Darkness Weaves (7 page)

Kane spat into the sea. "Yeah, that's what you've told me on occasion. Though when you ever graced the halls of academe is still a puzzle--unless it was to stalk some sage whose ideas offended someone with wealth."

"I was one of the most promising students of the city--a rising young star, no less. I'd already begun to gather students about me--when one day I wondered whether they must be as bored with it all as I was..." Arbas sighed.

"In the tale's last retelling wasn't there a girl..."

"All that and more. My memoirs will someday fill a shelf. Stirring adventure, ribald wit, biting social commentary, ageless wisdom. If you'll cut the sarcasm, I might feel moved to devote a volume to our lurid association."

He fumbled with the instrument, nearly dropping it into the sea. "And if this damned ship would stop pitching, I might be able to hold this diabolical device on target long enough to focus it. Why don't they carve these lenses large enough to see something through them, anyway?

"Yeah, and I'll spend several pages telling how I carved my name in Imel's heart, for no payment other than the gratitude of my fellow man--and to the dismay of jewellers and tailors all over the Island Empire. Hey, I'm getting the hang of it now, I think. You get the object in view, then adjust the sections." "I think you'll find the Imperial aristocracy attach considerable importance to the refinements of dress," Kane pointed out. "Prestige is extremely important to them, and a man's appearance should reflect his wealth and rank--just as their elaborate court etiquette and code of conduct is a mark of breeding. They have made a fine art of snobbery, it seems. Imel probably feels the strain of his efforts to improve his station in their society, and we have been a trifle rough with him. Anyway, he fights well enough in a scramble--so watch him. Besides, we're allies for the moment, don't forget."

"Didn't know you were an authority on the customs and mores of the Thovnosian Empire," Arbas scoffed.

"Heads up! Here comes our man now," interjected Kane, changing the subject.

The Thovnosian's spirits had improved considerably once he had escaped the pressures of his mission to the mainland. Decent food and drink, a bath, and a long sleep had driven the harassed look from his features. To be treated with due respect by his men after a week of skulking undercover in the slums of Nostoblet had bolstered his self-image, and a change to finer garments had restored a swagger to his step. With highest gratification he had watched his body-slave commit his ragged costume to the sea. Now--bathed, massaged with scented oils, his face shaved clean, his long hair meticulously combed down to his shoulders--clothed in dark green silk hose and shirt, brown woolen jacket with silver tracery, soft leather knee boots--resplendent with four costly rings, gem-set cloak pin at his throat, jewel-pommeled dagger with silver-studded scabbard and belt--now he once again considered himself a whole man, and no relation to the sixth son of an impoverished and wine-besotted petty-gentry father, who had been driven from home years back.

He sauntered across the main deck and sprang up the stairs onto the high stern deck, where Kane and Arbas stood gazing across the sea. There was hard muscle beneath the silk, Arbas conceded. Although the slender Thovnosian renegade was maybe fifty pounds lighter than the broad-shouldered assassin, he was of equal height--and Arbas had seen that he could wield a blade with dangerous speed and skill. There was a deceptive frankness about his thin face--a boyishness contributed to by clean-shaven features and a hint of freckles under the tan.

Imel nodded greeting to Kane and raised a quizzical eyebrow to the seemingly preoccupied assassin. "Teaching our landlubber to use a telescope?" he queried. He had heard with profound regret that Arbas had shown no seasickness despite a reckless appetite.

Arbas bristled. He had been to sea for several short excursions and considered himself a bit of an old salt--if somewhat unfamiliar with a telescope.

"Arbas actually is an old hand with a glass," Kane offered smoothly. "He's fascinated with the precise powers of resolution your instrument demonstrates."

"Hmmm." Imel brushed back a windblown lock of brown hair. "I thought I saw him looking through it backward a moment ago."

"I was admiring the flawless workmanship," growled Arbas, fending for himself. Though expensive, telescopes were not a rarity. But when a man seldom needs to see farther than across an alley, such devices were uncommon--and Arbas had far more use for eyes that saw all about him, rather than at great distance.

