The Sea Devils Eye (14 page)

The ships closed to within twenty feet. Over-eager crewmen on both sides threw daggers, but none of them did any real harm.

A robed man dashed atop the stern castle and spoke harsh syllables. He gestured at the writhing black tentacles still holding onto the corpses of its victims and the tentacles disappeared in an explosion of crimson powder, the spell broken. He turned and pointed a wand at the crew aboard Black Champion.

As the slaver mage spoke, Jherek felt the hair on his head start to stand while energies gathered in the air above him. A lightning bolt from the wand cracked like a beastmaster’s whip between the ships, and struck a pirate full in the chest.

The bolt lifted the man from his feet and held him in the air for a moment before ripping the flesh from his bones in bloody chunks that showered down over the crew. The charred corpse, white bones showing through burned meat, dropped to the deck. When a wave lapped over the side of the ship and rolled over the dead man, smoke rose from the body.

The slaver mage pointed again.

A flutter of movement speeding across the rain-streaked sky caught Jherek’s attention. It took the young sailor a moment to recognize the bits and pieces of material as Skeins, Sabyna’s familiar. Before the mage could unleash the power of the wand again, the raggamoffyn attacked. The living cloth plastered the man, sticking to him and covering him from head to toe in an instant, as tightly as a second skin.

The mage tried to fight the raggamofryn, beating against his own breast and shouting in fear as the pieces wrapped over his face. His voice became muffled, then ended abruptly. The mage jerked frantically as he tried to escape, then even that stopped. Totally under the raggamoffyn’s control, the mage ran for the side of the ship and threw himself over. He disappeared at once into the black water between the ships.

“Boarding crew, advance!” Azla shouted.

Stunned by the events of the last few seconds, Black Champion’s crew leaped across the twenty-foot span between the ships. The slaver rode the ocean a good eight feet higher than the pirate ship’s deck. Though Arthoris’s magic allowed them to leap the distance between the ships, most men only rose four or five feet.

Two pirates slammed into the bulwark and fell into the sea. Three others used their grappling lines to catch onto the slaver’s railing. Jherek and the others managed to grab the railing and started hoisting themselves up.

A half-ogre stepped up to the railing as the young sailor started his climb. His eyes showed the white pupils of a true ogre. Scars tracked his ugly, pointed face bearing a nose that was too long and too broad for the rest of his features. The pockmarked skin was the color of butter gone bad. A single braid held his long black hair from his face, revealing pointed ears.

“Throg kill you, puny man,” the half-ogre growled. He shoved his harpoon down toward Jherek.

The young sailor hooked an arm inside the railing, aware of the roiling sea below him and the waves crashing against the side of the slave ship. Even as well as he could swim, dropping into the ocean would probably mean death. He let go with his free hand, pushing himself against the ship in a half-roll. The ship’s pitching hammered him against the side with bruising force.

Snarling in rage, the half-ogre drew the harpoon up to thrust again.

Swinging back into position, Jherek reached through the railing and caught the back of the half-ogre’s foot. The young sailor yanked as hard as he could, counting on the unsteady deck to aid him. Slipping across the wet deck, the half-ogre’s foot came forward and smashed through the railing.

Even as his opponent fell backward, Jherek planted his boots against the slave ship’s side and leaped again, using what remained of Arthoris’s spell. He flew ten feet into the air, over the heads of the slaver crew, his fist still tight around the grappling hook and line he carried. He landed, drew the cutlass from the sash, and turned to face his adversaries.

He swung the big grappling hook into the face of the first man who reached him, knocking the man to one side. Giving ground immediately, the young sailor retreated toward the broken stump that remained of the ship’s mainmast. Moving lithely, he dodged around the mast, slammed a slaver’s blade aside, then slashed the cutlass through the slaver’s stomach, cracking ribs and ripping the man open.

Other pirates from Black Champion landed on the deck as well, and the brawl quickly turned bloody. Crimson stained the wet decks, sluicing through the rainwater pools that collected on the warped deck.

“Secure the lines!” Jherek yelled.

