“Clear the rigging,” Aelfred cried. “Lookout down.”
The crewmen who’d been aloft in the ratlines scrambled down to the relative safety of the deck, while the lookout came down the mast from the crow’s nest scarcely slower than he would have had he fallen freely. Precise maneuvering didn’t count for much now, Teldin assumed, and there was little use in putting a man at risk at high lookout when anyone with the poorest eyesight could see the enemy perfectly well from the deck.
The two ships were closing fast now. The distance between them halved, then halved again. The deathspider loomed large and hideous, its red-lit bow ports like eyes glaring at the Probe, its spindly legs seeming to reach out to grasp the hammership. One ship, or maybe both, had changed course, and the spidership was now directly ahead of the Probe.
“Too close for catapults,” Bubbo grumbled. “Release the crews?”
Aelfred nodded. “Catapult crews to damage control stations,” he yelled.
Words formed in Teldin’s mind. Are we to ram head-on? Estriss asked.
“No,” Aelfred answered, “I’ve got something else in mind, but let’em think we are.”
The Probe’s ballista fired again, at virtually point-blank range. Teldin watched the heavy missile slam straight into the bow of the deathspider. A circular port shattered, spraying debris into space. A strident cheer went up from the ballista crew ….
And quickly turned to screams of horror and agony. A missile from the deathspider slammed into the Probe’s forward turret, shattering the ballista and flinging the weapon’s crew around like rag dolls. Without hesitation, Teldin hurled himself up the ladder and vaulted over the turret’s rim.
The scene in the turret was total confusion. Wreckage was everywhere. When the enemy bolt had struck the hammer-ship’s ballista, the considerable energy contained in the partially bent limbs of the big bow had been released and had to go somewhere. In this case, it had torn the heavy weapon apart, throwing fragments everywhere. Two of the turret crew were still up and moving – Dana among them, Teldin was happy to see – but even they were bleeding from multiple small wounds and seemed somewhat stunned. The other two, however … Teldin saw at once there was nothing he – or anyone else – could do for them. One was crumpled against the turret wall, his back bent the wrong way; the other apparently had been struck directly by the neogi’s shot, and the enormous missile had torn him in two. Teldin averted his eyes from what was left of the unfortunate man and struggled to control his rising gorge.
“Report!” Aelfred bellowed.
Teldin leaned over the turret rail, glad to turn his back on the carnage. “Two dead,” he said, trying to keep his voice level and matter-of-fact, “two injured. The ballista’s wrecked.”
Aelfred’s face had a grim cast, and his eyes were as cold and hard as flint. “If there’s anything to salvage, do it,” he ordered, “then get below and under cover. This is going to be bloody.”
“No!” The vehemence of his own response came as a surprise to Teldin, and to Aelfred as well, judging by his expression. “No,” Teldin repeated more reasonably. “You need every able-bodied man you can get.”
Aelfred’s face clouded over, and he blistered the air with a soldier’s oath. Then, suddenly, his frown faded, replaced by an unwilling smile. “Your call,” he told Teldin. “Make sure you’re armed … and watch your back.”
Teldin smiled. He didn’t need that last bit of advice. His skin was very precious to him, and he’d do everything he could to make sure it remained reasonably intact. But … armed? He looked around the turret quickly. For the first time, he noticed – or let himself notice – the identity of the crewman who lay broken against the turret wall. It was Gendi, the one who’d lent Teldin his short sword for his practice session with Aelfred. The sword was still in its sheath on Gendi’s belt, and it was certain that Gendi wouldn’t be wanting it anymore. Carefully avoiding the messy reminders of the other crewman’s fate, Teldin crossed the turret. He hesitated a moment – there was something about taking from the dead that gave him pause – then he drew the sword from Gengi’s scabbard. He clutched the weapon in his fist tightly, to stop the disturbing tremor he noticed in his hand, and ran his left palm along the flat of the blade. The metal was cool and smooth, and somehow it seemed to shore up his flagging courage. He had nowhere to put the weapon and considered for a moment removing Gendi’s sword belt. That would be too much, he decided, and it would mean moving the body. Even though Gendi was past feeling anything, Teldin couldn’t bring himself to shift the broken-backed corpse.
