by Vitaly Zykov
Darg looked grimly in that direction and spat evilly.
– Who's screaming?! – An unwashed and disheveled face appeared over the side of the ship and shouted: – People are sleeping here!!!
– Where's the captain?! – Yarik's master shouted in response and without waiting for an answer he jumped onto the deck.
Yarik jumped after him. From outside it looked, probably quite impressive: between the deck and the pier was no less than four yards, and here without run-up and straining one jump and the first man like a ravenous beast got on the swaying deck, then the second one repeated this unimaginable leap. The impossibility of what just had happened began to reach the mind of the sleepy face owner, he was blinking and stupidly opening his mouth, as if he had forgotten the human speech.
– Who's the captain?! – Darg's commanding voice was not asking but demanding an answer.
The subdued sailor swallowed, making his Adam's apple go up and down, and said hoarsely:
– Vesemir!
– Is he that Vesemir, whom they sometimes called… – confidently began Darg, but the sailor interrupted him with whisper:
– …Mad Vesemir. Hush! He does not like this nickname…
– Well! Take me to him, urgently!
– But… – The sailor timidly tried to argue.
– Hurry up!!! – What amazed Yarik in his master, that was the ability to gain what he needed.
– You stay here! – Said he to Yarik. Darg seemed to be roaring rather than speaking.
The stunned sailor pointed silently at the aft superstructure. The nomad snorted and walked briskly to the cabin entrance.
– Your master is very tough… – drawled the sailor. The fact that he spoke to a despised kord, did not bother him.
– I won't complain – shrugged Yarik, cautiously listening to his feelings.
– What does he need? – The sailor continued questioning, he obviously loved to talk.
At this point, the cabin door opened, and a drunken voice said:
– Shram! Get me Guzak, now!
– He did not wake up yet! Yesterday evening he and Wolt came drunk as a skunk… – calmly explained the sailor standing next to Yarik.
– Bring him to me quickly!!! – The captain yelled even louder.
Surprised, Shram ran to the hatch and habitually ducked inside. Weary minutes followed. Finally two men got out. One of them was staggering and all the flies from around were overflowing him in a wide arc – the smell of booze could kill faster than poison.
– Shram!!! – Vesemir yelled again.
– Yes, I am here, – growled the sailor. – I led him already.
Guzak half-drunk, moaning, dived into the captain's cabin doorway. The door slammed. Just a few seconds later Guzak fell out the cabin and yelled:
– Shram!!! Wake up Wolt and others! We are departing in five minutes!!!
– But Grul and Ustak are still on the shore…
– This drunks may go to ass! – Guzak continued to yell spreading the smell of booze. – The client cannot wait!
A minute later, sleepy sailors were running and fussing around Yarik. Some of them were setting sails, someone stood up to the steering wheel, a pair of sailors rushed to remove the ladder (this grandiose name belonged to a board with nailed cross bars). Darg came out on the deck. His gloomy eyes told Yarik better than any words, that his master had almost no money now.
– Twenty-five farlongs – Darg said through his clenched teeth. – And that is solely after Guzak's guarantee! All this trough costs no more than a hundred of farlongs!
Suddenly he stopped and glared at the approaching group of riders. Yarik felt as his sense of danger howled like a wounded animal. Even Rual who was sitting inside the bag stuck out his muzzle and snorted hard. The sailors began to look back at the fugitives. It was good that they did not stop working.
Finally, the anchor was raised, and the wind filled their sails. The ship began to move slowly. A moment before they were in eight yards from the shore, then twenty, now they could breathe a bit quieter. The pursuers who nearly overtook the fugitives now were furiously shouting on the shore waving the weapon helplessly.
– It seems we shook off the chase – Yarik moaned with an indescribable relief. – Will they go after us?
Darg thoughtfully stroked the hilt of his sword and growled:
– I think not. The gap is too large, and as soon as I reach the continent, the first practicing magician will close me from the shaman. Bosk knows it like no other. My dear brother lost all chances to get my head!