Imel discreetly dropped the matter. He gestured toward the two sails that rose in the distance over their wake. "Still following us, are they?" he observed. "If I may borrow this."
He accepted the telescope and expertly trained it on first one, then the other of the pursuing vessels. Silently he watched them, lips pursed in concentration.

He handed the glass to Kane. "Well, as you have by now observed for yourself," he glanced blandly at Arbas, "both ships are indeed Combine vessels. That lets out our other vague conjecture that they might be curious pirates."

The sails had first been sighted late in the morning. Imel had arisen at the lookout's cry, but had not, deemed the matter of more pressing importance than his own grooming. The sails had persisted into the afternoon, and from idle speculation it had become quite certain that they were being pursued.

"The Lartroxians were always an obstinate people," mused Kane. "The claws of their vengeance reach farther than I had anticipated.

"They saw us escape by ship, and so knew that we must sail through the mouth of the Bay of Lartroxia. In the darkness we slipped past any patrol vessels that waited there, but they have other ships stationed along the coastal islands. At first light of day, they must have alerted all craft within range of their signal mirrors. Knowing our point of departure, they had only to plot an intercept course for all possible routes leading out of the Bay of Lartroxia. Simple enough," Kane concluded. "All things considered, it's a bit surprising that only two ships were able to pick up our wake."

"Not so surprising considering the general ineptitude of the Combine's navy," Imel remarked--displaying a deep-water sailor's scorn for those who seldom sailed out of sight of land.

"Still, two ships discovered us," Arbas pointed out. "And to my untutored eye it would seem that they're gaining."

Kane studied the ships in question carefully through the glass. "Gaining slowly, but closing on us nonetheless," he acknowledged. "The Combine has a few large vessels in their navy, after all, and we appear to have drawn two of their finest. They're biremes--with that long, slender hull some shipbuilders are experimenting with of late, trying to design an oared vessel that's as fast as a good craft under full sail. The trick is balancing keel enough for the sail without too much drag under oars. They're carrying more sail than a bireme should--see how high their masts stand. Works great until a strong wind turns them bottom up, which usually happens if the ballast and keel aren't altered just so."

He uneasily contemplated their own small ship. Imel had picked a blockade-runner, with an eye toward combining secrecy, speed, and fighting power--in order of descending importance. His choice was a lean racing hull that was built low to the waves and displayed all the sail her design could handle. She was also fitted with a single row of oars, which could be unshipped in a calm. The crew were picked fighting men, but of necessity few in number. The pursuing biremes had easily twice their size and strength.

"I think it will be unfortunate for us if it comes to an open battle," Kane went on. "And that seems rather likely. With the wind they're slowly gaining on us. Should the wind die, they have over three times our rowing speed, at a guess. Our only chance is to lose them both in the darkness--if we can hold our lead until after nightfall."

Imel's confidence seemed undimmed. "They can't overtake us before morning," he estimated coolly. "And whether we lose them in the night or not, before dawn we'll have reached the northernmost limits of the Sorn-Ellyn--assuming the wind holds. They won't follow us very far into the Sorn-Ellyn." "A questionable prediction, considering the Combine's well-demonstrated tenacity," Arbas commented sarcastically. "Besides which, from your lurid account I recall that the Sorn-Ellyn isn't a very lucky stretch of water to sail across. Perhaps your men would prefer to take their chances with the Combine's navy."

Imel smiled without rancour. "Efrel herself commanded me to sail across the Sorn-Ellyn. We did so unscathed on our voyage to Nostoblet; we shall do so again on our return. I have complete confidence in Efrel's wisdom in such matters. And I don't believe the Lartroxians will follow us across the Sorn-Ellyn."

Kane shrugged, having nothing more feasible to put forward as an alternative. Arbas still looked dubious.

"Perhaps, Arbas, you might care to make some sort of bet on this matter," Imel suggested suavely. "Say that prized dirk of yours against my jewelled dagger. A token bet, and I give you ridiculous odds--a blade of dubious origin against one set with gems of obvious value."

Arbas ran his finger along his long mustaches in thought, not wanting to permit the other to outface him. At length he shook his head. "No. No, I don't like that bet. To my way of thinking, a knife's worth lies in its blade and not in a garish hilt. I've seen pimps in Nostoblet who'd be embarrassed to wear that thing. But aside from that, it occurs to me that if I should win the bet, it is most unlikely that I'd live long enough to enjoy my prize."

