'Prepare to board. Drop the gangway when we touch. Watch me. Keep your eyes on me!'
They drifted closer. They were in under the catapults now and safe from all but the arrows and lances, but that fire was steady and deadly. Blade strode to the head of the companionway and stood looking down at his men. Slaves, every one of them, but slaves with weapons in their hands and a determination that warmed him. He raised his sword and they let out a great cry even as the arrows and lances bled them. They were so closely packed on the fighting deck that men who died could not fall.
The cry went up. 'Blade - Blade - Blade!'
'B-Blade!' It was Pelops, behind Blade, holding his sword aloft with a shaking hand.
'Brave little man,' said Blade, hoping he was right. 'Follow me and watch out for yourself.'
The ships crunched together.
Blade yelled: 'Grapnels over. Drop the gangway. Over the rails and kill the bowmen first. Keep the gangway clear. Keep it clear!'
He leaped down to the deck. Sword in his right hand, stabbing dagger in his left. An arrow plunked off his chest armor. Men made a way for him as he ran toward the gangway now fallen and resting on the rail of the flagship. After the first impact the Pphira had rebounded, drifted a bit, and now two feet of water separated the two ships.
'Tug your grapnels,' Blade screamed as he pelted toward the gangway. 'Bring her in close and bind her.'
He leaped up on the gangway. He must be first over. Someone tossed him a shield.
The shield saved his life as a hail of arrows swept the gangway. Blade raised his sword and ran forward, yelling at the top of his voice.
'To me. Follow me! Board - board! Mercy to slaves - none to masters!'
Grapnels brought the two ships together again. They kissed. Blade's slaves swarmed over the rails in a screaming, hacking, howling mass of retribution.
An officer leaped to the gangway and met Blade as he charged. The swords chimed, sparking, and Blade feinted his opponent's shield high and ran him through the belly. The dying man fell forward, clutching Blade's weapon, and as he tried to wrest it free another officer aimed a terrible blow at him with a battle-axe. Blade ducked. The blow killed a man just behind him. Blade backed off, kicked the dead man off his sword, ducked another blow of the axe, taking it on his shield, and hamstrung the officer with a backhand blow. A slave daggered his opponent in the throat.
Blade was barely off the gangway and needed fighting room. It was too cluttered, too jam-packed, for effective sword play. Blade shouted and brought his sword in at half length and laid about him with a fury that soon widened the circle. He was already covered with grime and sweat and blood. His breath rasped in his throat, though he was not yet tiring, and he tried as best he could to concentrate on killing officers and such freemen as owed a mistaken loyalty to Otto and Equebus.
He ripped out a throat, daggered another man in the belly, smashed a skull with his shield and began to fight his way back toward the high poop where Equebus stood watching his ship and crew die. Through sweat and blood that stung his eyes like nettles Blade saw the Captain standing, waiting, hands on hips, for what he surely knew was coming. In the same instant that he parried a blow, ran in hilt to hilt with his enemy, stared into shocked Sarmaian eyes, then blinded the man with a dagger slash, Blade regretted slightly what he must do. The Queen had no other son - and she had lavished much on this one. Still it must be done. In the end Pphira would be better off.
A man just behind Blade died with a high scream. Blade turned to see Pelops withdrawing a bloody sword from a chest. The little man stared at Blade as though he did not know him, his teeth showing in a feral rictus. He slashed again and again at the dying man.
'Save it for the live ones,' Blade grunted, and plunged forward.
The slaves aboard the flagship now began to throw down their weapons and beg for mercy. To all slaves it was granted. Officers and freemen who cried for quarter were butchered. Blade dispatched a last man and stood on the battle deck just below the poop. From the top of the ladder Equebus stared down with an enigmatic smile.
It was over. Nearly over. Blade gave a few brisk orders - he did not want the catapult officer slain yet - and his officers set about bringing some order out of the bloody charnel house that was now the flagship. The fires, though somewhat under control, still blazed and Blade did not want them spreading to Pphira. He gave orders to get the dead overboard, all the while keeping an eye on the shore. There came a great tumult and outcry from that direction, and some rioting was evident, but Otto the Black and the Queen were still on their thrones.
There was no present danger. The Queen had no ship left for Otto to commandeer and his own fleet, save for the small escort that had brought him to Sarma, was far out on the Purple Sea. Such had been his contempt for Sarma.
A quiet fell over the ship now. They were all waiting. All watching Blade and the Captain Equebus. Equebus who stood on his command deck and had not even drawn his sword.
Blade plunged his stained sword into the deck planking. It quivered and stood upright. Arms akimbo, he stared up at Equebus. The Captain stared back, a leer of contempt on his bearded lips.
'Well,' said Blade, 'do you come down to fight, or must I come up?'
He was prepared for anything but what came.
Equebus smiled. 'I will not fight you, Blade. I am not a fool. I surrender and demand that you seek ransom for me - if you are fool enough.'
Taken aback, Blade still did not believe it. He was genuinely puzzled.
'I know you are called the Cruel,' he said at last. 'I know also you have earned that name. But I had not thought you worthy of still another name - Equebus the Coward!'
Outcry began to burgeon in the packed ranks about Blade. Pelops, that now fierce warrior, spoke for all when he said: 'Give him to me, Captain Blade. We will make him fight - or wish he had.'
