pause to peer into the river. His victims lay in a line trailing downstream from the boat, with Tarch floating facedown at the far end, his scaly arms and tail lashing the water as though instinctively trying to right himself. Rishi was a short distance upstream, bobbing in the grasp of the first guard Tarch had sent to rescue him. Both the Mar and his captor were shivering, coughing, and looking as astonished as they did exhausted.
'In the name of the Forgotten Ones, good sir!' called Rishi, coughing up water. 'What are you doing?'
'Escaping,' Atreus replied. A confused uproar rose forward. He glanced toward the bow to see the four bow guards rushing back, clambering over slaves with whips and clubs in hand. He waved at Rishi. 'If you want to live, get over here and help!'
Rishi's hand disappeared beneath his cloak. In the next instant, his rescuer cried out and released him, then floated away grasping his ribs. The Mar swam for the boat.
When Atreus turned back to the forward guards, he found Seema standing before him. Her hands were covered with blood, and she had such a look of confusion on her face that he feared the worst.
'Seema, are you injured?' Atreus reached out to grasp her shoulder, but she quickly shook his hand off and pulled away. He lowered his arm and wondered what he could have been thinking. 'I'm sorry. I shouldn't have presumed-'
'Two men!' she cried. 'You killed two men!'
Atreus shrugged, unable to understand why she seemed so surprised. 'It was nothing,' he said humbly. 'I had the advantage of surprise.'
The barge lurched, then began to travel in the opposite direction as the oarsmen began rowing downstream. Atreus stepped around Seema, gesturing toward the rear of the boat.
'Rishi will need help getting aboard.'
Atreus grabbed a second club off the second dead guard, then leaped a row of slaves and started forward. The bow guards swarmed past the oarsmen on both sides, determined to meet their foe en masse.
Atreus angled off toward the starboard oarlock. The four slavers seemed confused for a moment, then saw that smashing the oarlock would prevent the barge from going after Tarch. They rushed to cut Atreus off, spreading themselves out in a line. He cut back toward the middle, leaping two rows of screaming slaves to attack the guard on the end.
The slaver lashed out with his whip and wrapped up one of Atreus's arms, then brought his club around in a wild attack. Atreus deflected the blow with the shaft of one of his own weapons, then stepped forward and smashed the hard butt into the slaver's brow. The man's eyes were still turning glassy as Atreus turned to meet his next pair of foes.
The two guards split up, leaping slave rows in opposite directions so they could approach from both flanks. The last slaver advanced to take their place, and Atreus suddenly found himself facing three foes. He pulled his arm free of his last victim's whip and began to whirl his clubs through the air, weaving an impenetrable curtain of defense around his body. The effort pained his sore shoulder, but he did not dare give his enemies a static opening.
The three slavers cracked their whips and advanced, their padded clubs held at the high ready. Atreus eased back, his breath coming hard and ragged. The slaves cringed and covered their heads, filling the boat with the eerie rattle of chains.
'Stand and fight for yourselves!' Atreus yelled. 'What's wrong with you?'
The slaves did nothing except wail and rattle their chains more loudly. The guards smirked and struck with their whips. Atreus caught two attacks in his defensive curtain, then dropped his clubs before his foes could use them to draw him off balance. The third whip got through and twined itself around his forearm. He circled his hand over the cord and caught hold, giving it a mighty jerk.
When the slaver came stumbling forward, Atreus pivoted sideways and planted a stomp-kick square in the fellow's chest. The sternum broke with a loud pop, then the guard dropped to the deck gasping and groaning. Hoping to catch their foe weaponless, the last two slavers charged.
Atreus turned and sprinted for the rowing platform behind him. The two oarsmen abandoned their duties to meet him, but they were hardly a match for one who had grown up brawling with ogres. Atreus grabbed the first by the shirt and slammed him into the second, then brought the first one forward again and head butted him.
The man's nose exploded across his face, spewing blood and cartilage in every direction. Atreus flung his victim into the guards behind him, stepping forward to kick the second oarsman's feet from beneath him. The fellow landed flat on his back, and Atreus finished him with a stomp to the throat. He turned to find his last two attackers trying to claw their way out from beneath the oarsman with the smashed nose.
Atreus grinned and leaped into the fray, biting an ear off and gouging two eyes out with his naked fingers, both favorite ogre brawling tricks. By the time he finished, he was painted in blood, and the two slavers were clutching their mutilated faces, screaming miserably and lying at the feet of their horrified charges.
Atreus rose, braced his hands on his knees, and tried to ignore the pain racking his body. His wounds were taking their toll, even after Seema's elixir. Normally, a little wrestling match would hardly be enough to tire him.
'B-by the Forgotten Ones, look what you have done! Eight men and T-Tarch!' cried Rishi. The Mar was kneeling on the aft deck, soaked and shivering as Seema tugged at his wet clothes. 'You are Ysdar's devil!'
The words caused the slaves to cringe away from Atreus. He cursed under his breath and held out his hands to reassure the frightened captives, but this only caused them to cry out in their native tongue and fling themselves away.
'I am not a devil!' Even as Atreus said this, he glanced down at his naked, blood-smeared body and realized how deceiving appearances could be. 'Rishi, tell them! I'm just a man.'
Atreus started toward the dry clothes awaiting him on the rear deck, then saw a scaly hand rise up behind the stern and grasp the barge. He snatched the nearest club and started aft, the slaves straining against their chains to lean out of his way. Rishi's jaw dropped, and what little color he had vanished.
'There is no need for temper, good sir! I will tell them!'
Rishi began to speak to the slaves in Maran, somehow staggering to his feet despite the stump of the severed lance still protruding from his calf. Seema frowned and draped a dry blanket over his shoulders, scolding him in her version of the same language. A second scaly hand appeared beside the first, and still neither of them noticed.
Atreus leaped another row of slaves, and Rishi reached into his cloak for a throwing knife.
'No! Behind you,' Atreus shouted, pointing with his club.
The sound of cascading water murmured up from the river, and Tarch's pointed head appeared just above the deck. Rishi spun and flung his knife in one motion, striking the slave master square between the eyes.
The tip scattered a few scales, then clattered to the deck, unable to penetrate Tarch's thick brow.
'I knew you was trying to peel me,' Tarch growled.
The devil pulled himself up over the edge of the deck.
Rishi cursed and grabbed Seema, hobbling around to put her between himself and the slave master.
'This is not my doing!' Rishi produced a throwing knife and pressed it to Seema's cheek, saying, 'Touch me, and I will mark her!'
Atreus hit the rear deck at a sprint and, ignoring his urge to club Rishi senseless on the way past, rushed to meet the slave master. Tarch sprang onto his feet as nimbly as a lynx. Atreus charged in swinging.
This time, Tarch was ready. He caught the attack on his wrist, then counter-punched to the body. Atreus tried to leap clear, and only his backward momentum kept the slave master's fist from driving a shattered rib through his lungs. As it was, the impact forced the air from his chest and knocked him three full paces backward.
Atreus staggered and barely managed to keep his feet, allowing Tarch to step securely onto the deck. Rishi backed away slowly, still holding his knife to Seema's face, and the slaves murmured in fear.
'You can take a punch.' Tarch stepped toward Atreus. 'That's good. There'll be a lot of punches in Baator.'
Atreus did not reply-his aching lungs did not contain the air. He simply launched himself at the slave master, club held high. When Tarch raised his arm to block, Atreus leaped into the air and planted both feet square in the slave master's chest. Tarch stumbled backward and slipped overboard, catching the edge of the deck as he dropped into the water. Atreus landed on his side and began to slam his heels down on the slave master's scaly
