Assassins of Kantara

by James Boschert

  Suddenly it was flung open. One of the men who had shoved him into the hold was now standing at the entrance, grumbling. “‘Go and get him,’ he says. Who is this fellow, anyway? Exazenos seems to want him on deck in a hurry. Why’d we stow him in the first place if he was needed above?”

  The man peered into the darkness of the hold. “Where’s he gone?” he exclaimed.

  He got no further. Talon reached out of the dark and dragged him into the room, and his knife buried itself in the man’s abdomen. While the first man lay groaning on the floor, Talon leapt out and faced the other. A short but vicious knife fight ensued, but the crew man was no match for the piston-like fist and the striking feet that seemed to come at him from all directions. Well used to brawls, he fended off the strikes, lashing out with his own blade. But he was a landsman, not a sailor, and momentarily lost his balance. And instant later he choked as Talon’s blade was driven into his throat.

  Talon peered up the narrow stairway leading to the rowing deck and began to climb. A man appeared at the top just as Talon was gliding up the final steps. Before the sailor could yell the alarm, a hand seized his jerkin and he was hauled off his feet and hurled head first down the stairs to crash into a heap at the bottom.

  Without even looking to see how he had fared, Talon leapt up the last of the steps and found himself looking along a wide deck with men laboring at the oars. Their mouths were wide open to take gasping breaths and their faces contorted with the effort as they worked. No one noticed him until he was right behind the time keeper, who was beating out out the rhythm; then one of the rowers saw Talon poised to climb the stairs. The rower shouted and raised his arm to point. The time keeper whirled about, but it was too late. One slash of the razor-sharp blade and he fell, clutching his throat, desperately trying to stop himself from bleeding to death on the dirty wooden floor.

  At just this moment the ship staggered and they were all flung sideways. The port side of the vessel exploded inwards and a thousand splinters of wood obliterated the rowers in that area.

  Talon knew then exactly what had happened: Reza was somewhere out there and he had just fired a Scorpion. Mentally congratulating his brother on his aim, he knew Reza could have aimed at the middle of the ship, with devastating effect, but had taken the added risk to try and protect his brother. Talon knew it was imperative to get off the ship quickly, but there was one item he was not going to leave behind. He sped up the stairs, looking for the cabins. The screams and cries from above gave him added impetus.

  He had only just reached the cabin deck when he felt and heard the splintering crash of another vessel hammering into the ship’s side. The shock threw him to his knees as the entire vessel shuddered. Then he heard fierce yells of men boarding Pantoleon’s ship.

  Grimly deciding that speed would serve best, Guy had managed to bring his ship almost alongside Pantoleon’s ship before the operators could get the Greek fire apparatus going again. The shock of the explosion had killed or maimed the men nearest to it, then the impact of the ships’ collision rendered most of the other men incapacitated for those critical seconds necessary to aid Reza’s boarding party.

  In the mad rush over the side, Reza tapped aside a spear and lunged with his sword, spitting a large man with red hair who choked and fell under the feet of Reza’s screaming followers. Another wielding an ax charged at Reza, the weapon held over his head to bring it down in a killing blow. Reza danced aside and ripped his keen-edged Japanese weapon across the man’s exposed belly. Without even checking on his latest victim, Reza allowed himself to be propelled along the crowded deck towards the after part of the ship. All the while he searched for any sign of Talon and the one man he wanted to take prisoner, and finally discerned Pantoleon on the after part of the main deck, just below the steering deck. The fighting was savage, as every man on the deck knew there was to be no quarter, but Reza and his men had the advantage.

  Many of the men on the main deck forward were still dazed from the explosion and didn’t put up much of a fight, but others rallied and fought hard. Men on both sides fell. Battle yells became screams of agony and the deck became slippery with men’s blood. The clash of swords on swords and shields became a crazily irregular beat, but slowly the mercenaries of Pantoleon were driven back. Reza could see their commander fighting with skill and determination some way off, but because of the crush of men around him and the need to watch out for his own safety Reza was frustrated in his attempts to get anywhere near to engage his adversary.

