by Джеффри Лорд
«Perhaps. But King Hurakun will not give them what they want. Perhaps they are getting desperate.»
«Maybe,» said the captain. «If so, they maybe have Death-Vowed on board. Can you fight?»
«I can fight well enough in a pinch,» said Blade. He hoped he would not have to show off his fighting skills on the voyage downriver. That might reveal his identity.
«Good,» said the captain. «I watch for that boat. If she get close, I call you.»
Blade nodded. For the moment the suspected boat seemed to be drawing rapidly away from the slower Lugsa. He decided he could go below for the moment.
Within an hour the other boat was out of sight downriver. The Lugsa crept onward at her own more sedate pace. By the time Blade came on deck again it was nearly twilight. Lights twinkled in villages and isolated houses along the shore. Out in the middle of the river there was a breeze to cut the tropical mugginess.
Blade ate his dinner-more bean soup, more bread, more beer that was even worse than what he had drunk at lunch. By the time he had dropped his bowl into the washtub by the foremast, the swift tropical night had fallen. The banks no longer showed any lights. Apparently they were passing along an uninhabited stretch of the river. The only sounds were the creak of the slats in the sails, the splash of water at the bow, and an occasional foot thumping down on the planks of the deck.
An insect whined past Blade's ear. He batted at it. When it had whined away into the darkness, he thought he heard another sound, a new one. He held his breath and listened. It was unmistakable now. Off to the left, the splash of water. A large fish jumping? There were no large fish in this river. The little carnivores ruled the murky waters. A local boat on its private occasions? Small boats stayed off the river at night, as far as Blade knew. He found himself gripping the hilt of his sword as he stared into the darkness, trying to pierce it, strip it away from whatever was out there. Was it his imagination, or did he see a pale flicker of bow-wave and behind it the even fainter loom of a ship?
The captain came aft, and Blade beckoned to him. His voice a whisper, he said, «I think there's another ship out there.»
«Temple boat?»
«Perhaps. Do ordinary boats run without lights along here?»
«Never!» The captain stepped to the cabin doorway, stuck his head inside, and called softly, «Fighters, on deck.» Murmurs came back, and the faint clatter of weapons being gathered up.
The captain was just turning back to Blade when the night fell apart. As swift as thought, the low-slung boat lunged out of the darkness. Clawed grappling hooks soared through the air from her decks and dug into the Lugsa's railings. With a grinding crash, the enemy boat came riding up against the Lugsa's port side. Heart-freezing shrill screams sounded above the crash of wood. They were not screams of fear or pain, but of insane fury. And then above the railing, Blade saw six blazing white bat-masks.
He had no time to see more before the Death-Vowed leaped high into the air, screaming again. They rose so high that for a moment Blade wondered if they were going to take off into the sky like real bats. Then with yet more screams they thudded down on the Lugsa's deck.
If Blade had not seen the approaching boat and if the captain had not alerted his fighters, the Death-Vowed would have swept the Lugsa's decks in seconds. The men came down in fighter's crouches, then sprang toward Blade, swords and knives flashing in their white-gloved hands. More chilling screams poured from the mouths of the hideous white masks.
Blade and the captain surged forward to meet the Death-Vowed. Blade's axe split open a mask and the head behind it. Then the Death-Vowed gave a scream of a very different kind as Blade's sword chopped off his arm. But a cloven skull and a missing arm could not stop the Death-Vowed at once. Legs moving by pure reflex drove him forward still. Blade had to back away to keep from going down under the man's dying lunge. A gap opened between him and the captain.
Two of the Death-Vowed charged into it, and the captain howled in agony as their knives drove into him. One eye gone and a knife sticking in his belly, he reeled back. But sheer courage kept him on his feet. As one of the Death-Vowed closed in, knife raised to carve the sign of Ayocan on the captain's flesh, the captain's teeth closed on the attacker's wrist. The Death-Vowed screamed and jerked his arm back and forth, trying to shake off the dying man's jaws. Then he screamed again as Blade's axe chopped off the arm at the shoulder.
