Kazan nodded grimly; he had expected no less. "They are ready?" he asked his second officer, a man named Pekhlo.
Pekhlo spoke to the flag-bearer, and a ripple of signals ran from ship to ship. "All are ready, Kazan.”
"Then we will do this." Kazan raised his voice. "Go!"
It happened quickly, so quickly it near bewildered me; I never doubted, after this, their deadly skill as pirates. I daresay dozens of merchanters have felt the same astonishment, being set on by Kazan Atrabiades. The oarsmen set the wa ter churning to white foam, and the ship crossed the distance in a trice, swinging alongside the galley—on the far side, another ship followed suit, while the others drew in easy range of a bow. Grappling hooks soared through the air, thanking deep into the wood of the galley's rails; someone leapt to grab the dangling ladder, and in less space than it takes to tell it, a full dozen Illyrian pirates had swarmed onto the galley.
Beneath the galley's shadow, I could see nothing, heard only scuffling, curses and a brief clash of arms, then mut tering stillness. I gazed at Kazan, who looked grimly back at me.
"Very well, pirate," came the voice of the D'Angeline spokesman, sounding distinctly annoyed. "Send up the Comtesse, and take your Elua-cursed gold! We've shown you no reason to break faith, and your men are outnumbered here."
The rope ladder was dangling near at hand, the oarsmen holding the bobbing ship steady. Kazan drew his sword and pointed it at me. "Go," he said softly. "I will follow behind you."
I stared uncomprehending at the point of his sword. "My lord?"
"Go!" he roared.
I went, with Kazan close on my heels, buckler dangling at his back.
It was the D'Angeline spokesman who helped me over the rails, and he gave me no greeting, stepping away quickly as though he were reluctant to touch me. Kazan came lip behind me, his free hand closing hard on my elbow. I saw why, then.
On the deck of the galley, a dozen Illyrians held two- score armed soldiers at an uneasy standoff, their slighter numbers backed by those watching on the other four ships, weapons trained on the galley.
The only D'Angeline things in sight were the spokesman, the Courcel pennant and me.
It was a Serenissiman galley.
FIFTY-SIX
1 whirled so fast I broke Kazan's grip, hissing at him, "You betrayed me!"
His face was shuttered. "No. There was a blockade, at the Caerdicci point. Nikanor never got through it, eh? They caught him, and found the letter." For a fleeting moment, something altered in his expression. "I am sorry, yes. But they had my men, Phèdre. What was I to do, I?" And then his voice hardened again, and he wrenched me around, pushing me forward. "Here is what you want," he said curtly. "Take her."
I stumbled, fetching up before a stocky Serenissiman in a Captain's helmet, a badge on his doublet worked with the familiar tower-and-carrack insignia of the Stregazza family.
"This is the one?" he asked aloud, glancing at Kazan. Without waiting for a reply, he took my chin between finger and thumb, wrenching my face up toward him and scanning it. "A scarlet mote, by the Spear! And the markings?" Turn ing me, he gathered up my hair in both hands, peering at the nape of my neck where the finial of my marque was visible. "Sure enough. A damned waste of beauty." He released me, nodding casually to two of his men. "Kill her."
My blood turned to ice and I stood frozen to the spot. Several paces away, Kazan's mouth opened in shock. His men, who had not understood the Caerdicci, shifted rest lessly and looked to him for guidance.
"Captain!" It was the D'Angeline spokesman, sounding as startled as Kazan looked. "I have orders to bring her to Prince Benedicte!”
"Yes," the Captain said mildly. "And I have orders from my lord Marco Stregazza to make certain you do no such thing. This woman is a spy and an escaped criminal, and if your doddering princeling has some idiotic fear of D'Angeline curses for shedding her blood, be assured that Lord Marco does not. She dies here, guardsman, and let your Prince take it up with Lord Marco. For the good of the Serene Republic, I have my orders."
"Kazan," I breathed; I had begun shaking. He stared at me, still dumbstruck. "Will you let them do this thing?"
He made no reply.