– But previously… – The slave ventured to argue.
– Previously was a different time! The tribe never has such losses.
The master shrugged and walked to the stern. Yarik realized with a chill in his heart that he would be sold in the foreign country. He was the only thread that could lead to his master. He had got used to this master, but with a new one certainly would be a problem.
– Shit! – The slave whispered one word, when he wanted to roar and to break the deck under his feet. – Shit!!!
Yarik was sitting on the bow of the ship as if trying to penetrate beyond the edge called horizon. His master did not bother him. Darg either sat in his cabin, or talked with Guzak and Vesemir about something. Some sailors, spurred by Wolt who turned to be a boatswain, were performing their work. The rest were lazily doing their own business: some were dicing, some were telling stories, some were sleeping in the hold, and some were fencing with short swords. Nobody cared about the kord. Sometimes they could ask him about something or just shout at him, but usually he was looked upon as mere a cargo or some sort of ballast. In this voyage like never before Yarik felt like a lifeless object, like a thing. Even in nomads tribe it was easier, there he felt like a prisoner, then while their fleeing through the half of Sarduor – like a junior partner, and only sometimes like a thing. A nasty feeling.
Nevertheless Yarik did not let emotions overwhelm him – he worked. If what he was doing every free minute could be called that. He paved the way to his freedom. During their crazy journey he had no opportunity to unravel the alien spell, but now in silence and tranquility he should make up for the lost time. Yarik was spending all his life energy, balancing on the edge of total exhaustion, building the way to the center of his Force. Every new step toward his freedom was harder and more difficult than the previous one. He had to intuitively, sometimes without realizing his actions meaning, do the impossible.
In several days he became dry as a skeleton. His condition caused some concern of his master – Yarik was his movable property. Darg even condescended to arrange the increase Yarik's amount of food with Vesemir. It was of little help, though. More precisely, that had little effect on Yarik's appearance, because these new crumbs of vitality were exploited in his work.
Every day Yarik sat in the bow of the ship and turning his face to the sun, sank into the trance. Then, when he already had no more energy, he was just sitting there and thinking. The only event that could distract him from apathetic sea observation was the daily training of Darg. Although there was nothing surprising in this fact – all the team members free from watch gathered to look at these trainings.
It began in the late afternoon. Darg naked to the waist, climbed onto the roof of the aft superstructure and raising his sword and dagger up to the sky, stood for a few heartbeats. Then he began his dance. Yarik, of course, had seen trainings of his master during their long journey, but now it was not the same. Only now Darg had time for a true training, which was like a dance of deadly steel in the name of life. The air was humming smoothly, the steel strips were cutting the air, giving no chance to an enemy. The rhythm of this dance was charming. When Darg began, silence fell over the ship, there were only the sun, the lapping of waves, the whistling of steel and the blurred silhouette. Miraculous art opened its verges before the breathless audience. Darg strained every sinew again and again trying to achieve more, to outdo the limits of his skill. Only tw
o men on the ship knew the causes of the frenzy that fell upon the steppe warrior. The memories of defeat from the strange yellow-skinned warrior like poisonous splinters tortured Darg's mind. That meant that something was wrong, something was unfinished, that there was a flaw! Darg continued to weave patterns of death, putting into practice new combinations and feints, entirely revealing his talent of swordsman.
Yarik, who brought himself to almost full exhaustion, sat frozen at such moments, his eyes were wide open imprinting this dance firmly into his memory. He only had to look, to tune in the rhythm and let his consciousness merge with it. At such moments, Yarik felt as if he was dancing there on the aft. Imperceptible shiver ran through his muscles, and his will-to-win became stronger.
Once Yarik asked his master why he had stopped to smoke garlun. His knowledge was already enough to understand the importance of this grass in the culture of local fencing schools.
– It's no longer necessary for me, slave. I have already received all that garlun could give me. What I need now is just training routine. – Darg's voice was dry and unpleasant. Those springs of normal human relations that existed between the slave and his master before, faded as they got on the ship.
