So there was. With blue-painted sails. Behind us, above us, the crew of our own ship noticed the other also.
Well, it wasn’t land, but it was better than empty ocean. At least, until the crew swarmed like sandstingers over all the sails and ropes and timber. Next I knew, we were turning. Hard.
"Hey —" I grabbed the rail and latched on, not happy to hear it creak again ominously, but even less happy to feel the accompanying protests of the boards beneath my feet. Sandals slid, scraping on dampness and salt. The shift in wind filled my mouth with hair; I spat and stripped it out, then tucked it behind my ear, which did no good at all. Swearing inwardly, I resolved to have Del cut it as soon as possible. Or to hack it off myself.
Del also grabbed at the rail as we swung heavily through the choppy waves, grasping wood firmly. Even as she opened her mouth to make a comment or ask a question, a babble of shouting behind us pretty much answered it. I knew fear when I heard it. The whole crew suddenly stank of it.
"Trouble," I observed, wiping the slick of foamy spray off my face. Salt stung in my eyes.
The crewman nearest us looked away from the blue sails long enough to gesture urgently. "Below," he said. "Below. Below."
"Trouble," Del agreed.
Of course, the last place I wanted to be was immured in a tiny cabin near the waterline as the ship wallowed and bucked. I hung onto the creaking rail, maintaining a now-precarious balance against the violent undulance, and scowled at the sailor.
"I’ll go," she said.
Startled, I stared at her. "Wouldn’t you rather stay on deck and see what we’re facing?"
"And I’d rather have swords to face it with," she declared. "That’s where they are. Below."
Ah. So they were. "Bring mine, bascha."
"I had planned on it."
The sailor saw her go, looked relieved, then noticed I remained at the bow. His eyes bulged as the ship continued its wallowing, graceless turn. "Below!"
No, not below, thank you… but as we swung around, the blue-sailed ship fell out of line of sight from my spot at the bow. I let the sailor believe I was following his suggestion; instead I made my way aft, moving so as to keep my eye on the other ship even as I clutched the rail, cursing in disgust as I caught a toe against a coil of prickly rope and nearly fell. This thrice-cursed boat, in rough seas, was harder to ride than the stud when he pitched a fit.
Still, I considered it curious that our captain would turn around rather than sailing on, especially as we were two days away from the last island, which meant there was no safe harbor within reach; but we’d been heading into the wind, which slowed us down. Now we moved with it. The sails bellied, cracking against the sky as the crew worked rapidly. Wind shoved us along the way we had come, but more swiftly than before. The question now was whether the blue-sailed ship truly wanted us enough to chase us — and, if it did, was it faster?
Well, yes. The latter was obvious by the time Del came up beside me at the stern. She’d braided her hair back into a pale rope hanging down her spine. Naked now of everything save intent, her face and expression were clean and lethal as a new-honed blade. I took the hilt she offered, felt better for having a sword in my hand. "Our captain seems to place no faith in the fighting abilities of his crew."
"You’ve sailed with them for two weeks," she said, squinting against spray-laden wind. "Would you?"
They spent more time drinking, dicing, and swapping lies than anything else. Point taken. "Well, he might have faith in us." I paused. "You did tell him we hire out for this sort of thing, didn’t you?"
"He’s seen you smack your head or trip over ropes and nets about nine times a day, Tiger. Why should he have any faith in you?"
This sounded suspiciously as if our captain viewed me pretty much the way I viewed his crew. I was stung into a retort — especially as I had acquired any number of scrapes and bruises since coming aboard. "I’m taller than he is!"
"And clumsier, he seems to think. Although I don’t believe it." She patted my arm briefly, absently, as if comforting a child — which of course was exactly how she wanted me to feel. "It’s catching up."
She meant the pursuing ship. "I wasn’t made for water," I said aggrievedly, "or boats. Ships," I amended, before she could correct me; the crew had been explicit. "I’m too big, or they’re too small —"
"The world," she said gently, "is too small for you."
That stopped me cold. I eyed her, examined her expression closely, tried to figure out what in hoolies she was talking about.
Del burst out laughing. "Don’t look so worried, Tiger! I only meant that you are large in all the ways so many men are small —"
"Thank you very much. Many men?"
"In all ways," she repeated, smiling peculiarly — and offering no answer. "Now, what were you saying?"
What was I saying — ? "Well, look, bascha… I only mean I need land, something solid, something that stays put when I plant my feet —"
"Like the stud?"
