could take.”
“You take the benefit of the device, yet you condemn it?” laughed Norrieav, shaking his head.
“You asked a dragon for help, boatmaster, and it amused the dragon to oblige us,” said Roval. “Next time it may not be so charitable.”
Voyage of the Shadowmoon Page 55