Hawkmoon's next thrust was to the heart, to put Ganak out of further misery. The point of the blade bit through flesh, scraped against bone, and the life was gone from Ganak.
But now the other sailors had forced D'Averc back and he was surrounded, hacking about him with the cutlass. Hawkmoon left the corpse of Ganak and leapt forward, taking one in the throat and another under the ribs before they were aware of his presence.
Back to back now, Hawkmoon and D'Averc held off the sailors, but it seemed they must soon expire for more were running to join their comrades.
Soon the poop was heaped with corpses and Hawkmoon and D'Averc were covered with cuts from a dozen blades, their bodies all bloody. Still they fought.
Hawkmoon caught a glimpse of the Lord Valjon standing by the mainmast watching from out of his deepset eyes, staring fixedly at him as if he wished to have a clear impression of his face for the rest of his life if need be.
Hawkmoon shuddered, then returned his full attention to the attacking seamen. The flat of a cutlass caught him a blow on the head and he reeled against D'Averc, sending his friend off-balance. Together they collapsed to the deck, struggled to rise up, still fighting. Hawkmoon took one man in the stomach, struck another's lowering face with his fist, heaved himself to his knees.
Then suddenly the sailors stepped back, their eyes fixed to port. Hawkmoon sprang up, D'Averc with him.
The sailors were watching in concern as a new ship came swimming from the cove, its white, schooner-rigged sails billowing with the fresh breeze from the south, its rich black and deep blue paint, trimmed with gold, all agleaming in the early morning sunshine, its sides lined with armed men.
"A rival pirate, no doubt," D'Averc said, and used his advantage to cut down the nearest sailor and run for the rail of the poop. Hawkmoon followed his example and, with backs pressed against the rail they fought on, though half their enemies were running down the companionway to present themselves to Lord Valjon for his orders.
A voice called across the water, but it was too far away for the words to be clear.
Somehow in the confusion, Hawkmoon heard Valjon's deep, world-weary voice speak a single word, a word containing much loathing.
The word was "Bewchard!"
Then the sailors were upon them again and Hawkmoon felt a cutlass nick his face, turned blazing eyes on his attacker and thrust out his sword to catch him through the mouth, driving the sharp blade upwards for the brain, hearing the man scream a long, horrible scream as he died.
Hawkmoon felt no mercy, yanked his sword back and stabbed another in the heart.
And thus they fought, while the black and midnight blue schooner sailed closer and closer.
For a moment, Hawkmoon wondered if the 'ship would be friend or foe. Then there was no more time for wondering as the vengeful sailors pressed in, their heavy cutlasses rising and falling.
Chapter Five - PAHL BEWCHARD
As THE BLACK and blue ship crashed alongside, Hawkmoon heard Valjon's voice calling.
"Forget the slaves! Forget them! Stand by to hold off Bewchard's dogs!"
The remaining sailors backed warily away from the panting Hawkmoon and D'Averc. Hawkmoon made a thrust at them that sent them away faster, but he had not the energy to pursue them for the moment.
They watched as sailors, all dressed in jerkins and hose that matched the paint of the ship, came sailing on ropes to land on the deck of the River Wind. They were armed with heavy war-axes and sabres and fought with a precision that the pirates could not imitate, though they did their best to rally.
Hawkmoon looked for Lord Valjon, but he had disappeared—probably below decks.
He turned to D'Averc. "Well, we've done our share of blood-letting this day, my friend. What say you to a less lethal action—we could free the poor wretches at the oars!" And with that he leapt the poop rail to land on the catwalk and lean down to slash the knotted ropes binding the slaves to their oars.
They looked up in surprise, not realising, most of them, what Hawkmoon and D'Averc were doing for them.
"You're free," Hawkmoon told them.
"Free," D'Averc repeated. "Take our advice and leave the ship while you can, for there's no knowing how the battle will go."
The slaves stood up, stretching their aching limbs, and then, one by one, they hauled themselves to the side of the ship and began to slide into the water.
D'Averc watched them go with a grin.
"A shame we can't help those on the other side," he said.
