Darkness Weaves (18 page)

Alremas snarled something that was hardly a salute, and stalked out.

Kane buckled on a crested helmet and snatched up his axe. "If you survive today's battle, then I'm going to have to deal with you myself, Oxfors Alremas!" he muttered, scowling after the Pellinite lord. It occurred to him as he left to check on the battle preparations that his enemy was doubtlessly thinking along similar patterns.

They met the Imperial fleet about an hour before noon. From his flagship, the Ara-Teving, Kane observed the approaching fleet. Lages had wasted no time, and without Efrel's mysterious intelligence, he almost certainly would have ripped through the rebel blockade and descended upon Prisarte before any effective resistance could be mounted. Lages had made use of yesterday's calm to beach his warships and unstep his mainmasts for battle. Under oars, his fleet was advancing at ramming speed.

Through his telescope, Kane admired the beauty of the long warships--their double or triple rows of oars knifing the water strongly and evenly, their jibsails taut in the wind, driving their ram-mounted hulls through the choppy sea. Then Kane grimly surveyed his own navy--a motley fleet of refitted antiques and converted merchants, with a few first-line warships like the Ara-Teving and the Kelkin. But they would have to do the job, he realized, thankful that there had been time for all the ships to move into formation here at a point some fifteen miles from the harbor of Prisarte. Whatever its worth as a fighting force, Efrel's newborn fleet now awaited the Imperial onslaught.
"Well, what do you think?" asked Arbas from beside Kane.

"No different. If all their warships hit us in a wedge, we're going to be in a really bad position--if not to say, a hopeless position. So we'll have to make certain that all of them don't reach our formation--and that's why I designed these special barges. Now we're going to know the truth about this floating artillery that I've been getting so much lip about."

He pointed to the ten ponderous barges that were slowly being rowed out into a position slightly in advance of the rest of the fleet. The barges had been carefully converted according to Kane's dictate. Each hull was dominated by a gigantic catapult--not the small petrary that some warships carried, but a massive siege engine of the type that normally was constructed to breach a walled town or fortress.

Baskets of broken rocks along with stones of a hundred pounds or more filled the hold of each barge. But there was a stranger type of missile provided for the catapults as well--on which Kane was gambling for victory against a superior force. Special bundles of cloth, matting, kindling, and thatch had been bound together into a ball some two feet thick. Each bundle of tinder had then been soaked through with a mixture of saltpeter and sulfur, stirred into pitch, tar, and other combustible oils. The fireballs, a weapon Kane had used in past sieges, burned with an intense flame as they soared through the air--and on hitting they burst into dozens of fiery fragments. One such missile could burn a ship, or divert the greater part of the crew to fighting its spreading flames.

The only other cargo the unwieldy barges carried was a crew of slave rowers and a team of soldiers trained to man the catapults. These crafts were far too slow and awkward for any use except as seagoing artillery--and because of the danger of heavy seas, they could not be safely rowed very far from port.

Judging the Imperial fleet to be within range, Kane gave the signal to commence firing. Ten catapults lashed forth their long throwing arms--the recoil forcing the barges dangerously low into the sea. A rain of rocks and fireballs arched high through the air toward the oncoming fleet. At least half were far off the mark, but a few rocks fell among the fleet Hurriedly the catapult crews rewound their instruments, adjusted the slings, and fired again.

The second volley was more deadly.

From his flagship, the Mon-Ossa, Lager watched in amazement as the trireme next to his took two of the fireballs at once. The blazing missiles splattered the decks and the men with a wave of clinging, inextinguishable flame.

"Forward, full speed!" Lager shouted. Battle pennants relayed his command, increasing the pace from ramming speed. The Thovnosian general seethed in frustration, for his fleet was still a good distance out of bowshot. "Full speed, forward--and close with them! We've got to get in where their catapults can't reach us! Archers! Fire as soon as we get in range! Silence those damned catapults!"

A massive stone smashed into a bank of oarsmen behind him, leaving a bloody, confused tangle of splintered timber and crushed flesh. Unsteadily, his ship veered into another's path as the slaves on the untouched side continued to row without break. The other warship slid past at spitting distance, its captain only narrowly avoiding collision. To Lager's left, a smaller warship took a fireball in its hold and began to belch great clouds of black smoke. Other vessels were flaming now across the wedge formation. And still the missiles fell relentlessly among them.