Yarik did not ask Darg any other questions.
After those trainings, sailors gathered around Guzak and Wolt and listened to the story about their night rescue. Every new time the number of bandits doubled and a common fight acquired the image of a bloody battle. The thing that surprised Yarik most of all, was Guzak's behavior. The first mate, the second man after God(the first – of course, the captain!), he was on a friendly footing with sailors! That morning, when Yarik and his master got on this kogg, he slept not even in his cabin, but in the forecastle. Although, it was fortunate he was able to find the very ship being that drunk!
The sensitive ear of the kord heard a clatter of claws. Rual was wandering again around the ship searching and sniffing for something. As Yarik understood the local population of rats had reduced sharply. There were rumors among the crew about a gray shade that appeared from nowhere and disappeared into nowhere, after which various sorts of things went missing. The ship's cook even complained to the captain about disappearance of one pork leg and half a barrel of wine. The last fact was such an obvious lie that the cook tormented with hangover imagined the possible consequences of what was said, right after he had finished to speak. But the cook was extremely lucky at that time – Vesemir had seen the mysterious shadow the first time not long before and now was pondering over the probability of visions of a thoroughly sober person!
Although the food was really disappearing. Rual constantly brought tidbits to his adored lord. One time he even brought a rat, but Yarik refused. Though in the Forest he ate everything, now he was not in the Forest!
Sometimes Yarik merged his consciousness with the beast and wandered through all corners of the ship, listening to other people's conversations, looking for crumbs of information about the surrounding world. Unfortunately, he could perform this kind of business, only lying in his hammock in the forecastle, where nobody could suspect anything wrong.
So, slowly making his way through a sea-voyage routine, Yarik was approaching the new continent. Sometimes he even wondered why the captains refused to deliver the passengers to Jugha, they had not met any pirates yet. But on the sixth day of the journey the slave felt with every fiber of his soul that a spring of tension began to shrink. The sailors were expecting something terrible, wishing for the intimidating fate to pass them by. It happens before a storm, when an unnatural silence descends upon the land, and everything calms down until a burst of thunder…
The thunder burst on the fifteenth day of their journey. The time was already long past noon, and the blades were gleaming again on the stern superstructure. The spectators who had not yet got used to this unusual spectacle gathered on the deck. Only an observer sat in the «crow's nest» on the mast, and in the midst of the fight with shadow a shout swept over the deck. The men jumped on their feet, Darg froze in a low stance.
– A ship!!! There is a ship on the starboard side!!! – Screamed the observer.
Someone hurried to the captain's cabin. After barely a couple of minutes Vesemir and Guzak flew onto the deck.
– Where?! – barked the captain, taking out a spyglass. Catching the point barely visible with the naked eye, he watched for a while, then spat with anger: – I have not seen the flag yet, but it has the contours like of a hunter from Snake's Head. Shit! – Stepping heavily, muttering something under his breath, Vesemir who seemed to have turned twenty years older, returned to his cabin.
– Keep to the north east! – Guzak shouted to the helmsman. – And tell Mark to turn the mover to the fullest speed. Maybe everything would be all right… If something happens let me know!
On receiving the orders the sailors immediately began hustling. Guzak also went to his cabin, but stopped at the entrance and ordered:
– Weapon on the deck. Prepare crossbows and incendiary arrows. If these are the pirates from the Head indeed, you understand everything yourselves…
The pre-battle bustling began. The massive baskets with swords, the bunches of crossbow quarrels and the crossbows themselves appeared on the deck. The sailors began to install wooden shields covered with thick skin along the sides of the ship.
– Why we got here at all? – A young sailor, a little older then Yarik, was almost sobbing. – Now we shall die for these filthy coins!