Two of the Death-Vowed down, four to go. But four against one was more than Blade wanted to face, particularly when the four were men with no care for their own lives. Blade knew such were the deadliest possible opponents, willing to die to take you down with them-sworn to do so, in fact. He backed up again. Out of the corner of his eye he saw other figures appearing at the railing. Not Death-Vowed this time, but the regular Holy Warriors of Ayocan. They were going to leap down behind him. .
They did. But at the same time the armed fighters of the Lugsa's guard swarmed out of the cabin, brandishing their own axes and swords and screaming vengeance for their captain. They hurled themselves at the Holy Warriors so fiercely that the enemy were hurled backward onto the advancing Death-Vowed. Blade was caught in the middle. For a moment he stood there, jammed so tightly among his enemies that he could not strike at them nor they at him.
By sheer strength he pushed the men away, punching and kicking and shoving. A space opened around him, a space large enough for him to use his weapons. A Death-Vowed caught off balance died with Blade's sword chopping his spine in two. He fell to the deck, writhing like a broken-backed snake, stabbing at Blade's legs still, until Blade slammed a foot down on his ribs. There was a crunch and a gasp and a sudden silence.
A Holy Warrior faced Blade next, but not for long. Axes rang against each other's blows. But Blade's sword crashed through the other's guard by brute force and deep into the man's shoulder. The man's sword fell to the deck, the clang lost in the battle roar all around. But he screamed very audibly as Blade ran him through the stomach. Blood spurted, flowing down onto the deck, making the planks slick. For a moment Blade's feet did a frantic dance on the planks as he fought for balance. A dying Death-Vowed blundered against him, and they both went down.
Blade heard the dying enemy's breath hiss inside his mask, felt claw-gloved hands tearing at his own skin. He got a full nelson on the other's neck and heaved. The spine went with a crack, and the thrashing legs and clawing hands went still. Blade started to rise and another body crashed into him. He went back to his knees and twisted about, hands reaching for the new attacker's throat. But the man-a Holy Warrior-was already dead, face split open and an axe embedded in the mass of bloody bone splinters.
Finally Blade did stand up, as he realized that most of the men around him were also dead. Blood, discarded weapons, and splintered bat-masks lay thick on the deck. Alongside the Lugsa the sails of the Ayocan boat still loomed. Without thinking, Blade snatched up an axe and a sword and hurled himself over the railing. He landed on the enemy's deck so hard that for a moment he went to his knees again, and pain stabbed through one ankle.
A Holy Warrior saw Blade, hesitated for a moment, then rushed in. The hesitation was fatal. Blade was ready to meet the attack, and both axe blow and sword swing clanged off his guard. Blade's riposte met no such resistance, and the Warrior's thigh gaped and spurted.
Blade rose, and feet clattered on the deck as the boat's crew and priests ran hastily aft. He saw them clustered near the stern. And he also saw the dim glow of a brazier by the railing amidships.
Three strides forward, and his sword licked out. The brazier went over, and hot coals went flying. The tinder-dry matting covering the deck blazed in an instant. By the glow of the fire Blade saw the cluster of men aft cringe and stare. One of them moved forward, cautiously holding out a bucket. Blade snatched up an axe from the deck and threw it with deadly accuracy. The man bent over, staring down at the axe embedded in his stomach. The bucket clattered to the deck and emptied itself uselessly around the man's feet. The flames blazed
higher, reaching up for the sails. Then the sails themselves burst into orange flame, and Blade knew the enemy ship was doomed.
He turned, and realized with a cold shock that he would be too in a few more seconds. The survivors of the Lugsa's crew were chopping loose the grappling hooks that held the temple boat alongside. A gap was already widening between the two craft. Blade sprang up onto the railing, and stared down at the water below. It was black in the light of the fire, but he could see dartings and splashings as the scent of blood drove the fish wild. Then he tensed his legs and leaped out into space.
