Mariners of Gor (34 page)

Men swam toward the small boats, the nearest galley.

I saw more than one drawn beneath the surface. Fins were everywhere. I felt the mat of vines to which I clung turn, and begin to drift. The wreckage of the galley of Seremides seemed farther away now. I saw no sign of the galley of Pertinax. Soon, as I lay, I could no longer see the small boats, or any galleys. There is restlessness in the Vine Sea, as in any sea, and swells, and local currents, and the sea itself, tangled and beautiful, oppressive, and terrible, despite its vastness, moves from time to time, seasonably, predictably, even hundreds of pasangs, as might any object, large or small, afloat on Thassa, with her hundred moods and thousand currents.

I think most of my fellows had sought the small boats.

As noted, I could not now see them, as I was positioned, but I knew they were there. I could hear men in the distance. Were I able to stand I had little doubt I could see them, and certainly one or more galleys. Even as I lay still in my bed of vines and blossoms I could, turning my head, see the great ship, in the distance.

It was now quiet about me, save for the lapping of the water.

There seemed none about.

I was much alone.

I was not afraid of being left, or abandoned. I was afraid, rather, of what I knew was in the water.

“Ho, Callias!” I heard.

“Tal, Durbar!” I called.

I remembered him from the pumps, when, during the time of the great storms they had been manned twenty Ahn a day.

He was better situated than I, for he crouched on two nailed beams, which must have been from the hull of one of the two destroyed galleys.

He was some forty feet away.

There was other wreckage about.

Needless to say, I was much pleased to see him.

“You are in danger!” he called.

I considered swimming to join him.

A blossom floated by.

A fin glided past.

“Perhaps less here than there!” I said.

I was not eager to negotiate the water between us.

“As you will!” he said.

But I saw a swimmer clamber to his makeshift vessel. One end of the beams descended beneath the waves, under the weight of the newcomer. I did not think they would well bear the weight of two. Durbar turned about, cried once, and reeled from the beams, plunging into the water, his jacket red. Across the space between us I saw Seremides, his eyes on me. He did not have his sword, but there was a knife in his hand. He stood unsteadily on the narrow wreckage.

In the water Durbar, the water red about him, gasping, confused, extended his hand to Seremides, who did not accept his hand, perhaps fearing the loss of balance, but motioned him closer. When Durbar got his hands upon the beams Seremides kicked out, viciously, and Durbar, I think his neck was broken, slipped away, beneath the water.

Seremides stood on the beams, regarding me.

“Noble Callias,” said he, affably. “Approach.”

I remained where I was, and looked about. I saw no one near.

“That is an order!” said Seremides.

“Deliver it to another,” I said.

Seremides looked about, and then put the knife in his belt, and then, kneeling on the beams, pulled at some floating vinage, and his narrow vessel inched toward me. He tried to urge it toward me, too, with his body. He dipped his right arm into the water, and pushed back, against the water. Again his tiny bark approached me, a little. It was heavy, and not easily moved. I did not think he would risk throwing the knife. I suspected the turning currents, the natural eddies amongst the vines, might bring us together, sooner or later. It would be a matter of time.

I wondered how many men, if about, would welcome this opportunity to do away with Seremides.

But we seemed much alone.

The nearest galley, I conjectured, from the faint sounds I heard, men calling out, was two hundred yards distant. It would probably be encircled by small boats.

Much vinage was now about, as it had drifted back, tending to close the road which had been cut through it. Such things shift in the currents, closing gaps, being arrested only against more of its kind.

Seremides stood up and looked about.

Apparently he saw no one, at least nearby.

He then, eyes glinting, once more kneeling down, tried more earnestly, even rashly, even heedlessly, to force his way toward me.

I took it he wanted to reach me before others might note our position.

I did not think it wise for Seremides to splash at the side of his support.

There was still blood in the water, from the tharlarion, from some fellows taken by sharks, and, now, from Durbar.