Lager bawled out orders and cursed the rowers for their laziness. The catapults had found their range at a good half-mile away. They were pounding his fleet into blazing wreckage, well beyond effective archery range. Oars frothing the waves, the Imperial fleet bored through the deadly hail.

Kane observed with satisfaction the effects of the catapult barrage. By now the catapults were no longer firing in volley, but at will--as fast as their crews could reload. Already several of the Imperial warships were noticeably crippled--and four ships, two triremes included, burned out of control. A sudden rushing, ripping tear alerted Kane that Lages had ordered his archers to open fire--too soon, for their first volley fell short into the sea before the slowly backwatering barges.

"Move forward!" shouted Kane. "Ramming speed!" Battle pennants relayed his orders to the other warships. As the rebel navy surged forward to meet the Imperial fleet, Kane called for his own archers to prepare to fire. In a moment Lager's fleet would be at too close quarters for the retreating catapult barges to continue their attack. And then the rebel navy would speedily come into bowshot.

Kane laughed recklessly, senses inflamed with the thrill of battle. The decks were dashed with sand to blot the blood that would shortly make footing slippery. The mainmasts were unstepped--the impact of ramming would have sent them crashing onto the decks. Plowing through the sea under the rhythmic stroke of long cars, his fleet of warships bore down on the Imperials at a speed of some four knots. The dice had been cast, and the battle was upon them.

As the formations began to close now, a hail of arrows from the Imperial fleet fell upon the retreating line of barges. An iron-barbed shaft struck a crewman on one barge in the chest. Reeling in pain, he fell back against the brazier used to ignite the fireballs--knocking it into the barge's hold. The scattering coals instantly caught the remaining store of fireballs. With a sudden roar, the barge exploded into a spewing column of oily flame and shrieking men.

Undaunted by the hissing arrows, the rest of the catapult crews continued to fire--until their own warships advanced past them and into their line of fire. Useless in the close-quarters fighting, they withdrew to Prisarte before the Imperial fleet could take revenge for their murderous barrage.

The two fleets rushed together amidst a black rain of iron-barbed arrows and jagged rocks fired from small deck-mounted petraries. And through the hail of death they met.

A mighty Imperial trireme rammed a converted merchant that had rashly advanced before her sister warships--almost knocking its broken hull out of the water. Two biremes collided nearly head-on, leaving the rebel vessel crippled in the water and the other ship sinking. Cries of "Ramming speed!" were drowned out in a dreadful fury of splintering timber, screams of pain, and bestial roars.

Shouting orders savagely, Kane directed his flagship against the nearest enemy trireme. Reaching ramming speed, the rowers desperately hauled in their oars at the final instant--just as Kane skillfully heaved the ship's wheel to the right. The Ara-Teving veered aside from her opponent and glanced along her hull--splintering the oars and maiming the rowers on one side of the enemy warship. Still under momentum, the Ara-Teving shot past, then returned her own oars to the water and pulled away, leaving the Imperial warship dead in the water for the smaller vessels to swarm over.

Across the seething battleline, the rebel warships were attempting the same maneuver--not always with equal success. Unable to avoid her opponent's grappling irons, the Hast-Endab was trapped between two triremes before oars could be returned. As the grapples caught, a double wave of Imperial marines leaped onto her decks. Two converted merchants raced to the stricken warship's aid, and the ensuing conglomeration took on the appearance of a floating island. The air was torn with the cries of dying and injured combatants, the clash of arms, sounds of crashing and splintering timber. Arrows fell everywhere. The Mon-Ossa advanced into the melee somewhat after the initial contact, as Lages had lost way until the crippled oarbank could be cleared. Sighting the Imperial flagship, Kane gave the order to ram, determined to take the warship and demoralize the Imperials with her defeat. Lages saw the rebel trireme bearing down on his ship, but the damaged oarbanks cost him some maneuverability. He sought to veer, but could not entirely evade the bronze-capped ram.