  Then something occurred that distracted everyone. The Greek Fire apparatus, shaken loose by the explosion and the tilting deck, fell over and ignited. Screams of alarm and fear filled the air as the flaming liquid spread along the wooden deck. The cordage on deck nearby caught and flared, while flames began to lick at the stays and rigging. The stricken vessel came slowly to a wallowing halt as they rowers abandoned their oars and tried to escape and the vessel began to settle in the water by the bows.

  “Get off this ship, now!” Reza screamed fearfully at his men, and frantically pulled at those who were to engaged by fighting to hear. Once they saw what had happened the men needed no further persuasion. They began to break off the fight and in a mad rush scrambled to get over the side onto their own ship, which Guy was already directing his men to push away from the stricken vessel. Some of his men fell into the sea and ropes were tossed to them, but most managed to get back onto the other ship; some of the mercenaries also tried to get to safety, but were speared as they tried, pleading to be rescued from their flaming ship. A thick column of stinking black smoke was rising into the sky.

  Guy bellowed orders at his men to throw water onto everything exposed to the flames, working furiously to get his ship poled to safety well out of the danger area, as the rapidly flowing Greek fire began to pour over the side of Pantoleon’s vessel into the sea to threaten his own ship anew.

  Men on Pantoleon’s ship began to jump overboard on the side away from the fire, while others tried to get a boat launched, struggling with it against the falling tackle and flames that threatening to engulf them. From the safety of his ship, Reza stared bleakly over at the other vessel with its dead and wounded, wondering where in all the destruction taking place Talon might be, and where Pantoleon might have disappeared to. There was no sign of either.

  In the gloom and chaos of the cabin decks, littered with fallen lanterns and other debris, Talon stumbled about. He could not go up on deck without a weapon, and the panicked rush of rowers scrambling for their lives prevented him from going forward. He was aware that the ship might be sinking, so there was only a short time left to find his weapon before the ship went down.

  He was also chillingly aware that Pantoleon would almost certainly be coming to finish him off personally. The yells and sounds of fighting above him increased in volume, but he desperately needed a weapon, his own preferably. He flung one door open: it was full of stores. Another had bedding lying on the floor. His eyes flitted around the room but could not find what he was looking for. He had to kick the last door open, then looked into a sumptuously appointed cabin with wide windows that were shuttered. He cast about, urgently; he could feel the ship lurching in its death throws, also he could smell the stench of fire and a characteristic odor he remembered all too well.

  He guessed that the Greek Fire apparatus might have gone up in flames, in which case not only was the vessel doomed but everyone on it, himself among them, unless he could find an escape path without going up on deck. Then he saw his sword lying on the bed near the shutters, where someone had tossed it carelessly. He had almost reached the weapon when he became aware of a presence at the entrance to the cabin.

  He ducked and whirled, just in time to avoid having his neck severed by a blade that slashed so closely that he felt the wind. Pantoleon was facing him with a long sword held in both hands.

  “Were you thinking of leaving, Sir Talon? I think not. You must be good; those men I sent would not normally fall so easily.�
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  He stepped forward and went through a series of rapid stabs and slashes at Talon, who had grabbed a solid wooden stool and now tried to parry the savage blows. He took a grudging step back, and the sword chopped the stool away from his hands in moments. He sensed that he was very close to the back wall of the cabin by now; there was no escape. Pantoleon grimaced.

  “I wasss always good with swords, almosst as good as being a charioteer. Ssome other time I would have liked to match skills with you, but my time has run out, and so has yourss. I will take your head with me to the emperor one way or the other,” he ground out, as he raised his sword point to chest height again. Talon hurled his knife directly at his midriff, which Pantoleon only just managed to parry. The blade was flicked aside to clatter to the floor, and Pantoleon laughed as Talon stood, empty-handed and defenseless, before him. “Pathetic!” he gloated.