"Why not?" asked Hawkmoon indicating a hatch let into the side under the catwalk. "If I'm not mistaken, this leads under the deck."
He put his back to the side of the ship and kicked at the hatch. Several kicks and it sprang open. They entered the darkness and crept under the boards, hearing the sounds of fighting immediately above them.
D'Averc paused, slicing open a bundle with his much-blunted blade. Jewels poured out of the bundle.
"Their loot," he said.
"No time for that now," Hawkmoon warned, but D'Averc was grinning.
"I didn't plan to keep it," he told his friend, "but I'd hate Valjon to escape with it if the fight goes well for him. Look . . ." and he indicated a large circular object set into the bottom of the hold. "If I'm not mistaken, this will let a little of the river into the ship!"
Hawkmoon nodded. "While you work on that, I'll make haste to free the slaves."
He left D'Averc to his task and reached the far hatch, stripping out the pegs holding it in position.
The hatch burst inwards, bringing two struggling men with it. One wore the uniform of the attacking ship, the other was a pirate. With a quick movement, Hawkmoon despatched the pirate. The uniformed man looked at him in surprise. "You're one of the men we saw fighting on the poop deck!"
Hawkmoon nodded. "What's your ship?"
"It's Bewchard's ship," replied the man wiping his forehead, he spoke as if the name were sufficient ex-planation.
"And who is Bewchard?"
The uniformed man laughed. "Why, he's Valjon's sworn enemy, if that's what you need to know. He saw you fighting. He was impressed by your swordsmanship."
"So he should have been," grinned Hawkmoon, "for I fought my best today. And why not? I was fighting for my life!"
"That often makes excellent swordsmen of us all," agreed the man. "I'm Culard—and your friend if you're Valjon's foe."
"Best warn your comrades, then," said Hawkmoon.
"We're sinking the ship—look." He pointed through the dimness to where D'Averc was wrestling with the circular bung.
Culard nodded swiftly and ducked out into the slave pit again. "I'll see you after this is over, friend," he called as he left. "If we live!"
Hawkmoon followed him, creeping along the aisle to cut the slaves' bonds.
Above him the men of Bewchard's ship seemed to be driving Valjon's pirates back. Hawkmoon felt the ship move suddenly, saw D'Averc come hastily out of the hatch.
"I think we'd best make for the shore," said the Frenchman with a smile, jerking his "thumb at the slaves who were disappearing over the side. "Follow our friends' example."
Hawkmoon nodded. "I've warned Bewchard's men of what's happening. We've repaid Valjon now, I think."
He tucked Valjon's sword under his arm. "I'll try not to lose this blade—it's the finest I've ever used. Such a blade would make an outstanding swordsman of anyone!"
He clambered up to the side and saw that Bewchard's men had driven the pirate sailors back to the other side of the ship but were now withdrawing.
Culard had evidently spread the news.
Water was bubbling through the hatch. The ship would not last long afloat. Hawkmoon turned and looked back. There was barely space between the ships to swim. The best method of escape would be to cross the deck of Bewchard's schooner.
He informed D'Averc of his plan. His friend nodded and they poised themselves on the rail, leaping out to land on the deck of the other ship.
Th
ere were no rowers present and Hawkmoon realized that Bewchard's oarsmen must be free men, part of the fighting complement of the ship. This, it seemed to him, was a more sensible scheme—less waste-ful than the use of slaves. It also gave him cause to pause and, as he paused, a voice called from the River Wind.
"Hey, my friend. You with the black gem in your forehead. Have you plans for scuttling my ship, too?"
Hawkmoon turned and saw a good looking young man, dressed all in black leather with a high-collared bloodstained blue cloak thrown back from his shoulders, a sword in one hand and an axe in the other, raising his sword to him from the rail of the doomed galley.
"We're on our way," called Hawkmoon. "Your ship's safe from us ..."
"Stay a moment!" The black-clad man leapt up and balanced himself on the River Wind's rail. "I'd like to thank you for doing half our work for us."
Reluctantly Hawkmoon waited until the man had leapt back to his own ship and approached them along the deck.