Too, I had seen a fin glide by, but a moment ago.

Perhaps he, then in the water, had seen it, too.

The possible danger of his activity must have occurred to him, as he soon ceased to propel his craft in that perilous fashion.

The splashing, of course, had occurred.

Hopefully, it had been unnoted.

An occasional swell, lifting the circumambient vines and blossoms, moved his small vessel, and the raft of vinage to which I clung.

“Ho!” I called, half in water, half prostrate amongst the vines, unable to stand. “Help! Help!”

But none heard me.

“Swim to me,” coaxed Seremides. “Join me. It will be safe. I will not hurt you.”

We were now some ten or fifteen feet apart.

I felt something long, seven or eight feet in length, and rough, like a rasp, pass, moving beneath the water, against my leg.

I clutched the vinage.

“So,” smiled Seremides, “you are frightened.”

He removed his knife from his belt.

I did not think, again, he would risk throwing it.

He stood, unsteadily, on his support.

“The sea is my ally,” he said. “It will soon enable me to greet you.”

I said nothing. There seemed no one about.

His small bark drifted nearer, as did a number of vines and blossoms. So, too, it must have, Ehn earlier, when bearing Durbar.

“I have waited long for this,” said he, “noble Callias.”

There was then a swell of water, and I saw it lift his vessel two or three feet, and he cried out in triumph and I knew that, in its descent, sliding down the slope of that swell, it would be upon me, and I plunged beneath the water, dragged myself down, beneath the vines, swam what I could, some yards, and then, gasping, shaking my head, I emerged amongst clustered vines, some wrapped about my body, and legs, snakelike.

But I saw nothing of Seremides.

I was terrified to be in the water, as I knew what was there.

I knew he must be in the water, but I feared him the least of what might be about.

I forced myself down again and, as I could, circled back, and, after twice emerging amongst the vines, came to some open water, and felt wood, and drew myself, panting, wiping my eyes, onto the two fastened beams which had borne, in turn, Durbar, and Seremides, and now bore me.

I saw nothing of Seremides.

I stood, unsteadily, on the beams.

I could then see two of the four intact galleys in the distance and, several hundred yards away, the great ship itself.

I cried out and waved, but did not know if my presence was noted.

I was not overly concerned about being picked up, as I was sure the great ship was far from clear of the Vine Sea, and I had little doubt that there would be a thorough search for survivors, perhaps extended over two or three days. I had gathered that every man was valued, if only as a tool or beast of sorts, by the Pani, and I was sure that I could count on the patience, and diligence, of Tarl Cabot, and several others. I took them as good officers and honorable men. They would seek the best accounting possible.

“Help!” I heard. “Help!” The cry was weak, and yards away. At first I could not locate its source, but then I saw a hand lifted over the vines, and a head, lifted, briefly, which then slipped again from sight. Something was struggling, tangled in the vines. I did not know if the two beams on which I stood had moved muchly or not. I knew I was now in relatively open water, which suggested it was part of the road cut by the ship’s boats through the vines, though it was much narrower now than hitherto, given the eddies, and the drifting of the vegetation.

“Help!” I heard, and saw the head of Seremides emerge from the vines. “I am caught!” he cried. An arm flailed about, grasping at vines. It was possible he could be pulled under, as the vines beneath the surface shifted in the currents. In any event, it seemed he was tangled in the ropelike growth, and, apparently, could neither dive beneath it, should he wish to do so, nor swim through it.

“Help!” called Seremides. “Help!” He held out a hand to me, tangled in vines.

I stood unsteadily on the beams.

“All is forgiven!” cried Seremides. “I pledge friendship! I have power! I can do much for you! Help me! I will reward you! I will secure you promotion! When the ship is ours you will stand high! Gold, women! I will see that she who was once Flavia of Ar is given to you! Would she not be pleasing in your collar? When the voyage is done, take her to Ar for the bounty!”

“Pull yourself out, by the vines,” I said.