Dana was watching him dumbly, her eyes still glazed with shock and pain. He raised the sword and held it before him, forcing a fierce grin onto his face. As he’d hoped, the gnomish woman responded. Her eyes cleared, and she drew the long dagger she had at her own hip. She smiled back at him. Once more she looked like the tough little warrior that he’d always considered her to be.
The Probe was almost upon the deathspider. It looked as though Aelfred was going to drive the hammership’s blunt ram full into the head of the spidership. “Prepare to ram!” Aelfred’s roar echoed throughout the ship. Everywhere, crewmen grabbed whatever purchase came to hand: gunwale rails, rigging, or fixed pieces of equipment. Teldin shrank the cloak to its smallest dimension, wrapped his left arm around the turret rail, and held on for dear life..
Above and below the Probe, the deathspider’s huge legs swung inward like huge levers, preparing to grapple the hammership. To Teldin there seemed no possible way of avoiding their embrace, or the impending collision.
With only instants to spare, Aelfred bellowed, “Down a-port, hard!”
The blunt bow of the hammership dropped, and the ship swung rapidly to the left.
Impact! Even with his grip on the rail, the shock almost flung Teldin across the turret, and his left shoulder felt like his arm was being torn from the socket. He fought to keep his feet. Belowdecks he heard crashing as inadequately secured equipment, and perhaps even people, smashed into bulkheads and decks.
With a rush of fierce excitement, Teldin understood Aelfred’s plan. The last-moment maneuver had changed the Probe’s course. Instead of driving full into the deathspider’s bridge, the hammership’s ram had instead smashed into the lower left-hand leg of the neogi vessel’s grappling ram, near its root. It was the same leg that had been damaged by one of the Probe’s early catapult shots. In its entirety, the impetus of both massive vessels had been concentrated on that single spot. No matter how strong the material that made up the grappling ram, a single leg could only be so thick, and its structure was already seriously damaged. The iron-ribbed crystal had fractured, and the entire leg had been torn away from the vessel.
The massive black bulk of the deathspider slipped by, directly above the deck of the hammership. With a splintering of wood, the top one-third of the mainmast – and the crow’s nest, thankfully empty – was carried away. Teldin’s eardrums popped with a change in air pressure, and his balance swam as giddily as it had when the pirate wasp passed near the gnomish longboat.
Teldin looked over the turret rail to the forecastle deck. Vallus Leafbower had somehow kept his feet and was weaving intricate patterns in the air before him with delicate fingers. Although the elf was speaking for himself alone, the fluid syllables of the spell he was constructing easily carried through the sounds of chaos. Teldin could feel the power the elf mage was wielding; the hair on the backs of his hands stirred, and the air on the forecastle had the biting odor of a thunderstorm.
The incantation reached its climax, and the elf thrust a rigid finger out toward the underside of the deathspider. A beam of harsh green light lashed out from his fingertip and struck the deathspider in the middle of the thin “neck” connecting the head with the abdomen. Where the beam struck, the crystal of the hull exploded into dust. The dull red light within the spidership shone out through a ragged-edged hole in the hull. The great black ship groaned, as though in torment.
“Down a-port!�
� Aelfred yelled again. There was no response; the Probe’s course didn’t change. “Down a-port!” the first mate repeated. “What the hell’s going on …?”
The mind flayer’s mental voice cut him off. The helm is down. Vila, is unconscious.
Aelfred’s answer was a warrior’s curse.
Vallus faced the first mate calmly. “Shall I …?”
“No!” Aelfred fought his anger under control again. “No,” he repeated, more calmly. “We’ll need you on deck before long.” He thought for a moment, then smiled. “Get that gnome – Saliman, is that his name? Get him on the helm, then get back up here fast, got it?”
The elf nodded his understanding and ran for the ladder to the main deck. Aelfred looked up at the deathspider, still passing by above his head. His expression was grim.
Well it should be, Teldin realized. Liono had counseled against getting into the spidership’s rear arc, and that’s just where they were going to end up. There was nothing they could do about it, until the gnomish cleric took the helm and got the hammership under control.