"Ah, right," the Captain said thoughtfully. "Your gold, pirate." He drew his sword, pointing at a pair of coffers sitting on deck. "Take it and begone, then, with our thanks. Though if I were you ..." He glanced meaningfully toward the distant island, where two war-galleys were easing into view around the curve of coast, single-masted biremes propelled by a double bank of oars. "I would go with haste, for our bargain ends the instant you take it. The girl's life is worth more than yours to the Serene Republic ... but not by much."
"Kazan!" I cried.
His head bowed as he averted his face. "Rachlav, Zaiko... take the gold."
I stood in disbelief as the Illyrians moved to obey him, two men each on a coffer, under the watchful eyes of the Serenissimans. The others warded them, forming a line on either side of the galley as the coffers were handed down into the Illyrian vessels.
"Good enough." The Captain was pleased. "If you move fast enough, you may even escape, sea-wolf, though Asherat grant you fail. You ..." he snapped his fingers at one of his men, "... and you. Do it now. It is to be done on the instant, Lord Marco says."
They moved swiftly, doubtless hand-picked for discipline and loyalty. I struggled briefly, to no avail, and was forced to kneel on the deck. I heard a voice cry out a protest in Illyrian, quickly stifled; Lukin, I thought. And then a hand tangled roughly in my hair, dragging my head back to bare my throat for the sword. It was all happening so fast, I scarce had time to feel the terror of it until I saw a Serenissiman soldier move in front of me, drawing his sword back for the swing.
I understood then that I was going to die.
It is fixed in my mind, that moment; sunlight glinting off the edge of the blade, the Captain's impassive face behind my executioner, even the feel of the sun-warmed planks beneath my knees. And Kazan's wordless shout, building full of rage and fury until it seemed it would crack the very sky.
I never saw the blow that separated my would-be executioner's head from his shoulders, only his body crumpling at my knees, blood pooling about his truncated neck. My gorge rose and I suppressed a wave of sickness, scrambling away from the soldier who'd held me. By the time I gained my feet, chaos reigned on the deck of the galley—and in the center of it all was Kazan Atrabiades, wielding his sword like a man possessed.
Outnumbered, the Illyrians fought to secure their retreat, aided by a volley of javelins and fire-arrows from the out lying ships. Set aflame, the pitch-soaked rags wrapped about the arrows set a dozen small fires on deck, adding to the confusion. Kazan and the Serenissiman Captain alike were roaring orders, half-heeded by skirmishing soldiers and pi rates. And then I saw no more as one of the latter grabbed me about the waist, hauling me over the railing and handing me down into the waiting arms of Glaukos, waiting anxious- eyed in the ship below.
How long it lasted, I could not say—hours, it seemed, though I daresay not more than a span of heartbeats had passed before the rest followed, of those that might, and Kazan himself came over the railing. Our ship wallowed under their staggering weight, archers atop the forecastle grimly firing arrow after arrow at the galley to cover their retreat.
"Fly!" Kazan shouted at the oarsmen, flushed with fury.
"Fly!"
And fly we did, oars churning at ragged speed while oth ers dropped their arms where they stood, racing to hoist the sails. In the prow, the flag-bearer signaled frantically to the other ships, urging them to flight.
There would be no pursuit from the galley; Kazan's pi rates had done their job well. Even in bright daylight, I could see the flames that licked at the mainsail. Small figures raced around the deck, forming a bucket brigade to keep the vessel from going up entire.
But there were the others, those hidden by the isle, and they moved swiftly, looming out of the distance. The wind that had blown steady at our backs all the way from Illyria worked against us now. Gone was the elegant, concerted flight of before; now, all six ships scattered wildly, working against a strong headwind. Three men lay wounded on the deck, groaning. I made a count; two had never returned. Glaukos worked steadily, satchel open beside him, endeav oring to bind the worst of their wounds. I went to aid him, and he glanced briefly up at me.
"I didn't know, my lady," he said. "I swear it."
"I believe you." I did; there was naught else I could say, and no more time for speech. We worked quickly together, doing the best we could for them, and I thanked Blessed Elua that I had learned somewhat of field medicine after the terrible battle of Troyes-le-Mont. And all the while, the Serenissiman war-galleys bore down upon us.