He beat aside another slaver’s sword thrust with the flat of the cutlass, then stepped into the man and slammed his shoulder into his chest, knocking him back. The young sailor kept going forward, staying in close and using his elbows and knees to beat his opponents back as Malorrie had taught him. He slapped a knife stroke down, captured the wrist in his same hand, and buried the blade in another slaver’s chest.

Taking advantage of the confusion and the tangle of arms and legs around him, Jherek ran to the slaver’s port railing. He shook the line free of his forearm, thrust the cutlass point down into the deck, and readied the grappling hook.

A man charged at him from the crowd of slavers with an upraised sword. Jherek ducked under the angled sword stroke, then slammed the grappling hook into the man’s chest, hooking the belt that crossed him from shoulder to hip. He yanked and twisted, putting all his strength and all the leverage he could muster into the move.

Instead of merely going over the side of the ship as Jherek intended, the ship pitched suddenly and aided in the throw, making the slaver go high into the air. As he came down, Black Champion surged into the side of the slave ship, crunching the man between the two massive wooden hulls.

The impact nearly drove Jherek from his feet. He stumbled and caught himself against the railing, staring down at the pulped smear that remained of the slaver trapped between the two ships. A wave crashed against the ships, and even that was gone.

Horror filled Jherek and he pushed nausea from his mind. He stood on the lurching deck and watched as Black Champion went up broadside against the slave ship again. He cast the grappling hook and watched as Glawinn made it fast. Dressed in his armor, the paladin would never have made the jump even with the magic spell Arthoris had woven.

The young sailor pulled the line taut when the two ships closed again, then wrapped it around the slaver’s railing. Wood creaked ominously as the two ships started to slide apart, but the line and the railings held. The drag created by Black Champion’s flooded hold was immediately noticeable, pulling at the slave ship like a drowning man.

Jherek turned at the sound of footsteps behind him, catching sight of the half-ogre charging at him. The young sailor plucked his cutlass from the deck, wrapping his fingers around the hilt. He met the half-ogre’s bastard sword as it descended. Steel clanged, and the impact shivered down Jherek’s arm.

Parrying the half-ogre’s next attack, the young sailor attempted a riposte, only to find that the creature was faster than his bulk implied. Jherek parried again to keep his head on his shoulders. Another slaver attacked from the young sailor’s side, trying to drive a spear through his guts.

Jherek stepped back, letting the spear go by, then catching the haft in one hand. He jerked at the man, using momentum against him and easily pulling him off-balance. Throg swung again, but the young sailor stepped behind the slaver crewman. The half-ogre’s weapon sliced into the man’s chest, killing him instantly.

Shoving the corpse at the half-ogre, Jherek turned and sprinted for the main hold in the middle of the ship’s deck. Water and blood made the deck slippery as the ship lurched and fought against Black Champion’s dead weight.

A slaver rushed at Jherek as the half-ogre screamed curses behind him. The young sailor dropped to the deck just ahead of the slaver’s sword and skidded on his side.

Jherek kicked and took the slaver’s feet out from under him, knocking him backward. By the time the man stopped sliding, Jherek got to his feet and followed the steps down into the main hold.

XI

Whale oil lanterns lit the cargo hold. The pale illumination barely lightened the shadows of the men, women, and children shackled in the hold. Jherek looked at them, unprepared for the sight.

Rough iron cuffs held the prisoners at wrists and ankles, connecting to an iron rod that ran the length of the slave ship. Foul odors filled the hold, and the young sailor knew the captives had been forced to sit in their own excrement. They looked at him with fear-filled eyes.

“Don’t let us drown,” a woman cried out in a hoarse voice. If the ship is going down, at least give us a chance to save ourselves.”

Pain welled up in the young sailor’s heart. He’d never seen slaves before. No one should have to face what those people had been through.

“Look out!” a slave yelled.

Jherek sensed a big man stepping from the shadows behind him. The young sailor turned. There was no mercy in Jherek’s heart.

The slaver carried a battle-axe in a two handed grip. The lantern’s weak illumination glinted off earrings and a gold tooth. The slaver was a mountain of a man, rolling in muscle and fat. He swung the battle-axe with skill, making a short, vicious arc with the double-bitted head. Jherek fended it off, but the slaver followed up with a swipe from the iron-shod butt of the axe that could have crushed the young sailor’s skull.