"I'm Pahl Bewchard and the ship's mine," he said.
"I've waited many weeks to catch the River Wind—might not have done so, had you not taken on the best part of the crew and given me tune to sneak out of the cove..."
"Aye," said Hawkmoon. "Well, I want no further part in a quarrel between pirates ..."
"You do me a disservice sir," Bewchard replied easily. "For I'm sworn to rid the river of the Pirate Lords of Starvel. I am their fiercest enemy."
Bewchard's men were swarming back into their own ship, cutting loose the mooring ropes as they came.
The River Wind swung round in the current, her stern now below the water-line. Some of the pirates leapt overboard, but there was no sign of Valjon.
"Where did their leader escape to!" D'Averc asked, studying the ship.
"He's like a rat," Bewchard answered. "Doubtless he slipped away as soon as it was plain the day was lost for him. You have helped me greatly, gentlemen, for Valjon is the worst of the pirates. I am grateful."
And D'Averc, never at a loss where courtesy and his own interests were concerned, replied, "And we are grateful to you, Captain Bewchard—for arriving when things were lost for us. The debt is settled." He smiled pleasantly.
Bewchard inclined his head. "Thank you. However, if I may make a somewhat direct statement, you seem in need of something to aid your recovery. Both of you are wounded, your clothes are plainly not what you, as gentlemen, would normally choose to wear ... I mean, in short, that I would be honoured if you would accept the hospitality of my ship's galley, such as it is, and the hospitality of my mansion when we dock."
Hawkmoon frowned thoughtfully. He had taken a liking to the young captain. "And where do you plan to dock, sir?"
"In Narleen," replied Bewchard. "Where I live."
"We were, in fact, travelling to Narleen before we were trapped by Valjon," Hawkmoon began.
"Then you must certainly travel with me. If I can be of assistance ..."
"Thank you, Captain Bewchard," Hawkmoon said.
"We should appreciate your aid in reaching Narleen.
And perhaps on the way you would be able to supply us with some information which we lack."
"Willingly." Bewchard gestured toward a door set beneath the poop deck. "My cabin is this way, gentlemen."
Chapter Six - NARLEEN
THROUGH THE PORTHOLES of Captain Bewchard's cabin, they saw the spray fly as the ship flung itself downriver under full sail.
"If we should meet a couple of pirates," Bewchard told them, "we should have little chance. That is why we make such speed."
The cook brought in the last of the dishes and laid it before them. There were several kinds of meat, fish and vegetables, fruit and wine. Hawkmoon ate as sparingly as possible, unable to resist at least a sample of everything on the table, but aware that his stomach might not yet be ready for such rich food.
"This is a celebration meal," Bewchard told them cheerfully, "for I have been hunting Valjon for months."
"Who is Valjon?" Hawkmoon asked between munches. "He seems a strange individual."
"Unlike any pirate I ever imagined," D'Averc put in.
"He is a pirate by tradition," Bewchard told them.
"His ancestors have always been pirates, preying on the river traffic for centuries. For a long time the merchants paid huge taxes to the Lords of Starvel, but some years ago they began to resist and Valjon retaliated. Then a group of us decided to build fighting ships, like the pirates', and attack them on the water.
I command such a ship. A merchant by trade, I have turned to more military pursuits until Narleen is free of Valjon and his like."
"And how are you faring?" asked Hawkmoon.
"It is hard to say. Valjon and the other Lords are still impregnable in their walled city—Starvel is a city within a city, within Narleen—and so far we have only been able to curb their piracy a little. As yet there has been no major test of strength for either side."
"You say Valjon is a pirate by tradition . . ." D'Averc began.
"Aye, his ancestors came to Narleen many hundreds of years ago. They were powerful and we were relatively weak. Legend says that Valjon's ancestor, Batach Gerandiun, had sorcery to aid him. They built the wall around Starvel, the quarter of the city they took for themselves, and have been there ever since."
"And how does Valjon answer you when you attack his ships as we saw today?" Hawkmoon took a long draft of wine.
