Empire Of Blood rb-23

by Джеффри Лорд

  A day finally came when the galleys returned to harbor and the slaves were unchained and led up to the barracks. The Emperor was coming to Garis, or so the rumors said. All the galleys would be cleaned for his inspection. When he had finished the inspection, the fleet would at last sail in search of the pirates of Nongai.

  The next morning the slaves were marched back aboard their galleys and once more chained in place. The benches now smelled of salt, soap, and the ashes of things burned to kill the odors of human filth. On some of the benches oil and paint still glistened wetly and stuck to the skins of the slaves as they took their positions.

  The excitement among the soldiers and sailors was so thick Blade could almost see it hanging over the harbor like a fog. The slaves were more silent than usual, but otherwise seemed indifferent. A visit from the Emperor was just another part of a fate most of them no longer hoped to change. They would row as well as they had to, live as long as they could, and die when they must.

  An hour after dawn the galleys cast off and rowed out of the harbor. A mile offshore they formed a long line, then dropped anchor. When the last galley took her place, the line stretched for nearly four miles down the coast.

  The day wore on, the breeze dropped, and the sun began to strike down uncomfortably, even on Blade’s tough and tanned skin. It was well after noon when a distant murmur of many people on the move drifted out from shore. Then the faint but unmistakable sound of trumpets and drums joined in.

  The sailors and soldiers all had their weapons and gear polished until it gleamed, and they wore their cleanest clothes. Orders began crackling up and down Kukon’s deck. The sailors and slavemasters lined up on either side of the guns at bow and stern. The officers assembled in a cluster amidships.

  The sound of drums beating out a slow rowing stroke grew louder. From the galley off to port three trumpets sounded three long notes apiece, and a cannon went off with a great thudding roar. Someone was shouting words that Blade could not quite catch.

  The drumbeat grew louder. Blade saw a stir on Kukon’s foc’sle as the men there took off their hats and bowed their heads. Then the bo’sun’s voice roared out, audible from one end of the galley to the other.

  «Slaves of Kukon-rise and look upon the Emperor’s justice. Look upon it and learn obedience!»

  Chains rattled, benches creaked, and calloused bare feet scuffed and scraped on planks as three hundred slaves lurched raggedly to their feet and turned to look where the bo’sun was pointing. The sound drowned out the blast of trumpets from forward and nearly obliterated the boom of the great gun. A cloud of greasy, gray-white powder smoke blew back along the galley’s deck, sweeping over Blade and making his eyes water for a moment. When they cleared, he could see clearly what the bo’sun meant by «the Emperor’s justice.»

  A gorgeously decorated barge with twelve oars on each side was passing along the line of galleys. It flew the Imperial banner-black eagle on a red field-from a gilded and carved mast amidships. Under a black and silver canopy on the stern sat the unmistakable squat figure of His Magnificence Kul-Nam. He wore gilded armor from head to toe, and the scabbard of the sword resting across his knees glowed with jewels.

  Behind the Imperial barge moved half a dozen smaller vessels, all flying the banners of various noble houses. Blade saw one flying the banner of the House of Kudai.

  Then a man’s ghastly scream made Blade start and drew his eyes to another part of the passing show. The Emperor’s barge was pushing ahead of it another, smaller barge, undecorated, oarless, painted dull red. On its deck stood eight sharpened stakes. Chained beside seven of the stakes were naked men. At the bow stood six more huge men, apparently eunuchs, naked except for black loincloths and long swords.

  On top of the eighth stake a man writhed and twisted, his face contorted in appalling agony, his mouth opening and closing frantically like that of a dying fish. His eyes were bulging out of his head, staring but sightless.

  The scream was still sounding in Blade’s ears when the six eunuchs moved. They passed the dying man on the first stake and stopped by the man chained to the second. Six pairs of huge hands gripped the man, raised him high in the air in spite of his struggles, poised him over the point of the stake, then slammed him down on it.

  The man screamed, drowning out the trumpets and the cannon on the next galley in the line beyond Kukon. He went on screaming, writhing from side to side in futile efforts to ease his pain.