For a chilling moment in midair he thought he was going to fall short, to fall into the jaws of the fish. But two of the Lugsa's crewmen saw him coming, and practically snatched him out of the air. All three of them crashed down on the blood-slick deck with a jar that knocked the wind out of Blade. When he got his breath back and stood up, the enemy boat was drifting away into the darkness, a pyramid of fire almost from end to end. The priests and crewmen were still clustered, aft but as Blade watched, he saw a white splash by the steering oar. Someone had decided to accept death from the fishes, rather than from the flames. A moment later a gurgling scream floated across the dark water as the fish tore into the man. The screams did not last long-it would be only a matter of seconds before the man had no lungs or throat to scream with.
Blade turned to the men who had caught him. «Thanks. Without you I'd be on the fishes' menu tonight along with those over there.»
A man Blade recognized as the Lugsa's mate nodded. «We could not do less for you. You saved us. Ayocan priests not use Death-Vowed on river before this. I do not understand.»
«Neither do I,» said Blade. «That was why I wanted to destroy the whole boat and its crew, not just beat off the attack. If their first try at river piracy costs them the boat and the crew, they may think twice before making it a habit.»
There was another reason, one he could not mention. The attack by the cult boat suggested that someone high in the cult knew of Blade's presence aboard the Lugsa. Perhaps he knew of Blade's mission also, and was sending a warning downriver to the temple mounds of Gonsara. If so, destroying the cult boat and every man aboard it might make sure that the Lugsa reached Gonsara before the warning.
Chapter 13
Of the Lugsa's crew of fourteen sailors and six fighters, five sailors, including the captain, and three of the fighters were dead. Virtually all the others had been wounded, two of them so severely they died the day after the battle. Shorthanded as she was, the Lugsa was in no danger from the river itself. It flowed broad and straight and deep all the way to Gonsara, and even in bad weather it had no winds or waves high enough to endanger a well-built craft like the Lugsa. What Blade feared was another attack by men-either ordinary pirates or another boatload of Warriors and Death-Vowed sent by the cult of Ayocan. With half her crew dead or disabled, the Lugsa could never fight off such an assault.
As it happened, the rest of the voyage down the river was uneventful, unmolested, and more than a little boring. Gradually they passed out of the belt of tropical forest and into a broad river plain. The trees there grew in clusters well back from the river bank, with cultivated fields and white-painted houses spreading along the bank. The air there was even hotter than it had been in the forest belt, but less humid.
On the sixth day they passed into Gonsara itself. For all the peace between the two countries, both sides had forts marking the border on both sides of the river. And the river itself swarmed with the swift-moving patrol craft of both kingdoms. These stopped and inspected ships bound in either direction.
Two Gonsaran officials boarded the Lugsa and listened to the mate's tale of the battle that had decimated the ship's crew. It was a carefully edited tale, that made no mention of the cult of Ayocan. Blade had thought of giving a full account, to sound out Gonsaran opinions of the cult. But he had decided against it. Even if the officials were against the cult, they might talk about what they heard-and others might listen. The less said about the fate of the cult boat until Blade reached his destination, the better.
The Gonsarans were little shorter than Blade himself, but considerably thinner. Their bony faces were largely hidden behind bushy coal-black beards. How they wore their hair Blade could not tell, since they wore high tightwound white turbans. They wore black slippers, white pantaloons, and black sashes. A curved short sword and a curved dagger, both in silver sheaths, were stuck into the sashes. The men who rowed their boat were naked except for breechclouts, but carried six-foot spears with barbed bronze points. Altogether the Gonsarans looked to Blade very much like the warrior race they were supposed to be.
On the tenth day they reached Dafar, capital of Gonsara. Sweating gangs of naked slaves drew the Lugsa into a great basin under the eyes of the guards on the city's walls, and moored her to a long brick jetty. At that point the mate ceased to pay any attention to Blade. His orders had been to take this man-supposedly a merchant's agent-down the river to Dafar. He had done so. Now it was time for him to go about his own business-disposing of the Lugsa's cargo, hiring new crewmen and fighters, renting sweep-slaves, paying port fees and customs duties, and the like. He therefore dismissed Blade from his mind and his ship.