"He retaliates with every possible means, but we are beginning to make them warier of venturing onto the river these days. There is still much to do. I would slay Valjon if I could. That would break the power of the whole pirate community, I am sure, but he always escapes. He has an instinct for danger—is always able to avoid it even before it threatens."
"I wish you luck in finding him," Hawkmoon said.
"Captain Bewchard, know you anything of a blade called 'The Sword of the Dawn'—we were told that we should find it in Narleen?"
Bewchard looked surprised. "Aye, I've heard of it.
It is connected with the legend I told you of—concerning Valjon's ancestor Batach Gerandiun. Batach's sorcerous power was said to be contained in the blade.
Batach has become a god since—the pirates have deified him and worship him at their temple which is named after him—the Temple of Batach Gerandiun.
They are a superstitious breed, those pirates. Their minds and manners are often unfathomable to the practical merchant kind, like myself."
"And where is the blade?" D'Averc asked.
"Why, it is the sword the pirates worship in the Temple. It represents their power to them, as well as Batach's. Do you seek to make the blade your own, then, gentlemen?"
"I do not . . ." began Hawkmoon, but D'Averc interrupted smoothly.
"We do, captain. We have a relative—a very wise scholar from the north—who heard of the blade and wished to inspect it. He sent us here to see if it could be bought..."
Bewchard laughed heartily. "It could be bought, my friends,—with the blood of half a million fighting men. The pirates would fight to the last man to defend The Sword of the Dawn. They value it above all other things."
Hawkmoon felt his spirits sink. Had the dying Mygan sent them on an impossible quest?
"Ah, well." D'Averc shrugged philosophically.
"Then we must hope that you eventually defeat Valjon and the others and put their property up for auction."
Bewchard smiled. "That day will not come in my life-time. It will take many years before Valjon is finally defeated." He rose from his table. "Excuse me for a few moments, I must see how things are on deck."
He left the cabin with a brief, courteous bow.
When he had gone Hawkmoon frowned. "What now, D'Averc? We are stranded in this strange land, unable to get that which we sought." He took Mygan's rings from his pouch and jingled them on the palm of his hand. There were eleven there now, for he and D'Averc had taken their own off. "We are lucky to have these still. Perhaps we should use them—le
ap at random into the dimensions in the hope of finding a way back to our Kamarg?"
D'Averc snorted. "We might find ourselves suddenly at King Huon's court, or in peril of our lives from some monster. I say we go to Narleen and spend some time there—see just how difficult it will be to obtain the pirate sword." He took something from his own pouch.
"Until you spoke I had forgotten that I possessed this little thing." He held it up. It was the charge from one of the guns used in the city of Halapandur.
"And what significance has that, D'Averc?" Hawkmoon asked.
"As I told you, Hawkmoon—it could prove useful to us."
"Without a gun?"
"Without a gun," nodded D'Averc.
As the Frenchman replaced the charge in his pouch Pahl Bewchard came back through the door. He was smiling.
"Less than an hour, my friends—and we shall be berthing in Narleen," he told them. "I think you will like our city." Then he added with a grin: "At least, that part which is not inhabited by the Pirate Lords."
Hawkmoon and D'Averc stood on the deck of Bewchard's ship and watched as it was skillfully brought into harbor. The sun was hot in a clear, blue sky, making the city shine. The buildings were for the most part quite low, rarely more than four stories, but they were richly decorated with rococo designs that seemed very old. All the colours were muted, weathered, but none-theless still clear. Much wood was used in the construction of the houses—pillars, balconies and frontages were all of carved wood—but some had painted metal railings and even doors.
The quayside was crowded with crates and bales which were being loaded or unloaded onto the myriad ships crowding the harbor. Men worked with derricks to swing them into hatches or onto the quays, hauled them along gangplanks, sweating in the heat of the day, stripped to the waist.
Everywhere was noise and bustle which Bewchard seemed to relish as he escorted Hawkmoon and D'Averc down the gangplank of his schooner and through the crowd which had begun to gather.
Bewchard was greeted on all sides.
"How did you fare, captain?"
"Did you find Valjon?"
"Have you lost many men?"
The History of the Runestaff Page 42