Jherek slipped the hook from his sash as he took two steps back.

“You done crawled into the wrong hole, rabbit,” the brute taunted, grinning broadly.

Two other shadows stepped out behind the man, flanking him on either side. One of them carried a spear and the other wielded a short sword and a dagger.

Without a word, Jherek attacked. There was no one else to defend the people in the hold, no one else to set them free. Azla’s pirates were shedding blood above so they might all live.

The young sailor swung the cutlass at the axe-wielder’s head, expecting him to block it. The slaver followed up with another blow from the butt of his battle-axe. Jherek slammed the curved hook into his opponent’s hand, nailing it to the wooden haft and blocking with the meaty part of his forearm.

The slaver shrieked in pain, looking at his impaled hand in disbelief. Before he could move, Jherek stamped on the slaver’s foot and ran the top of his head into the slaver’s face. Blood gushed from the man’s broken nose as he stumbled backward.

Jerking the hook free, Jherek dropped low and slashed across the man’s waist, spilling his guts. Even as the man dropped to his knees, the young sailor spun and slashed again, taking the slaver’s head nearly from his shoulders.

The spearman came on, thrusting vigorously. The fluted blade cut across Jherek’s left shoulder and the spear haft bounced under his chin. He brought the hook down savagely, driving the spear toward the wooden planking. The weapon caught and stopped suddenly, throwing the man who wielded it off-balance.

Before Jherek could attack, the swordsman slashed at him. Only the speed and reflexes Malorrie and Glawinn had trained into him kept the young sailor from getting his head split open.

The spearman drew his weapon back as Jherek parried the long dirk in the swordsman’s other hand. Catching the dirk against his cutlass’s crosspiece, the young sailor shoved his attacker back, causing him to stumble over the dead man.

Recovering his footing, the spearman thrust again, but Jherek dodged before the edged blade touched him. Blood ran warmly down the young sailor’s shoulder. Letting the cutlass lead him, then leading the cutlass, Jherek never presented any undefended openings.

“Get the little wharf rat,” the swordsman urged. “You’ve got the longer weapon.”

The spearman feinted, thinking to draw Jherek out, then stabbed at his crotch when he sidestepped. The young sailor parried the spear, then moved quickly inside the man’s defense. The slaver tried to bring the butt of his weapon around. Jherek slammed his cutlass through the spear haft, splintering the wood. Before the man could react, the young sailor swept the hook forward, knowing the swordsman was set up behind him.

The hook plunged through the spearman’s temple and sliced into his brain, killing him instantly. Even as the lights in the man’s eyes dimmed, Jherek released the hook and turned to face the swordsman. He let the swordsman’s thrust slice by his face, drawing blood from his cheek, even as he brought the cutlass down in a hard sweep that cracked the man’s head open from crown to chin.

He yanked the cutlass from the dead man’s skull, not realizing the prisoners were cheering for him until he saw them. Their voices were strong and full.

Sheathing the bloody cutlass in the sash at his waist, Jherek took up the battle-axe dropped by the first man he’d killed. His breath came hard and fast, filled with the sour stench of the slaver’s pit. He lifted the battle-axe and brought it down on the long chain that bound the prisoners’ cuffs to the iron rod. Sparks flew from the iron.

Prisoners at either end of the rod pulled the two pieces of chain through the manacles. The sound of men fighting and dying on the deck above pierced the hold.

Jherek passed the battle-axe to a large man with broad shoulders and asked, “Do you know how to use this?”

The man smiled, yellow teeth splitting his grimy beard.

“Like I was born with one in my hand, warrior,” he answered.

Jherek gathered his weapons. He pulled the hook from the spearman’s head, wincing at the gleam of splintered bone in all the blood. He looked at the prisoners, finding them gazing at him expectantly, as if he was supposed to lead them.

“I want no children on the decks above,” he ordered. “Man or woman, if you’ve no fighting experience, stay below with the children. There’s little enough space on that deck to begin with. The ship you’ll see lashed onto this one, she’s a pirate ship flying the Jolly Roger. Don’t think that you haven’t been saved. Captain Azla of Black Champion doesn’t tolerate slavers.” He paused, his voice thick with the anger he felt. “And neither do I.”