Blade went ashore without resentment. From this point he would be on his own in any case. And he already had a plan, one worked out with great care on the journey. It involved a good deal of danger, which didn't bother him. It also involved gambling that what he had been told about Gonsara was largely correct. That did bother him. But he didn't think he had any choice. If the secret of his mission was out-and he had to assume it was-sooner or later another cult ship would come downriver. And then the hunt would be on. He had to move fast, whatever the risks.
Visitors from Chiribu could move about freely in Dafar. No one questioned or challenged Blade as he drifted up the streets from the docks toward the heart of the city. He considered for a moment making his move here, in the dockside quarter. But the streets were narrow and litter-strewn — it would be hard to run. And the nearest temple mound was well over a mile away. Ducking occasional salvos of garbage and bathwater falling from the windows, Blade continued up the hill.
Another half hour of walking brought him to the marketplace. Here there were still too many people and booths around for a clear run. And so many people could easily start a panic, in which many innocent people and perhaps Blade himself could be killed. Neither prospect pleased Blade. He stopped at a booth to buy blue and white chalks, and walked on.
When he reached the next square, he decided that he had finally come to the right place. A continuous ebb and flow of people and wagons passed through the square. There were even more people on the ornate balconies of the buildings surrounding the square. Blade knew that he would have plenty of witnesses. But he would also have plenty of room to run. All four streets leading out of the square were wide, although their paving blocks were cracking. At the end of one of them loomed the familiar blue and white shape of a temple mound of Ayocan. And to his right was a large blank wall.
Blade walked over to the foot of the wall and took out his blue and white chalks. Working quickly, he sketched in white the outline of a man with a bat's head and outspread wings. By the time he had finished that, he heard the unmistakable murmur of voices behind him. For the moment he ignored them. Instead he concentrated on filling in the details of the outline.
The head he colored white, except for the wide-glaring eyes and the mouth, where teeth showed jagged against a blue interior. Then he started working on the wings. Behind him the murmur of voices rose still higher. He heard anger in it, one or two curses, and a distinct «Shame!» He continued to ignore the crowd that must be gathering behind him. He could only hope that none of them would be provoked enough to simply stick a spear into him from behind. He could also hope that none of the priests or votaries of the cult of Ayocan were artists. He certainly wasn't. Fortunately Ayocan was ugly enough so that the hideousness of the drawing would be blame
d on the god rather than on the artist.
By the time Blade had finished the drawing of Ayocan, the murmurings from behind him suggested an angry crowd of at least two or three hundred people. That would be large enough for his plans. He turned and stared out at the crowd., He noted the men in pantaloons and turbans or breechclouts, the women in pantaloons and embroidered bodices. He also noted the sullen or enraged expressions on numerous faces and the number of drawn swords and upraised spears. Here in Gonsara the people went armed.
For a moment he wasn't sure that he hadn't already gone too far. His eyes roved over the crowd, sizing up its mood. It was threatening, but not yet out of control. Then he looked toward the temple mound, again measuring the distance. He would have a good run if the crowd got completely out of hand.
His eyes fell on the crowd again. He stood silently, fixing them with his stare, until they began to notice it. Gradually the mutterings died away, spear points dropped, and swords slipped back into scabbards. Good. They weren't so likely now to skewer him on the spot. He took a deep breath and began to speak.
«People of Dafar! Behold the image of the great god Ayocan. Behold the image of him who shall come to accept the strong spirits, to feed on them, to be pleased by them! And Ayocan shall be pleased! I-«
«You can go to hell, you priest's pig!» yelled someone.
«Not I,» shouted Blade. «You, perhaps. You have a weak spirit, to reject the counsel of one who speaks for mighty Ayocan. A weak spirit indeed. Ayocan will never feed on it when he comes. It would displease him. And Ayocan shall not be displeased.»
«Who cares about Ayocan?» shouted a woman. «I please myself-«
«I'll help you, dearie,» shouted a male voice. There was a general roar of laughter. For a moment Blade wondered if the whole mood of rage he wanted and needed for his plans wasn't slipping away.