The deathspider was almost past. “Take cover!” Aelfred roared.
Teldin looked around him. There was little enough cover here in the turret. He felt a tug on his arm. It was Dana. “Down here,” she urged, pointing to the ruins of the ballista. It wasn’t much, but it was better than nothing. They crouched beneath the smashed weapon, taking what little shelter they could. Teldin glanced up.
The deathspider had passed. Through a gap in the underside of the abdomen he saw what looked like a series of small catapults. Figures moved around the weapons, silhouettes against the dim red light within the vessel. Most looked vaguely human, but some were misshapen figures out of nightmares. As one, the multiple catapults fired. Teldin forced his body backward, pressing himself as close to the ballista’s swivel mount as possible.
Not a moment too soon. There was a hiss, like sudden, heavy rain or hail, but this hail wasn’t frozen water. A momentary deluge of small projectiles lashed against the deck: pebbles, scraps of metal, iron spikes, even some things that looked like fragments of shattered bone.
The rain of missiles lasted for only an instant, then there was silence, then the screaming began, cries of agony from all over the vessel. Teldin looked over at Dana. She appeared unharmed, but the other ballista crewman had tried to hide against the forward wall of the turret and hadn’t been so lucky. His gray jerkin was already turning the color of burgundy, as he clutched uncomprehendingly at two jagged rips in his chest. His mouth worked silently as he turned pleading eyes on Teldin. A trickle of blood appeared at the corner of his mouth.
There’s nothing I can do. The words echoed inside Teldin’s mind. I know nothing of medicine. There’s nothing I can do for you. He wanted to shout it out loud, but his throat was tight with horror.
Dana squeezed his arm, almost painfully. “I’ll see what I can do,” she told him. “Others may need help elsewhere.”
He took a deep breath, forcing himself back under control, and nodded. He climbed from the turret to the forecastle deck.
The group of officers hadn’t fared badly, and injuries seemed minor. Aelfred had a deep cut on his brow and was forced to keep wiping blood from his eyes. Estriss oozed silvery-white plasma from half a dozen minor nicks, while Bubbo paid absolutely no attention to a gash in his right arm that would have incapacitated any other man.
Things were considerably worse elsewhere. Of the crew on the main deck, perhaps one quarter were down – either disabled or dead – and most of the rest were injured in one way or another.
Aelfred cursed viciously. “If they keep pounding us with that jettison, we’re dead.”
Liono shook his head. “I don’t think that’s their plan,” he said quietly.
All heads turned to observe the deathspider. The huge vessel had slowed down and was maneuvering. Ponderously but unmistakably, it was coming about. The stern, with its deadly jetsam – and, presumably, other heavy weapons – was swinging away. The three remaining legs of the grappling ram opened slowly.
“They’re coming back to grapple,” Aelfred muttered. “Why? Until the helm’s up again, we’re helpless. They can pound us to space dust.”
Liono shrugged. “Slave hunt?” he proposed. “Or maybe they think we’ll get away if they don’t take us now.”
Vallus reappeared up the ladder from the main deck. As always, the elf looked totally unruffled.
“Is the gnome on the helm?” Aelfred asked him.
“He’s on it, but it will take time for him to gain control of it.” The elf smiled gently. “He claims it’s different from – and inferior to – the gnomish helms he’s used to.”
“Damn. How long?”
Vallus shrugged. “Minutes.”
“Too long,” the warrior pronounced. The deathspider had completed its turn and was moving slowly back toward the Probe. The hammership was now broadside – on, presenting its starboard side to the neogi vessel. “Can we maneuver at all?” Nobody answered, and that was answer enough. “Stand by to repel boarders.”
The first mate’s quiet order was relayed throughout the ship. Crewmen who’d been on damage control duty below flooded out onto the decks. Everywhere around him Teldin saw men and women – those who could still move – readying their weapons, preparing to fight and perhaps die. For his own part, Teldin was surprised to feel very little fear. Oh, certainly his stomach churned sickly, and he felt pricks of cold sweat on his brow, but now that the doubt and the waiting was coming to an end, now that battle was certain, he felt none of the incapacitating terror he’d expected at facing neogi again. He’d do what he could; what more could be expected of any man?