I was not anxious to approach him, and much vinage lay between us.

“I cannot!” he said. “By the Priest-Kings, by the Home Stone of Cos, save me!”

I crouched on my small craft and caught at vines, trying to pull the two nailed beams toward him.

“You agree!” he cried.

“I agree to nothing,” I said.

“Hurry!” he cried. “Hurry!”

My makeshift bark caught in the vines. I was then some twenty feet from him. I could make no further progress.

“It is safe,” he said. “Crawl on the vines. Draw me free!”

As the vines were thick there, it was possible, on one’s belly, half in the water, half out, to reach him.

He was an officer of the ship.

He stood high.

He was much my superior.

In the swell he must have lost his footing and plunged into the foliage, submerged, swam, came to the surface, and found himself feet away from the beams, snagged in the coiling vines.

“Help!” he said, reaching out.

I lowered myself from the nailed beams, and, half swimming, half crawling, muchly supported by the dense growth, came nigh.

“Closer!” he said.

I moved closer.

“Give me your hand!” he said, reaching out.

I extended my hand, but suddenly drew it back.

In a flash of thought I recalled Seremides, from a dozen times and places, images rushing upon me, a goblet lifted, a door opened, a hand gesturing, a pen in hand, signing an order, a sword, reddened, held over an adversary’s throat in the early morning.

“Your hand!” he demanded, angrily.

The hand extended to me, that it might grasp mine was his left hand. His right hand was under the water.

Seremides, former master of the Taurentians, was right-handed.

“Die, Sleen!” he cried, tearing himself upward, out of the vines, the right hand dripping with water, the sun flashing on the wet blade in its grasp.

I had not given him my hand. I had kept back, a little. That meant he must close the gap between us, must move toward me, and this, in the water, given the absence of footing, the presence of the foliage, could not be easily done. He was trying to scramble toward me, half in water, half out, over the raft of vegetation. The knife struck out at me twice, three times. I backed away as I could, slipping, half sinking through the vines, while he, similarly hampered, cursing, pursued me, foot by foot. I, backing away, suddenly slipped downward, through a gap in the vinage, and felt circles of vines about my legs and lower body, through which I had plunged. I was enmeshed. I reached about. I could obtain no purchase. I was held in place. “Noble Callias!” grinned Seremides, moving a hort closer. My only chance would be to grasp his knife wrist, and I thought there was little chance of that. Seremides would not be so foolish as to make a long strike, which might be blocked or intercepted. He would prepare carefully for the kill, feinting, darting, keeping the blade forward of my grasp, but slashing, striking, again and again, at the hand, from which he might sever fingers, or slash a wrist, disabling the hand. I would then, eventually, be as helpless as if bound. I did not think he would finish me quickly. I had seen him finish more than one man slowly, pleasantly. Some had begged to be done with.

“Ho!” we heard. “Is anyone there?”

Seremides turned white.

It must be a search party, in a small boat.

“Yes!” I called, loudly. “Here! Here!”

“Sleen!” hissed Seremides, and, his leisure vanished, he lunged forward, desperately, but the blow was short. He crawled closer and struck again. There was no leverage, no footing. He struck again. I reached for his wrist, but missed it. He struck again, and I managed to grasp his wrist, with two hands, and we turned in the water amidst the vines, struggling, thrashing about. “Here! Here!” I screamed, for there were men somewhere about. I suddenly sensed the blade was no longer in his right hand, and swept backward, water in my eyes, fending myself as I could. The knife cut through my tunic ripping it across the chest. I had not even seen it. Then I saw the knife was again in his right hand. I was then muchly on my back, where I had thrown myself backward, and my arms were tangled in the vines. I saw the glint of delight in his eyes, and saw the knife raised. I could not free my arms, either to block or intercept the blow. In a moment I might work myself free but the moment was not mine. In that moment a tethered tarsk could not have been more helpless. “Now, Sleen!” he whispered.