Darkness Weaves (25 page)

"Nice throw, milord!" came the shout from one marine. A murmur of approval passed through the men of both ships as word sped that Kane had saved Alremas through a miraculous spear cast.

Kane swore. His throw had been witnessed, after all, although his intent was favorably misconstrued. Aware that this was too open a place for murder, Kane raised his fist in acknowledgment of the praise, seething inwardly at the thought that the axeman might have killed Alremas. Then they were upon the Imperial warship, and Kane was too busy rescuing his enemy to hatch further schemes.

Looping across the faltering battle, Netisten Maril came to the shocking realization that his forces were being defeated. Of his giant armada of some four hundred warships, only about twenty-five remained afloat--mostly in crippled condition.

The Emperor had almost lost this third flagship--when one of his own warships had seen the Pellinite banners and nearly rammed him. The remaining Imperial warships were being slowly and relentlessly overwhelmed by the rebel navy--still with maybe forty ships afloat, and the constant threat of the Oraycha giving them confidence. Their exact strengths were a little uncertain, because of the frequent exchange of control of an embattled warship. Maril had been told of one trireme that had changed hands three times. This morning the thought had been inconceivable; as the shadows lengthened it was inescapable. The entire might of the Thovnosian Empire had been brutally annihilated by the forces of an insane sorceress. Efrel had conquered. Total defeat was inevitable if he remained on the field.

"I'm going to order a retreat," he bleakly informed Lages. "We'll at least try to save something to use to defend Thovnos."

His nephew grimly worked to stanch the flow of blood from his side, where a dagger point had forced the joint of his cuirass. Lages said nothing. There were no words to say.

Giving the signal to retreat, Mari1 headed for Thovnosten with his captured warship. The surviving Imperial warships followed suit--those that were able to escape the melee. What looked at first to be pursuit, turned out instead to be a number of other captured rebel warships, whose new masters little realized that they may have owed their lives to the droning impulses of the Scylredi talismans fixed to their prizes' keels. Altogether, fourteen ships left the wreckage of the battle and made for Thovnosten.

"They're in flight!" shouted Arbas. "We've beaten then at last! Kane, you've defeated the largest armada ever assembled in this part of the world--maybe even the damn biggest fleet in history!"

"It soothes some old wounds," said Kane, thinking of a similar battle with an opposite ending, two centuries before. His eyes grew clouded in revery.

"Shall we chase them?" Arbas wanted to know. "Hell, if Efrel's sea demons hadn't turned tail, we could've sent them out to blast every mother's son of them. But we might still overtake them before dark."

"No. We'll let them run," Kane decided. He was limping somewhat, and his right arm was hard to use from a deep gash that continued to seep through the crude bandage. Even Kane's fantastic strength had been pushed past limit in the grueling, day-long battle.

"We'll hold our position and consolidate our victory," he concluded. "There's plenty of salvageable material in the water that we're going to need--and the men need a chance to lick their wounds and celebrate. We'll mop up here and head for Prisarte.

"Efrel won't like it that we've let her enemy escape, but we'll finish Maril later. Right now I could see a bath, a drink, and some soft kisses to draw out the pain of battle. We just may burn down Prisarte tonight by ourselves."

He scowled wearily at the dwindling warships. Evidently the Oraycha had tired of their sport and were feeding by now. The sea was an overflowing storm sewer of death. The water was filled with the wreckage of hundreds of ships, the bodies of thousands of men. And Kane could see other dark shapes feasting among the debris that were not Oraycha.

The riot and jubilation that claimed Prisarte did not penetrate into me northern wing of Dan-Legeh. In the night beyond the black citadel, the city resounded with the rebels' victory celebration. Taverns and bordellos overflowed into the streets and alleys, where mobs of revellers feasted and drank and caroused without care or thought for the next battle.

Oxfors Alremas stood stiffly in Efrel's private chambers, sipping pale wine from a crystal chalice. The Pellinite lord was impeccably groomed, resplendent in brocaded houppelande and silken hose. He might have just emerged from a court ball, rather than from a grueling and bloody day of battle.

"The joy of my victory is made tasteless by the escape of Netisten Maril," Efrel murmured.