"I hadn't thought you so cautious," chided Imel. "We shall see in the morning, though."

The remainder of the day passed uneventfully, with the Combine ships gaining enough on them by nightfall to discern with unaided eye their double-tiered oars. Still the wind held for them. The Pellinite blockade-runner sailed unerringly toward the ill-famed Sorn-Ellyn.

After darkness hid their pursuers from view, Kane sat up for several hours drinking wine and throwing dice with Arbas. Neither man gave full attention to the game, though, as their ears were strained to catch the first sounds of the biremes closing in on them in the night. Their craft ran without lights, a black arrow in the starless darkness. In the distance the lights of the biremes bobbed up through the mist now and again. They were on a converging course with the blockade-runner--and gaining.

The game at last broke up when Kane forgot what his previous point had been, and Arbas was at a loss to remember as well. Arbas stoically collected his small pile of winnings and left for his hammock. Kane was .in a dark mood and remained on deck with the wine. At length he lay aback on a mound of rigging and spare sail, and lapsed into a fitful sleep.

His dreams were troubled, but he slept on without ever quite returning to full consciousness. Then toward dawn he started suddenly from his dreams--uncertain what had been going through his mind, not knowing why he had awakened. There. His hand closed comfortably about his swordhilt. Again the sound. From far off in the night it came.

The creaking of timber? The shouting of men? He concentrated an the sound. No. It sounded more like the splintering of timber. Voices howled in terror. Sounds too dim to distinguish. And silence.

Silence. In alarm Kane reeled to his feet. The wind had died with the approach of dawn. Above him the sails hung limp, listlessly rippling with a vagrant night breeze. Kane considered arousing the ship to man the oars, but discarded the idea. The Combine vessels would be in a similar position, and in the darkness the sound of oars would give away the position of the first ship to utilize them. Presumably the watch had already informed Imel, and he had reached a similar decision. Perhaps they might drift awhile until dawn. Then they could at least appraise their position.

He lay awake, watching for the first light in the east. After maybe an hour the sky began to turn grey, and he went to the rail grimly. Hearing shining and scraping on the deck behind him, he turned to see Imel emerge from his cabin, stretching luxuriously.

The Thovnosian yawned his way over to him. Kane wondered how much of his air of unconcern was assumed. "Morning," greeted Imel. "I had the watch wake me soon as it grew light. See you beat me to the sunrise anyway. Can you see anything yet?"

Kane shook his head. Mists still obscured the waves with a blanket deeper than the night's darkness. Then the rising sun seared through, and the sea around them was empty as far as he could see in the fading mists of dawn.

"Damned wind hasn't started up yet, either," Imel observed with a curse. "That's going to mean another night on the Sore-Ellyn, unless it picks up before noon. I'll get the men to their oars."

His orders were carried out. The sleepy crew filed onto deck--grumbling that fighting men should have to do the work of galley slaves--another luxury that space had precluded. The sky grew brighter and the mist cleared. Still the sea remained empty.

The craft slowly got underway as the rowers worked her up to speed. The sun appeared and climbed out of the sea. There was no sign of either Combine bireme to be seen, even after Kane slowly scanned the horizon through the telescope.

"They didn't follow us into the Sorn-Ellyn after all," Imel reminded them, after it was certain that they were alone on the ocean. "Even a Lartroxian's persistence must have a limit, it seems. Efrel once again has called the game down to the last exigency." For all his complacency, there was a note of relief in Imel's smooth tone.

"So it seems," agreed Kane softly. His full attention was directed through the telescope at that moment.

In the distance he could make out scattered fragments of wreckage. Bits of broken timbers, cargo of a ship's store, unidentifiable flotsam. It was from a large vessel--and a recent wreck, as the debris would have drifted far apart before long. There were no bodies floating in the tangle.

But there was nothing to run aground against here in the Sorn-Ellyn. Could the biremes have collided? A simple collision could not have splintered the hull into insignificant fragments. What then?