They caught the sixth ship, the straggler, when we were scarcely three hundred yards away. I knew from the resonant, thumping sound that carried over the waves that the war-galleys had ballistae mounted on their forecastles. It was an unlucky shot that did them in, a spring-loaded bolt that split the yard and brought down their sails. We could not help but watch as the smaller craft wallowed in the wa ter, helpless and waiting. Serenissimans swarmed the vessel, for it had one of the coffers of gold. It went quickly, at least.
Lukin was on that ship, I thought, remembering hearing his voice. The one that boarded the far side of the galley; it had been the slowest to make its escape. I would have wept, if I'd had any tears to spare.
So began our flight, that even in memory seems endless. Like hares coursed by hounds, we fled the Serenissiman war-galleys across the great, roiling sea, day and night, tack ing and doubling without surcease. Against the speed and agility of the Illyrian vessels was pitted the remorseless beat of the great war-galleys, that cared naught for the wind and had manpower to spare. I learned, later, how many men Marco Stregazza contributed to that enterprise; it numbered well into the hundreds. Betimes they drew near, and the ballistae thumped; then, bolts split the air, sending up great geysers of water all around us. One such pierced our mizzen sail, and Kazan shouted commands, unfaltering, ordering the sail stripped and the storm-sail raised. How they managed it in those surging waves, I do not know, but they did.
I did my best to give aid as I might, bringing food and water to those in need. By the second day, all were hollow- eyed from exhaustion and lack of sleep—and still the gal leys pursued us. It was on that day that another ship was lost, floundering as it cut too close to the wind. It came nigh to overturning and took on water, too much water. Once again, we could do naught but watch from a distance as they righted themselves slowly and wallowed, sunk halfway to their railings, waiting for death as one of the biremes drew nigh.
Four ships left, running for our lives.
And when darkness fell, Kazan's second officer began to argue with him.
"They'll follow us to our cursed
graves,
Kazan! What will you do, lead them straight into Dobrek harbor and let them have us all? I'm telling you, it's the only way!"
And Kazan, grim-faced. "No. We will lose them in the night."
Pekhlo swore at him with a sailor's eloquence. "You said that last night, and here they are still, on our trail like a hunting pack! Will you condemn us all for your mother's grief, Kazan? I'm telling you, we're leading death on a string here, and Epidauro's got the only forces will halt them! How many will die, if we let them run us aground elsewhere?"
"And will you ask the Ban to challenge the Doge's son on our behalf?" Kazan reminded him. "He won't; he'd be a fool if he did. We're pirates, Pekhlo! Stregazza has the right of it!"
"Not in this," his second officer said stubbornly. "He'd see us given a fair trial, he would, and we've kept our bar gain; it was the Stregazza who broke it. I'm willing to die for you, Kazan, but not for your damned blood-curse, no!"
"My lord." By the dim light of the storm-lanterns, I had groped my way to the forecastle, where they quarrelled. "My lord, does the Ban of Illyria swear me his protection, he may claim aid of the throne of Terre d'Ange. I promise you it is so."
Kazan looked at me with haunted eyes. "Do you say so, my lady?" he asked in Illyrian. "Well, I have disregarded you often enough, when you tried to tell me as much. Still, it seems the Serenissimans are willing to kill or die to have you, when I reckoned they had no greater enemy than I." He sighed. "So be it. If they are with us come dawn, we make for Epidauro."
The command went out, relayed by lantern from ship to ship. I heard ragged cheering burst forth, faint across the water. Pekhlo went eagerly to consult with the sailors man ning the rudders. Left alone, Kazan Atrabiades closed his eyes.
"My lord," I said to him in his own tongue. "I owe you my life."
"Yes." His eyes remained shut. "I did not think they would kill you, Phèdre nó Delaunay. They told Nikanor that the D'Angeline Prince would pay your ransom, if we delivered you. I thought it would be well enough. You said you would have gone to him, only he did not know you."
I swallowed hard, remembering. "It was not true, my lord.
Prince Benedicte is a traitor, in league with Marco Stregazza. I knew this. I let you think otherwise. And I am deeply sorry for it. If I hadn't, the ... the others might yet live, those who died."