Alremas wiped his lips with a perfumed handkerchief. "I should consider it ill grace to criticize a man who has saved my life," he said urbanely. "However, I do feel that Kane should have given pursuit. There was sufficient time to overtake the fugitive survivors before darkness. I imagine that Kane had had enough fighting for the day. Certainly, he lost no time upon landing to go out drinking and brawling with the common soldiers."
"The gods of darkness have granted me victory," Efrel mused. "In a matter of days Thovnosten will have fallen to me. Then let Netisten Maril be dragged from the smoking ruins of his lost majesty, be brought to me in chains and disgrace. My vengeance shall have the more savor for the anticipation of a few more days."

"I suggest that you remind Kane that the Emperor is to be taken alive," Alremas told her. "It is churlish to disparage one's superior officer, but I must say that Kane showed little concern for capturing Maril. Looking back upon the conduct of his men during the battle, it's a wonder that Maril wasn't killed in the melee."

Efrel's one eye glared at him balefully. "That must not happen," she hissed. "Netisten Maril must be brought to me alive--at any cost!"

"I shall do all in my power to see that your wishes are obeyed," promised Alremas.

"And M'Cori," Efrel breathed. "M'Cori must also be brought to me--untouched and unharmed! Do you understand?"

"I understand, my Queen," Alremas assured her. "And I shall continue to remind Kane of your commands."

He set aside his chalice and knelt beside her couch. "Efrel, let me command the invasion fleet. Kane has served his purpose. The man is dangerous. You think you use him--but I fear that Kane uses you instead."

"Enough!" snarled Efrel. "I use men as I please--and discard them when it pleases me! See that my wishes are obeyed, Oxfors Alremas--and beware that your jealousy of Kane does not detract from your usefulness to me! You may go now."

Alremas stood up, saluted stiffly, and withdrew from Efrel's presence. Hatred smouldered in his eyes.

Efrel finished her wine and felt the rush of anger subside. Reclining upon her couch, she stared at the painting on the wall.

Efrel of another life stared down at her.

Efrel loosened her fur pelisse and let its folds fall away from her naked flesh. Her unblemished hands trailed across the hideous expanses of twisted scar and torn flesh. She gazed entranced upon the girl of naked beauty in the painting, caressed her mutilated body. Were these maimed legs once those ivory thighs of the painting? Were these tattered breasts those same rouge-crowned hillocks? Was this mass of scar and broken rib once that slim white belly? Was this face...

There were tears in that eye that could yet distill tears.

"Soon," Efrel crooned to herself. "Soon..."

A week after the defeat of the Imperial armada, Kane watched the coastline of Thovnos climb out of the sea. This day he commanded a fleet of some seventy-five ships of all descriptions, crowded to the rails with fighting men for the invasion of Thovnosten. This was to be the final assault, for Kane estimated Maril's strength to be too decimated to withstand a full-scale attack. The only difficulty would be in penetrating the city's defenses, and Kane trusted to the Scylredi to accomplish this task.

Whatever their reaction over the loss of one of their irreplacable submarine craft, Efrel had succeeded in maintaining their support in the rebellion. But, so the sorceress warned Kane, the energy that powered their engines and terrible weapons was almost exhausted. Unable to replenish this energy source, the Scylredi had made only sparing use of their warcraft for centuries. Efrel had persuaded them to consume some final reservoirs of this precious energy, but the Scylredi insisted that their annihilating rays be utilized only where it was absolutely essential.

As he had expected, Kane encountered no resistance on the passage to Thovnos. Maril had realized it would only be a foolish waste of strength to oppose Kane's fleet with the remnants of his own farce. The Emperor had gathered together everything at his command to mount a desperate defense of Thovnosten--knowing that he must preserve his capital from Efrel's power at all costs. The sea was barren of Imperial warships now. Without incident, the rebel fleet took up position outside the harbor of Thovnosten.

Thovnosten's harbor was too wide to be blocked, but through the glass Kane could see that at strategic places wrecks had been sunk and sharp poles driven into the bottom, in an effort to stop the invaders. They would have to proceed carefully if the Scylredi did not remove all obstructions, and that would expose the ships to the defenders' fire. And this was only the outer perimeter of the harbor defenses. The surviving warships of the great battle were armed and ready to repel the invaders within the harbor. Dane noted dozens of fishing boats and other nondescript hulls drawn up before the Imperial fleet. Fireboats and other pleasantries, Kane decided.