  Just then the stricken ship gave a sickening lurch and the deck beneath them tilted sharply down towards the bows. The crackle of the fire and the screams of its victims became more clear, carrying with it the stench of burning flesh and smoke as the evil liquid engulfed its victims.

  Both men were thrown against the walls and fell to their knees. Talon stopped himself from sliding down to join Pantoleon, who had come up against the doorway. Talon was still without his weapon, while Pantoleon held onto his sword with his right hand. With a shout Pantoleon lunged at him, trying for a blow to his shoulder. He wasn’t as balanced as he might have been and slipped onto one knee, which provided Talon with an opportunity. He dived inside Pantoleon’s guard and seized his sword arm at the wrist with his left hand.

  He realized very quickly that his opponent was exceedingly strong and knew he didn’t have much time to hold him. Talon smashed the flat of his right palm into Pantoleon’s nose. It was enough to make Pantoleon shout with anger and pain as he jerked backwards, his nose broken. While beating Pantoleon’s sword arm against the wall of the cabin, Talon kept battering his face at the same time with his right fist. His enemy had never before been in a fight of this nature, so his reaction was one of surprise more than training. He didn’t have the skill to parry the blows and flailed back at Talon, who with one huge effort slammed Pantoleon’s sword hand against the corner of the table one last time.

  The sword fell with a clatter and an angry grunt from Pantoleon, who staggered forward and tried to wrap his arms around Talon in an attempt to crush him to death in the manner of the Greek wrestlers. Talon was having none of this. He seized Pantoleon by his jerkin with both hands and kneed him viciously in the groin, then hammered his forehead into Pantoleon’s face. He felt the crunch of bone and cartilage as his forehead flattened what was left of Pantoleon’s once aquiline nose. But then the ship gave another lurch, and they both tumbled down the sharply sloping floor of the cabin to land in a bruised heap near the doorway. Talon was not done with his enemy; as they struggled to get up, he coldly stabbed him in his eye with his bunched fingers, as he had been taught in the Dojo in Guangzhou. With a roar of pain his opponent fell backwards, doubled over and with his hands covering his ruined eye.

  “Cursse you, Talon!” he screamed in agony. “I’ll cut you into pieces for that!”

  They were both laboring for breath; the room was full of smoke and the floor was tilting at a very dangerous angle. It was past time to leave. His sword had fallen from the bed; Talon dodged pantoleon, dived under the table, found his weapon, and slipped it into his sash. Pantoleon would have to wait for another time. He scrambled up the sloping deck on all fours, hauled himself over the bed to reach the windows, wrenched the shutters open, then clambered out onto the narrow balcony at the back of the ship.

  He cast a glance around the side of the balcony and could see that the sea towards the front of the ship was on fire, but back here there was still clear water, although it was strewn with debris and some survivors, clinging to whatever they could. He balanced briefly on the rail of the balcony, then launched himself as far out as he could into the sea below, pushing off hard with his booted feet. The leap carried him about ten paces in all, but he landed badly. The breath slammed out of him and he went deep into the cold water, feeling the drag of his sodden clothes and weapon.

  Perhaps that is what saved his life, because while he was struggling to come up to the surface he noticed that the sea where he had just entered appeared to be on fire. There was nothing to do but to swim as far away as he could under water. With his lungs about to burst he surfaced, gasping for air a good thirty paces away from the doomed vessel. The ship was canted at a steep angle, air was hissing out of its windows, and rumblings were coming from deep inside. As he gasped for breath he wondered what had happened to Pantoleon.

  He was not long in finding out. Pantoleon clawed his way out through the window of the cabin onto the sloping balcony. He began to scream incoherently.

  “No! No more Fire! I cannot... God protect me!” he wailed as he saw below him a sea that was on fire, the flames seeming to beckon to him. He hesitated, but was then driven further out onto the railings because a long flame reached out of the cabin as though it sought to draw him back inside.