  Suddenly Blade felt a cold prickling at the back of his neck. He recognized the man impaled on the second stake, in spite of the agony distorting his features. It was Tzimon, Duke Boros’ other fighting man, whom he’d fought and defeated that night in the woods.

  Tzimon must have been one of the fifty fighting men the House of Kudai had given up to the Emperor’s service, which in itself was not particularly surprising or sinister. It was much more sinister that Tzimon had been picked out of thousands of soldiers in the Emperor’s service to be among the eight men used for this ghastly demonstration of «justice.» Doubtless, the Emperor had done it deliberately, to remind a watching Duke Boros that the House of Kudai was not in the Imperial favor at the moment.

  The barges were moving out of Blade’s line of sight now. Tzimon was still screaming. Blade recalled a book he’d read once, in which impalement was called «one of the most savage and gruesome methods of execution ever devised by human ingenuity.»

  After today’s spectacle, Blade had to agree.

  Blade looked toward the place where Dzhai stood on the port gangway, as straight as one of the masts. His good arm held his axe over one shoulder. Blade knew he was risking attracting at least the attention and the whip of one of the slavemasters, but he felt he had to see how Dzhai was taking the spectacle of his former comrade’s ghastly death.

  Luck drew Blade’s eyes to Dzhai at the exact moment when Dzhai swung his own gaze inboard. The two men’s eyes met. Dzhai’s face did not change, but he swung the axe off his shoulder for a moment, letting the head thump on the deck. The motion was so swift that the bo’sun had no chance even to notice it, let alone yell at Dzhai for breaking formation.

  Blade also kept his face expressionless, but he clasped both hands together and shook them up and down in front of his chest. It was as open a gesture as he dared make, and he hoped it would be clear and unmistakable to Dzhai.

  Blade felt more relief than he’d expected to feel for some time. He and Dzhai were not just aboard the same galley now. Each had recognized the other. Each knew the other was an ally and a friend. With luck, something might come of this.

  Blade found himself beginning to smile, in spite of the sound of Tzimon’s screams fading away in the distance.

  Chapter 12

  The fleet set sail the next morning with fifty galleys and twenty heavily laden sailing vessels. Blade wondered why the sailing ships were accompanying the fleet, since their dependence on the wind was likely to slow it down.

  As the fleet worked its way north along the coast of Saram, Blade grasped the answer to that question. The sailing ships carried extra water and food to transfer to the galleys at sea. That meant the galleys with their enormous crews could stay at sea for weeks at a time, rather than days. The short range of galleys had always been a problem in Home Dimension naval history. In fact, it had been one reason why they had slowly given way to the sailing ship, slower and more dependent on the winds, but carrying a smaller crew and far more food and water.

  A close look at the sailing ships told Blade of another good reason for their presence with the Imperial fleet. From stem to stern they bristled with guns, and their decks swarmed with armored soldiers of the Corps of Eunuchs.

  Again Blade remembered Home Dimension naval history. Another reason for the galley’s decline as a warship had been its lack of fighting power compared with the sailing ship. A sailing ship might not be able to escape a galley in a calm sea, but it could carry more and heavier guns and carry them higher above the water, with far more ammunitio
n. Kukon and her sisters carried six or eight guns apiece. The sailing ships carried twenty or thirty on each side.

  True, galleys could close in and ram. But galleys were lightly built, compared to sailing ships. They had to be, or they could never be rowed easily. A galley closing in to ram could be smashed to pieces by heavy cannonballs before she reached her goal. Even then, the heavier timbers of a sailing ship’s hull meant she could shrug off a ram blow that would send a galley straight to the bottom.

  So it did not always matter if a sailing ship were caught in a calm by a galley, or even by a fleet of galleys. With good guns and good men behind them, she could stand off the whole fleet and then go on her way when the wind rose. The sailing ships were not only a floating supply base for the galleys. They were also a solid support for them in battle.