The walls of the city were lined with defenders. Every able-bodied man in the city must have turned out to hold the walls. Also visible were great numbers of catapults--along with mounds of boulders and vats of flaming oil to be hurled down on the attackers. The city gates were strong and well fortified--work for a massive battering ram, assuming men could endure the constant fire from the walls. Altogether, Thovnosten was well prepared to withstand the rebel assault, and the city's defenders were determined not to yield.

Ordinarily Kane would never have considered taking the stronghold, except by long siege.

But Efrel's inhuman allies fought with weapons no human defenses could withstand. Beyond the harbor, the Scylredi warcraft now surfaced to signal the start of the final assault.

Deadly bolts of violet heat crackled forth from the submarines and sliced into the walls of Thovnosten. Hundreds of screaming defenders died in searing blast after blast as the very stones shattered to cinder under the incandescent heat. Catapults and siege machinery flashed into charred heaps, while kettles of oil exploded into gigantic fireballs. Howling mobs fled in terror. The frightened tales of the battle's survivors had only been halfway believed. Now the horrors of prehuman science rose up from the ocean depths to confront the race that dared to declare itself masters of the earth.

From the city came an answering hail of arrows and missiles of all kinds. The rain of death glanced harmlessly off the metal hulls, or fell among the recklessly advancing warships with more serious effect. But as the lashes of destroying energy raked the walls of the city, the return fire became ragged--and failed. Columns of black, reeking smoke boiled up from the battlements. Screaming figures stumbled from the wall, trailing flame as they plummeted to the smouldering ground below.

Then the Scylredi turned their fire against the city gates. With a thundering concussion, the iron gates were blasted into a flaming gout of molten fragments and fused cinder--leaving gaping holes in the cracked walls. Thovnosten's heart was guarded now only by tumbled heaps of flaming timber and splintered rubble.

Turning from the smouldering walls, the submarines unleashed a salvo of quick bursts of coruscant hellfire into the waiting ships. Fireships exploded amidst the lines of warships. The last of the Imperial navy withered beneath the destroying barrage. Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the firing ceased and the warcraft submerged. But in less than ten minutes, their awesome attack had annihilated the defenses of Thovnosten.

"Now! Let's get in there before they pick themselves up!" shouted Kane--and the rebel fleet drove into the harbor.

Several captains were careless, smashing their ships into hidden obstructions--but the great part of the rebel fleet entered the harbor unscathed and rushed to meet what remained of the Imperial navy. Ship crashed into ship as the Imperial forces recklessly attacked the rebels. They knew theirs to be a suicide mission, and they fought like maddened devils to take as many souls as possible with them into the eternal night.

Fishing boats filled with combustible materials were set afire and driven into the ranks of the invaders. In the close quarters, precise maneuvering was impossible--and the blazing fireboats smashed against several warships, showering them with flame. And as the battle dragged on, a scattered but steadily increasing rain of arrows and missiles descended upon the struggling warships. The survivors were quickly returning to the smoking walls.

But the resistance was ineffectual. Defenses geared to the repulsion of a natural enemy had been shattered by an inhuman force. The rebel invasion fleet pressed relentlessly forward, and although a number of ships were lost, the desperate defenders were driven back. Decks swarming with rebel soldiers, the last of the Imperial fleet was overrun--helpless against the irresistible strength of Kane's hordes. The rebel fleet landed, and thousands of soldiers rushed ashore to carry the battle into the city. Following Kane's commands, the rebel forces now split into three sections, each entering the city through a different breach in the walls. This would cut the regrouping defenders off from each other--and make it impossible for the Thovnosians to throw their remaining strength against any single front.

Taking several arrows on his shield, Kane jumped ashore and pushed to the glowing ruin of the main gate. His men were milling about the smouldering wreckage--momentarily checked as the Thavnosians concentrated their shattered forces to defend the major portal. The soldiers shouted a welcome as he joined them, and confidently they followed him into the hard fighting around the breach in the wall. Like a demon of death, Kane cut through the defenders--smashing them aside with powerful razor-edged strokes. For this heavy fighting Kane chose to carry his short-hafted battle-axe. Swinging the double-bitted weapon with his strong left arm, Kane ripped men apart in crimson eruptions of dismembered limbs, entrails, and gore. Behind the bludgeon of his axe, the cutlass Kane wielded in his right hand flashed like a serpent's fang. Heedless of arrows in the dense melee, Kane discarded his buckler and trusted to his mail to turn the steel that stabbed past his guard.