  With a shriek of pure terror he threw himself as far out as he could, but it wasn’t far enough. The flames on the water seemed to embrace him as he fell screaming into them. Talon watched in horror as Pantoleon surfaced once, his mouth open in a silent scream and his arm lifted to the heavens as though imploring them for help. His wig was gone and his scarred face and head were alight with clinging fire as he sank beneath the waves for the last time.

  Shocked, Talon turned away to swim for a broken spar that was rising and falling in the sea nearby. He reached it and with one last enormous effort he heaved himself up. Someone was already there and he objected to Talon joining him.

  “Get off! There’s room for only one here, bugger off!” he shouted, and flailed at Talon. He received an elbow in his face for his trouble. He clutched his nose and lost his grip. “Ouch! Save me!” he cried and was about to sink when Talon grabbed him by his collar and dragged him back to hang onto the spar. “Be nice, or I’ll let you drown!” Talon snarled at the spluttering sailor. He heaved himself up higher to see where his ships were located. A boat was picking up survivors not far away, and he recognized his brother.

  “Reza ! Reza !” he croaked. “Help me!” He was already shivering in the cold water.

  Reza jerked upright up in surprise and looked around. “Did you hear that?” he asked the men with him. “I could swear I heard Talon just now.”

  “Over here!” Talon called, and waved his arm. His sword, while a treasure with which he was loath to part, was threatening to drag him down into the deep.

  Reza saw him then, and his jaw dropped open. He thumped the man nearest him on the shoulder several times. “Over there! Now!” he roared, pointing, and the rowers bent to their task with a will.

  Within moments Talon was being dragged out of the water, gasping and choking, by his very surprised but pleased men. “How in God’s name did you come to be here, Brother? I was almost sure you had perished in the ship. We didn’t see you after he knocked you down and the ship left the harbor.” Reza demanded as he embraced his brother.

  “Pantoleon sent me below,” Talon gasped, trying to catch his breath. “That might actually have saved my life but now he is dead; I watched it happen. Don’t forget that sailor who was with me.”

  “Should really let the bastard drown,” one of his own crew muttered. They all snickered, but they hauled the frightened man onto the boat to join three other bedraggled men. Reza showed them a knife and told them to behave.

  Let us cast off the haze

  Of the mists from our band,

  Till with far-seeing gaze

  We may look upon the land

  And say,“See. It is ours.”

  —Aristophanes

  Chapter 36

  The Tribute and a Warning

  Talon was welcomed with astonishment and delight by Guy and
the crew. They were shocked that he had been taken prisoner, but he reassured them that he was fine, even with his black eye and split lip. They all looked over at the still flaming waters and the floating debris on the oily waves where Pantoleon’s ship had gone down, and waited for Henry’s ship to catch up with them. Talon told Guy to have Henry come over because he wanted to discuss something of importance with all of them.

  Talon stood by the rail, thoughtfully watching the prisoners bound and herded into a huddle. “Keep them below for the time being, and make damned sure that not one of them can escape,” he told Guy, who relayed his orders and then rejoined Talon and Reza.

  “Where is that rogue Nigel? I still want to repay him for his treachery,” Guy growled.

  “I didn’t see him. We only recovered about five prisoners,” Reza told him. “Shall we execute them?” he asked.

  “We will deal with them later,” Talon stated. “You are very sure you picked up all the survivors?” he asked.

  “We sent out two boats and rowed all around, even after the ship had gone. Couldn’t get near the fire, but it’s very unlikely that anyone could have survived that,” Guy told him. “We were looking for you Talon, damn the rest of them!”

  Talon agreed. He had watched it consume Pantoleon.

  “But what about you? What happened? How in the Devil’s name did you come to be captured?” the questions were hurled at him as he discarded his vest and shirt and began to dry off.

  “When Henry and Rostam arrive, bring them below. I want to talk to them and you two. I’ll answer all your questions when they get here,” he told them. “Guy, I need a change of clothes.”