Can we take them? Teldin felt the words in his mind, but he knew Estriss had directed the question at Aelfred.
The burly warrior shrugged. “It’ll be close,” he said. “Neogi ships are manned by slaves, and slaves never fight as well as a free crew. If it looks like the monsters are on the losing end, some of the slaves will probably turn on them. Even without that …” His practiced eyes flicked about, coolly evaluating the tactical situation. “When they grapple, they’ve got to come over the bow. That’s narrow, less than thirty feet, which means they can’t send too many at once. We can pack everyone along the starboard rail and kill’em as they try to come aboard. If we’re lucky …” He paused, then turned to Vallus. “Have you got anything left that can get us out of the ram?”
The mage nodded. “I have another disintegrate spell.”
“When the gnome’s got the helm up, use it,” Aelfred told him. “Until then, do whatever you can do to make trouble for them. And keep an eye on their forward ballistae. If they’ve got someone with brains commanding the crews, they’ll be trying to take out anyone throwing spells.”
Vallus nodded again. “Leave it to me,” he said calmly.
The deathspider loomed closer, the three remaining legs of the grappling ram beginning to close. Teldin could see the weapons deck in the upper arc of the ship’s abdomen. There was a milling crowd there, packed around the twin ballistae, at least fifty strong. The vast majority were human, but here and there massive, misshapen figures loomed above the pack. Teldin recognized them as umber hulks and knew just how dangerous they were. Some bowmen among the Probe’s crew were already firing arrows into the massed enemy, trying to thin out their numbers before the fighting began in earnest. Surprisingly, no missiles had yet struck the hammership.
Twenty yards. The deathspider’s three remaining grappling legs already extended past the Probe – two above, one below. Crewmen were casting fearful glances at the thin but strong shafts that hung over their heads. To Teldin it looked as though the hammership were already in their grasp. There seemed no way that the vessel could escape, no matter what Vallus thought to the contrary.
Fifty yards. Teldin could see through the central port of the deathspider’s head, into the red-lit interior of the great ship’s bridge. Silhouettes moved against the light, repu
lsive shapes that brought back horrible memories from the past weeks. The vessel’s neogi masters were watching the final moments of the hammership’s capture. Fifteen yards.
With a grinding crash, the Probe’s hull struck against the lower of the three grappling legs. Even with the slow rate of approach, the impact was severe, and Teldin kept his feet only with difficulty. The upper two legs started to move, to lower. They moved slowly but inexorably. With a rending of wood, one crushed the starboard rail just aft of the cargo hatch. The second struck the Probe five feet aft of the stern turret. The aftmost fin on the starboard side crumpled as though it were made of paper and balsa wood. The movement of the legs stopped. They seemed unable to exert enough pressure to crush, or even seriously damage, the hammership’s reinforced hull, but they served their purpose nonetheless. The Probe was immobilized.
Sylvie hurried up the ladder from the main deck to join the other officers on the forecastle. Aelfred shot her an angry look. “Your station’s below,” he snapped.
The slender woman shrugged. “I don’t think navigation’s much of an issue at the moment,” she said dryly. “I can be more use up here.”
Aelfred hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Go to it,” he told them.
Sylvie flashed him one of her momentary smiles. “I intend to.” She drew a tiny object from the pouch on her belt. To Teldin it looked like a flat crystal of glasslike material. She then pulled out what looked like a small piece of animal fur. Mumbling fluid syllables under her breath, she rubbed the two gently together. Again Teldin felt the power she wielded grow in the air around her. She hissed the final words of the incantation through clenched teeth. Unlike Vallus’s spell, there was no pyrotechnic display. Instead, the spidership’s central bow port burst asunder, sending shards of crystal flying in all directions. Teldin heard inhuman shrieks of pain and alarm from within the enemy ship’s bridge, and he felt his lips draw back from his teeth in a feral grin. “Hurt them!” he heard his own voice scream.
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