The two flagships smashed together, and with the thundering impact came the roaring battle cries of the soldiers. The two sides rushed upon each other as fierce hand-to-hand combat prevailed over both decks.

Kane leaped into the fray, his great sword cutting a path to the other ship. Confident that he could wield the long blade effectively with his left arm, he tossed aside his shield and ripped a cutlass from the side of a corpse, hefted it in his right hand. Although left-handed, Kane had trained himself to use his right arm with equal prowess. Having full use of both hands made Kane doubly deadly in a close fight--as those who tore at him quickly learned.

Driving back the enemy marines, Kane reached the high prow of the Ara-Teving and leaped onto the Mon-Ossa's decks. A host of Imperial soldiers rushed to meet him. Kane smashed down the first with his broadsword, briefly parried the blade of the second before finishing him with a sudden gutting slash of the cutlass, then whirled to spit a third marine on his broadsword. Shouting for his crew to follow him, Kane tore into the ranks of the Imperials, his two blades leaving a gory trail. Snarling faces and glittering blades whirled about him in a crimson vortex. It was close work for the first minutes. Kane's mail held true, though his bare flesh bled from minor gashes--cheap payment for the lives he took. Then his crew was spilling over the rails to give him support.

In the first wave, Arbas was fighting like a blood-mad panther. Recklessly the dark-haired assassin ripped into the Imperial marines. Kane wished he could find a lull to watch an artist at work--for the assassin's deadliness lay not only in his stealth, but in his raw fighting ability as well.

Calmly and deliberately, Kane slashed through the Imperial forces, his senses inflamed with the rush of battle and the ecstasy of killing. Much as he longed to lose himself in an orgy of death and carnage, Kane kept his blood-lust in check, and it was intellect, not emotion, that governed his actions.

An officer in the red cloak of an Imperial general broke through the reeling marines to hurl himself against Kane. "You must be Kane!" he shouted, swinging a vicious upward slash that Kane barely knocked aside. "Well then, know that I am Lages! Today I command this fleet, pirate! Tomorrow your death shall make me Emperor!"

"You will never be Emperor, then!" snarled Kane, and pressed his attack with increased fury. "But I'll give you a crown of good steel!"

Lages was an excellent swordsman, but Kane's lightning-swift, two-bladed attack baffled him. He had seen men fight with sword and dagger before, but never with two swords. And Kane wielded with complete ease a sword that most men would use with both hands. Taunts that sneered on his lips now passed unspoken as Lages struggled for breath. In spite of his skill, Lages found himself being forced back steadily to the ship's railing. For the first time his confidence began to waver. Had the weeks in prison so weakened him? Was this Kane truly the monster of old, against whom legend claimed no man could prevail?

But Lages was a strong man. His notched buckler continued to turn back the rain of blows Kane hammered against him, while his reddened blade stabbed to pierce his enemy's guard. In growing panic, Lages realized that less and less was he on the offensive--that now he was hard pressed even to weave a defense against Kane's relentless attack. Grimly he sought to keep Kane's blades away from his aching flesh. His shield was being cut to pieces; his sword was dulled from parrying Kane's steel. Finally came one blinding-fast stroke that could not be parried. Kane's cutlass moved like reflected light and slashed across Lages's sword arm. In agony, Lages felt his sword arm go nerveless, his blade clatter to the slippery deck.

"Goodbye, Lages!" Kane laughed, and raised his broadsword for the killing blow. "Go join your fleet in hell!"

Frantically, Lages jumped back to avoid the blade, tripped over the ship's broken railing, and fell into the sea below. The waves slammed against him with stunning force, and the icy water closed above him. His armor weighted him down, dragging him under. Lages sank, struggling desperately to force his gashed arm to unbuckle his heavy cuirass.

"Lages is down! Lages is down!" The hopeless cry ran from ship to ship among the Imperials.

Kane started for the rail to make certain of his kill, but was swept back as a pack of vengeance-mad Imperial marines flung themselves against him. Fighting desperately, Kane needed all his strength to beat back their crazed onslaught, and for a timeless interval, steel clangoured against steel faster than mind or eye could follow. But their attack finally wavered before the figure of death they had centered upon, and from behind rebel soldiers quickly cut through to Kane's aid.