  The fleet worked its way slowly northward, both sailing ships and galleys relying on the wind. This gave the galley slaves a comparatively easy time, apart from the dampness and chill of the nights and the broiling sun by day. A few of the newer slaves were painfully sunburned, until their backs, necks, and arms were red, peeling messes. One man came down with a congestion of the lungs and was thrown overboard, to be quickly taken by the sharks. Otherwise, Kukon’s slaves had as much peace, quiet, and rest as galley slaves at sea could expect.

  Blade had no illusions that this voyage under sail was intended to make things easy for the slaves. It only kept the fleet together and saved the strength of the slaves for the days when it would be badly needed-that was all. When the time came to pursue the pirates, the whips would be cracking and the drums beating harder than ever.

  For three days the fleet sailed north past a coast of rugged mountains with small fishing villages nestled in lonely coves. Here the mountains that formed the northern boundary of the Empire came down to the sea. Not far inland, Blade could see summits rising three and four miles toward the blue sky, crowned with snow even though summer was approaching.

  Blade noticed that the fishing boats from the villages scuttled frantically for shore as the Imperial fleet came in sight. They had good reason for this. Blade saw one galley swing out of formation and chase down a fishing boat. The five fishermen were snatched from their own deck and vanished aboard the galley, no doubt to start a grim life at her oars.

  North of the mountains the coast leveled out into a series of low, barren headlands, with occasional clumps of stunted trees. Here was a land held by no ruler’s hand, and by few people of any sort. It was said that it was part of a great plain that reached all the way around the world and joined the Steppes.

  One morning the fleet swung in toward shore and anchored. Blade saw Dzhai looking toward the gray, rocky headland that was nearest with a longing expression on his face. Dzhai was in theory a free sailor, but he was aboard Kukon as much against his will as any slave at her oars. He was also chained to the ship just as thoroughly as they were, by the maimed arm that would make swimming nearly impossible. Blade felt slightly guilty about that arm. At the same time, he could not help feeling slightly relieved that Dzhai would be staying aboard, not throwing his life away in a probably futile attempt to escape to the dubious safety of this nearly lifeless country.

  Hundreds of sailors in scores of boats rowed ashore from both the galleys and the sailing ships. They carried with them empty barrels and brought them back filled with water from inland streams. Other sailors went out with nets and lines, bringing up a rich catch of fish. These were split, gutted, dried in the sun, and salted down in more barrels.

  The fleet swung around its anchors in the windless, broiling hot bay for three days. About noon on the fourth day it weighed anchor and put to sea again. This time the rams of the galleys and the bowsprits of the sailing ships turned almost due east.

  Blade did some calculations based on his mental map of the Silver Sea. The fleet’s present course would take it well to the south of the Strait of Nongai. The idea seemed to be to keep out of sight of the strait and its islands and out of reach of any strong pirate force until the fleet was well to the east of the pirates’ main bases. Then they would turn north, cutting in between the pirates and the mainland, and approach their bases from the rear.

  Blade went to sleep with the stars shining in the black sky overhead, the wind rippling in the sails, and the faint splash and gurgle of water alongside. He could not call himself happy until he was free again. But he had the feeling that those who for the moment had control of his fate knew their business. For the moment that would have to be enough.

  The feeling didn’t last more than five minutes after Blade awoke the next morning. He sat up, rubbed the sleep from his eyes and the crusted salt from his face, and looked around. The ship was still under sail, and around him the other slaves were awakening one by one. Beyond-That was when Blade sat up with a jerk and stared at the sea all around Kukon. At sunset there had been galleys in view almost everywhere and a solid mass of sailing ships bringing up the rear. Now the sea seemed as empty as if a storm had swept it clear. Blade counted the galleys in sight, got up to seven, searched for more until his eyes watered from the sunlight on the sea, and realized that he wasn’t going to find any. There was not a single sailing ship in sight either.

  «We’ve lost the fleet,» he muttered, more than half to himself.

  The lead man on the oar two benches forward turned back to look at Blade, then shook his head. «Nuh. Sukar did it, arter all.»

  Blade looked around to see if any of the slavemasters were within earshot before asking, «Who’s Sukar?»