Who was below, and not privy to this conversation. "Now that you mention it, I’d like to see what our esteemed captain, who thinks I’m so clumsy, would do on the stud…"
"Poor odds. No odds."
I scratched briefly at the salt-rimed scars in my face, four long clawmarks that scored me from cheekbone to jaw beneath a week’s worth of stubble. "And anyway, the question now is not whether I’m clumsy on board a creaking hunk of flattened trees, but whether those fine folks would have come after us if we’d held our course —"
"The captain seems to think so."
"— or if we made ourselves look more attractive than we are because we turned tail and ran."
"The captain must have believed we had a chance at outrunning them."
"Or else he’s just running scared."
"As well he might," Del observed as the blue sails swelled against the horizon. "We’re losing the race."
I squinted across the narrowing gulf. "Maybe I should have a word with the captain about the benefits of standing your ground…"
"Unfortunately, as you’ve pointed out, there isn’t any ground to stand on."
I spat hair out of my mouth again. "Well, I’d rather decide when there’s to be a sword-dance than let the other man choose it," I reminded her. "There’s merit to a good offense."
"Let me go," she suggested. "He’s not much impressed by you. Me, he’s impressed by; he comes up on deck to watch every morning when I loosen up."
"So do I, bascha — but watching you has nothing to do with fighting!" Well, I suppose it did; but so far no one had challenged me. Even if I did crack my head on timber and trip over nets and ropes. "And maybe it’s time I loosened up, too, out on deck where everyone can see me."
"Why?" Her voice was deceptively guileless. "Do you want men to watch you?"
I slanted her a sour glance. "I just meant it might be best if they don’t assume I’m a pushover."
"A fall-over, maybe." Del smiled sunnily. "Well?"
I flapped a hand. "Go. Maybe you can find out who our friends are, and what they want."
Del left, was gone briefly, returned. She wore an odd expression. "They aren’t friends."
"Well, no."
"They are, he says, renegadas."
"What the hoolies is that?"
"I believe he means borjuni. Of the sea."
That I understood. "What have we got that they want?"
"The captain did not trouble himself to tell me."
"Did you smile at him?" That earned me a scorching glance. "Well, no, I suppose not, not you — why smile at a man when a knife in his gut will work? — but did he at least trouble himself to say what we can expect once they get here?"
Matter-of-factly she explained, "They catch the ship, board it, steal everything on board. Or steal the ship itself."
"Herself. They call the ship ’she.’ And what about the crew and the passengers?" All two of the latter; this ship generally carried goods, not people. We’d been lucky to cla
im some room. Although just at this moment, luck did not appear to be an applicable word.
Del shrugged. "They’ll do what borjuni usually do."
I grunted. "Figures." Although not all borjuni and Border raiders killed their victims. Some of them were just after whatever they perceived as wealth, be it coin, trade goods, or livestock. (Or, in the occasional circumstance, people, such as Del and her brother.) Still, it was enough to make you skittish about leaving such things to chance.
Del frowned thoughtfully, marking how swiftly the other ship sailed. It didn’t wallow like ours but sleeked across the water like a cat through shadows. "He wasn’t much impressed when I said we could help them fight them. In fact, he said they wouldn’t fight them at all."
"Did you offer to fight for him?" I asked. "For a fee, of course. Passage, at the very least."
"He says if they catch us, we’ll all die anyway, so why should they bother to fight?"
"Did you explain we hadn’t died yet?"
"At that point he told me he had no use for a woman except in bed," Del explained. "I decided I’d better come back here with you before I invited him into a circle."
"Well, we know there’s no point in trying to change any man’s mind about that," I agreed. "We’re contrary beasts."
"Among other things." Del, with a sword in her hand and action in the offing, was uncannily content. "But I did manage to change your mind. Eventually."
I begged to differ. "I beg to differ," I said. "I just learned to shut up about it. I still think the best place for a woman is in bed." I paused. "Especially after a good, nasty, nose-smashing, lip-splitting, teeth-cracking fight in which she shows all the foolish men she’s every bit as good as they are with a sword. Or any other weapon, for that matter — including her knee."
"Kind of you," she observed. "Generous, even."
"Merely honest, bascha."
She smiled into the wind. "Among other things."
"And now that we’ve settled the way of the world again as we know it, what do you propose we do when those — those —"
"Renegadas."
"— reach us?" I finished.
Del hitched a shoulder. "Not enough room to carve a circle in the deck. A dance wouldn’t be particularly effective."
"Nope," I agreed. "Let’s just kill ’em."
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.
Sword Born ss-5 Page 2