At the last phrase the sailor glared at Yarik with hatred. Having caught this glance, he decided to stop irritating people for no reason, and went down into the forecastle. He felt no fear, only a slight tremor, and something resembling a foretaste embraced his body. Adrenaline began to boil slowly in his blood, and somewhere beneath his feet the abyss of non-existence revealed its depth again. For the umpteenth time Fate offered him to walk over a thin thread, which strove to break off.
Yarik climbed into his hammock and began to look for Rual's consciousness – he was not going to lose sight of what was happening overhead. Rual climbed to the top of the mast, and a wonderful sight opened before Yarik… The intriguing blue sea depths, that were grading smoothly into the gentle blue of the sky, a thin line of the horizon and a whitish sail growing with every minute. Judging by the speed of the other ship, Vesemir's kogg had no chance to escape. Thirty minutes of chase – that was the most optimistic forecast.
Kaifat hissed, catching his master feelings, but Yarik quickly regained control over the animal's body and tried to look around. Some vague, unconscious feeling forced him to rummage the horizon. There it was! In the south east some black point was increasing rapidly.
«Who is that? Who wishes to get another piece of the pie? The pie is too little actually…» – Thinking that way, Yarik still understood that he was mistaken. Of course, that was a ship (the growing point could not be anything else!) and the swiftness of a predator felt in her, but Yarik felt no direct aggression.
Yarik grimaced mentally and prepared to wait. As always, the time should dot the i's and cross the t's, especially since the both ships should reach their kogg simultaneously.
Five minutes later the screams of sailors reported that they had noticed the second ship. The team held their breath, praying to all the gods that the new ship should not turn to be an enemy… The minutes were flowing painfully.
Yarik decided to break away from contemplation of the approaching second ship precisely at the moment when the sharp-nosed pirate ship made a test shot. Something blazing rose into the air from a cannon on the pirate deck and rushed towards the kogg with heartbreaking whistle. At first Yarik thought that the deadly shell was flying straight at him, but of course, he was wrong… undershoot! There was a roar of an explosion in the water and a column of water rose up there.
«Blimey! So much for the Middle Ages!» – Was the only distinct Yarik's thought.
After the first shell, the second hit, then the third one. The hits were close, but they still misse
d the «bullseye». Kogg's team that became the center of a huge target, was incredibly lucky. Suddenly a steady hum appeared and a fire flower arose right in the middle of the pirate ship. It arose and faded – the hull of the pirate ship had an enviable strength, but it made the pirates forget their victim – a serious player entered the fight.
Probably, that could explain the haste of pirates in shooting: they had no time to chase and hoped to shoot down the prey and catch it after a fight with another ship. But such arrogance surprised even Yarik – who was a complete layman in maritime affairs. Just the appearance of the second ship inspired respectful feeling to her – the tilted masts, the sleek hull, the two deck superstructures that were very similar to some turrets, and superior maneuverability of this night-black ship were impressive.
Yarik missed the first shot, but he saw the following ones in details. The deck superstructures really were the turrets. Behind them were strange-looking cannons, which fired the arrows filled with destructive magic into the pirate ship with enviable speed and accuracy. The aura of alien magic was almost burning his eyes!
Finally the duel between the two ships brought some results. There was a boom of a distant explosion and wooden fragments of the pirate ship flew in all directions, flames of fire began to dance amidst the mad chaos. The kogg was already too far from the battle place, and details were not visible, but the damage felt significant, however not fatal. The flames faded quickly, the smoke cleared, and only soot on the still unscathed sail revealed the recent fire. There was no visible damage on the hull, but nonetheless the pirates decided to withdraw from the fight. Having laid a sharp turn, the pirates ship began moving away to the north in a stately manner.
It was odd enough, but the savior decided not to pursue the pirates, but took a course on pursuit of the kogg.
«Just another pirate!» – Yarik thought angrily. – «Damn you!»
The black hunter caught up with the kogg, and began to semaphore with flags. Yarik in kaifat's body pressed tightly against the mast, trying to hide from prying eyes. Below, on the deck Guzak was already swearing and Wolt's punches were urging the sailors to move more vigorously.
