Into the Void

there was any plan to the fight, however, Teldin couldn't see it. People fought where they had to, or where an opportunity presented itself. This wasn't organized warfare, with its lines of offense and defense, coordinated sorties, and countercharges. This was more like a barroom brawl: no order, no central command, and no quarter asked or given.

The second mate must have seen the futility of yelling orders that nobody could hear, because he leaped down the ladder to the main deck and threw himself into the fray. Almost instantly, four of the deathspider's human crewmen sprang at him, and he went down under them.

'Sweor!' Aelfred yelled. He made to leap into the midst of the fray and somehow cut his way to where his friend needed him, but Bubbo's hand landed heavily on his shoulder. For a moment, the big warrior fought-vainly-to escape the grip of the even bigger weapons master. Then reason quieted Aelfred's anger. He nodded his thanks to Bubbo.

Sweor needed no help, as it turned out. An instant later, he reappeared, his clothing and blade drenched with blood-not his. own-leaving his erstwhile adversaries motionless on the deck.

Another spell split the air. A fan of seven shimmering multicolored rays lashed from Vallus's outstretched hands and struck two umber hulks on the deck below. One fell instantly lifeless, a huge, smoking rent torn in the armor of its chest. He other screamed its agony, flailing about wildly with an arm now blackened and twisted and missing perhaps half of its length. The Probe crewmen who faced the beast seized the opportunity. Two lunged in on its other flank and buried their swords hilt-deep in the creature's abdomen. The hulk lashed out with its good arm, striking one of its attackers with back-breaking force, but a crewman on the other side crouched low and swung his axe at the monster's ankle. It connected and, with another ear-splitting shriek, the creature crashed to the deck. Its assailants were on it at once.

Teldin didn't see the creature's death. A clash of steel on steel from close by drew his attention. Some of the attackers were trying to reach the forecastle, he saw at once. Two were trying to climb the starboard ladder from the main deck. Liono was holding them off, and they hadn't yet reached the forecastle deck itself, but their swordwork was good enough-even on the ladder-that the aged tactician was unable to kill them. Other attackers were swarming up the port ladder, and Bubbo was lumbering over to deal with them. Teldin hefted Gendi's short sword and felt the tension of feat in the tendons of his forearm.

With no warning, a spear hissed past Teldin's ear and drove, quivering, into the side of the forward turret. Another slammed into Liono's ribs, transfixing his thin body. The tactician fell silently. Teldin looked around wildly for the new attackers.

The assault was coming from a totally new direction. Some of the deathspider's crew had managed to clamber over onto the lobe that extended from the starboard side of the Probe's hull-in fact, onto the metalwork that formed the roof of the officer's saloon. Teldin estimated maybe a dozen men, being herded forward by another umber hulk.

'Starboard side forward!' Teldin bellowed at the top of his lungs. He pointed toward the new danger.

It was Sylvie who reacted first. She spun and again hissed syllables of power. A chunk of metal-braced wood from the shattered ballista lifted from the deck and was hurled with inhuman force into the new group of attackers. Several fell, screaming, but the others had reached the forecastle and were now in the partial shelter of the forward turret. Aelfred and Sylvie hurried forward to engage them. Teldin moved to follow his friends.

At the last instant, his peripheral vision spotted motion. Instinctively he ducked… and another spear whistled over his head, to glance off the turret side and disappear over the rail. With Liono gone, his two opponents, followed by a handful of others, had reached the forecastle deck unopposed. Teldin saw one leap toward Estriss, sword swinging to cleave the mind flayer's head in two. He tried to yell a warning to his friend- friend? yes!-but sickeningly knew it was too late.

Estriss made no move to defend himself. The creature just turned featureless, white eyes on its murderer.

And suddenly the attacker arched backward, as though he'd been struck full in the face by a tremendous blow. The attacker screamed, clutching his head with both hands. His sword clattered to the deck.

With a sinuous speed that Teldin had never seen from the illithid before, Estriss lunged forward and flung himself atop the writhing man. Red-tinged hands pried the man's own hands away from his head. Estriss bent low, and his facial tentacles lashed out to cup the human's skull. The neogi slave screamed again….

