(eng) Alan Burt Akers - Dray Prescot 29 by Fires of Scorpio

Author:Fires of Scorpio [Scorpio, Fires of]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter twelve

Concerning the Swordship Redfang

The Suns of Scorpio hung low above the horizon streaming their mingled opaz radiance across the sea in paths of viridian and vermilion. A scattering of sea birds screamed and swung away. The dark blot of an island showed stark against the sky as the squall whisked past. The swordship had shot from the island’s shelter. The squall had concealed her. Now she bore down upon us with her cruel bronze ram slicing through the sea as it would slice through our timbers.

Although clearly Captain Linson was a consummate seaman, the task of handling Tuscurs Maiden in battle against a swordship was of the order of scaling a mountain peak with your hands tied behind your back and wearing skis.

His sharpness was never in more evidence.

His orders rapped out. The hands rushed to obey. The yards braced around, the argenter’s head fell off, and with the wind up her tail Tuscurs Maiden took off directly eastwards. The evolution was conducted smartly. With a vessel of even moderate speed, speed equal to that of the swordship chasing us, or the speed of a Vallian galleon, he would have outrun our pursuer. But the vessel was an argenter, slow and lubberly.

The swordship balked in her first initial rush to ram, swung about to follow, sheeted in spray, like a crocodile smashing through the water.

Pelamoin said: “Nogoya. She’s a damned swordship out of Nogoya.”

Pompino shook his sword at the pursuing vessel.

“That Pandrite-forsaken island is too big for its boots. They think they own the seas.”

“At least, they control the seas here, and we have strayed into their area. They will not seek to destroy us, Horter Pompino, but to board and enslave us. They use slaves.”

“Then my hand is turned against them,” I said.

Captain Murkizon swaggered forrard from the after castle. He carried three swords in various hangings from his belt, and he swung a vicious looking double-headed axe.

“The best way to deal with these rasts is to hit ’em before they know! Hit ’em, knock ’em down, and jump on ’em!”

This seemed an eminently sensible idea. As to its practicability, that would have to be proved.

On a dead run to leeward the swordship hoisted a scrap of sail on her foremast. She leaped after us. I walked aft, up through the sterncastle, and peered out alongside a varter which snouted from its port.

Wilma the Shot said: “I’ll guarantee to land a rock right on the head of that fellow up front.”

A light laugh from the gloom of the aftercastle drew my attention to Wilma’s sister. Alwim the Eye patted her varter. A heavy and exceedingly ugly-looking dart lay in the trough. The dart was of iron, and multi-barbed.

“And I’ll shove this right down the gullet of that archer next to your fellow, sister.”

From the armory I’d taken one of Pompino’s bows. It was compound, reflex, a sound weapon if without the range of a Lohvian longbow. For the kind of work we envisaged, this boy would suit perfectly.

“And what do you ladies leave me?”

“Why — that rast at their bow varter.

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