  The man jerked a thumb toward the lead galley. «Man w’ t’ pennant. Sayin’, he want ter lead his ships orf ‘lone, sprize pirates, do tall hisself. Want gold hisself, nob’dy t’ share it.»

  Blade nodded. «Why no sailing ships?»

  «Slow,» the man said. «No sprize w’ them.»

  «Why-?» began Blade, then noticed a slavemaster turning and looking toward him. He and the other slave both tried to look as innocent and occupied with their own affairs as they could. The other man started combing his fingers through his long, gray beard, as if searching for vermin. The slavemaster glowered at both of them, then turned away without bringing down his whip.

  Blade considered what the other man had said, mentally translating his brief, crude words. What they added up to was this: Sukar was the admiral commanding the galley squadron to which Kukon belonged. Apparently, he had conceived a plan to take his squadron away from the main fleet and sneak up on the pirates, completely surprising them and winning a decisive victory all by himself.

  So far so good. Blade had already guessed this would be the fleet’s strategy. But he’d assumed the whole fleet would be making the attack. Instead, Admiral Sukar was dashing off with only seven galleys and no sailing ships. He hoped to win the victory all by himself, without having to share the gold or glory with anyone else in the fleet.

  That made no sense at all. The pirates could send to sea ten times as many galleys and fighting men as Sukar had. If the admiral managed complete surprise, he still might not have the strength to win. If he lost surprise-if the pirates had ships or men on watch over the channels through the islands-he was sailing into a massacre. If he didn’t lose every man and ship in his squadron, it would be a piece of good fortune he didn’t deserve.

  How had Sukar gotten permission to do such a foolish thing? Blade thought he could guess. Sukar would be someone with influence at Kul-Nam’s court, or the son or brother of someone influential. Blade had heard enough to suggest that a good number of naval and military posts now went to such men. The Empire’s fighting men were still well led, by and large-but there were already far too many exceptions to this rule, and more every day. It was just bad luck for Blade that he’d happened to end up in the squadron of one of these court pimps!

  Blade did not consider doubting the bearded man’s words. He did not know the man’s name. No one aboard Kukon did. But practically everyone knew his reputation. He was a man with no education-a laborer
or a fisherman, perhaps, before fate brought him to the galleys. He had rowed in the Imperial fleet for twenty years, which was in itself a fair-sized miracle. During that time he’d kept his eyes and ears open every waking minute and had learned much.

  There were advantages to being a slave, considered no better than an animal incapable of understanding or repeating what his masters said. After twenty years of listening, there was almost nothing in the Imperial fleet that was still a secret to the bearded man. If he said that Admiral Sukar was leading the squadron off on a wildgoose chase that might lead it to disaster, Admiral Sukar was doing just that.

  Blade swore to himself. He felt like swearing out loud. The feeling that those in command knew what they were doing was suddenly gone. In its place was the feeling of being dragged along by fools. He was as helpless as before-and in far greater danger.

  Chapter 13

  That afternoon the squadron swung onto a new course, toward the northeast, and the wind began to die. For the first time in two weeks the oars were broken out at sea and the rowers set to work. Fortunately, they only worked at the steady cruising stroke, rather than the back-breaking, lung-searing attack or ramming strokes.

  They rowed on through the rest of the day. As night fell they kept on, but with only half the oars in action and half the rowers at work. The other half sprawled on or under their benches and tried to sleep.

  Blade was in the half that remained on duty. He rowed on steadily as the last of the daylight faded from the sea. He found it easy by now to row without any use of his conscious mind. His body swayed, his arms strained, his oar dipped and rose and dipped again without his really being aware of any of it.

  Eventually the slavemasters called for a change in the rowers. Blade stretched out on the deck under the bench and made himself as comfortable as possible. The planks were filthy, they seemed as hard as iron, and they were full of splinters that Blade always had to pick out of his skin the next morning. But he’d slept on them for months now and was resigned to sleeping on them for quite a while longer. He fell asleep quickly, with the clunk of the oars, the rattle of chains, and the creak of the galley’s timbers sounding in his cars.