Nausea and horror washed over Teldin, and he turned away. He was just in time. Two attackers were moving his way, weapons at the ready. Teldin tightened his grip on his sword and dropped into the defensive stance that Aelfred had shown him. He backed away cautiously. His two opponents advanced, no less tentatively, and separated as though to flank him. Both were scrawny men, he noticed, actually emaciated. Their eyes looked wild, almost insane. One was about his own size, while the other was considerably taller, but neither could have weighed nearly as much as he did. The larger man was naked to the waist, and Teldin could easily see his ribs showing under his skin. On the man's upper left chest was some kind of discoloration. It took him a moment to understand that it was a tattoo of some kind, a marking totally alien in its symbology.

Disgust and pity warred with his fear. This had to be the mark identifying the slave's owner.

With a grunt of exertion, the larger man lunged forward, thrusting the point of his sword directly at Teldin's throat.

The almost familiar sense of focus closed over Teldin's mind like a reassuring blanket. Once again his time sense changed. His attacker's fast thrust became something that was so slow as to be almost lethargic. Teldin had plenty of time to gauge the man's attack and judge that the thrust could be deflected if he positioned his own weapon… there.

His sword came up fast. Steel rang on steel, and the attacker's blade deflected past Teldin's shoulder. The man's weight shift carried him on, and Teldin found himself staring into the man's surprised face. As a continuation of his own parry, Teldin drove his fist out. His knuckles, backed by the mass and momentum of his sword hilt, slammed into the man's jaw with stunning force. The big man's head snapped back on his neck, and his eyes glazed with pain.

The other attacker was moving, too, aiming a whistling cut at Teldin's side. Teldin had plenty of time to bring his own blade around to parry that attack, too. When their blades struck, Teldin was braced and ready, but still the impact jarred painfully up his arm. The small man was already dropping back to avoid Teldin's thrust.

The point is mightier than the edge. Aelfred's words rang in Teldin's head. But the short sword does have on edge. Quickly, before his small assailant could jump completely out of the way, Teldin snapped his wrist straight, the way Aelfred had done. His blade licked out like silver death, scribing a thick line of red across his attacker's belly. The smaller man staggered back, howling, arms clutching his abdomen as if to keep his entrails where they belonged.

The larger attacker had shaken off the effects of Teldin's blow and was moving in again. Teldin feinted once for the man's face, then tried to thrust into his belly when his opponent raised his guard. Although everything around him still seemed to be moving in slow motion, Teldin's own motions were starting to slow, too. His opponent had fallen for the feint but still managed to bring his blade back down in time to parry Teldin's lunge. The big man countered with a cut that would have torn Teldin's chest open if he hadn't danced back out of range.

Sweat stung Teldin's eyes, and the tendons in his forearm burned with fatigue. The cloak-if that was what was responsible for this-could focus his mind, he realized, but it could do little for his body. And he was no hardened and conditioned swordsman.

His eyes met those of his attacker. They were empty, devoid of any human feeling. Still, Teldin thought, inexplicably, they were capable of reading Teldin's doubts in his own eyes. As if to confirm that, the big man smiled.

Teldin knew no tactics, no skillful techniques with the short sword. With the knife he'd been taught various moves-the flick thrust, the wrist cut, even the throw-but to drop his sword and draw his knife would be suicide. The only thing that Aelfred had taught him was the lunge, and he used it.

His blade licked out like a striking serpent, straight for his opponent's heart. The big man was still slightly open after his wild cut, and his parry was late. There was no way he could get his blade back in time to deflect the thrust. Satisfaction, even exultation, dimly penetrated Teldin's almost unemotional concentration.

Then something slammed with crushing force into Teldin's wrist. His arm was batted aside, and his sword flew from suddenly numbed fingers. He staggered backward.

The man hadn't had enough time to parry the thrust properly, Teldin knew, but he had found just enough time to smash the pommel of his sword into Teldin's wrist.