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receded behind them. Blade went up to her and said, "Captain, how do we break
through to the open sea?" He swallowed. "Do we use the same method we
used coming in?"
Cayla turned at the note in his voice and glared at him. "You dislike the
Guardians of the Cult?" Blade had sense enough to shake his head. "No, Blahyd,
we head straight north. Before long we will come to the coast of a wide
stretch of land long in dispute between Mardha and the neighboring barbarians
to the north. It is a wild land, shunned by most. But there are numbers of
little creeks and river mouths. We can find fresh water and lie concealed
until the count's warfleet has exhausted its rowers beating up and down
in search of us. And we can divide the booty and perhaps find some
entertainment." There was a glint in her eyes as she said that last word that
made Blade feel vaguely uneasy.
CHAPTER 11
«^»
A series of rainsqualls lasting through most of the morning helped them break
through the first line of patrols. The only ship challenged was Thunderbolt,
but with her masts down and most of her crew below at the oars she looked
enough like a local warship to pass by safely. This incident again confirmed
Blade's low opinion of the efficiency of the count's armed forces. He began to
wonder if it might not be possible to organize a pirate fleet large enough to
occupy the whole County for several weeks and carry away everything that
wasn't nailed down. Then he realized that he was thinking perhaps too much
like a pirate of Neral. As usual, he was slipping deep into the pattern of
thoughts of what he was supposed to be and retaining only a tenuous connection
with the Richard Blade of Home Dimension.
Some thirty hours from Tramport, just before dawn, Sea Witch led her squadron
into an almost landlocked bay. Not content with that, Cayla had the three
ships pull almost to the rear of the bay into the mouth of a small river
flowing into it. She ordered the exhausted and staggering crews ashore to cut
branches and bushes to tie all over the ships, then personally supervised
the backbreaking job of dismounting two of the catapults and remounting
them under cover to guard the entrance to the bay. This work took most of the
day, and only occasional rain showers that drenched their sweating bodies kept
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most of the crewmen from collapsing in their tracks. Finally, when Cayla was
satisfied that all that could be done had been done, she gave the order for
sleep. Most of the men dropped where they stood and slept like the dead on the
bare planks for twelve hours, oblivious to further showers. Blade unashamedly
did the same. Twenty men with clubs could have taken the whole squadron and
everybody in it, but they were not bothered.
Still, it was two full days more before Cayla decided they could let down
their guard enough to do what everybody had been waiting for since they left
the burning town divide the booty. That, as Blade had heard, could be a bloody
mess under a weak captain. But none of the captains or mates here were weak,
so the division went smoothly.
There was much to divide. About two hundred thousand Roythan crowns no record
for the pirates, but enough to make the captains and officers wealthy men and
keep even the boys who aided the cooks and carpenters in comfort for several
years. There was a large amount in silver and gold coins and almost an equal
amount in jewels, worked gold, and silver ornaments. There were enough fancy
weapons to arm the whole crew of the squadron twice over, several hundred
bolts of silk and other valuable fabrics, and assorted boxes of spices and
drugs, including a box of the blue dream powder which Cayla promptly threw
overboard.
When Cayla was through supervising the division, and then through gloating,
she turned to the prisoners. Although Blade's party had brought back only
the one girl, the others had been more fortunate and had scooped up half a
dozen influential citizens (or citizens who had looked influential) in the
town itself and three ship captains and an army officer too drunk to fight in
the harbor area. These promised a tidy sum in ransoms.
Cayla took even more complete charge of dealing with the prisoners than she
had of dividing the other spoils. Tuabir and Esdros stood well behind her.
Blade suspected that in Tuabir's case at least it was because he had no wish
to be associated with Cayla's methods of treating the prisoners.
As each was brought before her, she barked a command, "Kneel!" Those who were
a split second slow in going down on their knees had her light but deadly whip
laid across their faces and would go
down with blood dripping into the sand. Then she would stride up and down in
front of them, snapping out questions. Name? Order? Family? Fortune? Skills,
if any? And so on. Sometimes she would stop in front of the captive with a
sinuous swaying of her body that reminded Blade of a snake swaying in front of
a bird it wanted to charm. If the captive looked up and most men did crack
would go the whip again, and more blood would be dripping into the sand.
Most of the prisoners, once properly humiliated, were admitted to ransom. Some
of them, Blade suspected, would never be free again, seeing the way they
blanched and groaned when the ransom figures were read out. The captive
officer, however, was kept kneeling for a particularly long time.
Finally, Cayla turned to Blade and said, "What say you, Blahyd? Do you think
anyone will consider a soldier an officer who was too drunk to fight worth
ransoming?"
Considering what usually happened to officers caught drunk on duty in Home
Dimension, Blade had to shake his head. "Well, then," said Cayla, "I think we
will make a slave of this one. He should be good for a year or two on the
farms at least. His limbs are thick, even thicker than his head."
The man howled wordlessly and threw himself face down in the sand. Then, as
Cayla stepped over toward him with the whip ready, he suddenly sprang up and
lunged at her. One huge hand was already clutching at the hilt of her dagger
when one of the guards whipped up his pike and hurled it like a spear straight
at the officer's back. It caught him just below the shoulder blades and drove
clear through him and out his chest, narrowly missing Cayla's leg as it did
so. She jumped back as the man toppled forward and lay without a twitch.
"Good eyes and a good hand, there, sailor," she said to the guard. "Two extra
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gold pieces for you from my personal share." Two gold pieces, Blade knew, were
enough to satisfy most of a sailor's wants for the better part of a year. He
was not surprised when the guard gaped and grinned and stammered his thanks.
Now the guards brought the last prisoner forward the fort commander's
daughter, the only woman among the prisoners. Cayla's expression as she
watched the girl made Blade uneasy, and the silky note in her voice as she
spoke made him swallow and wait for whatever was coming in a cold sweat.
He did not have long to wait. The girl's name was Dynera, and now that her
father was dead, she had no family left. None? No one who might pay a ransom?
"Please I-I no. My mother she was descended from Count Prasin the Fourth. But
she was an orphan. All I had was my f-f-father," and she burst into tears.
Blade saw Cayla's eyes flare at the mention of the Count and shuddered. Prasin
the Fourth had been the greatest of all the persecutors of the Cult. The poor
girl had just signed her own death warrant, and now the snake would strike.
"Prasin the Fourth? Indeed, child, you come from a high lineage! The present
count you are sure he will not consider a ransom, for your mother's sake if
not your own?" [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]