Voyage of the Fox Rider (91 page)
Shouting oaths, Trolls brandished their clubs and warbars at the japers, some even hurling their ungainly weapons at these invaders aboard their ship. The lads dodged this way and that as the inept missiles came whistling past. The three Trolls who had gone down the passage returned, each bearing a large stone or two. And they threw the rocks at those aboard the black galley, hurling them with such force that they
hummed
as they flew through the air, and one badly aimed stone broke through the hull of the craft just above the water line. “Oh, lor!” exclaimed Tivir. “Oi j’st hope they dona get th’ idea t’ sink th’ ship.”
But those words were said in vain, for the Troll whose rock had smashed through the ship’s side shouted and threw again, this time deliberately taking aim to send the galley down.
Yet at that moment, Bokar shouted, “Ready! Loose at will!”
And ballistas were cranked and javelins hurled, piercing Trolls on the quay, the poison tips deadly. Trolls fell where they were pierced, some toppling from the landing, dead before striking the water. Others were shoved from the dock as their comrades panicked and sought to flee, and bellowing in terror, they drowned, plummeting from sight as if made of stone. Some Trolls stumbled and fell over their dead brethren, and they scrambled up only to be slain by another deadly round of ballista bolts. Still others escaped, running back into the passageway behind.
“Kruk!” spat Bokar, as the dock emptied.
“Damn!” gritted Jatu. “Just what we didn’t want!”
And at the fore of the ship, “Cor,” breathed Tivir. “Oi do ‘ope th’ cap’n ’n’ Pysks ’r’ safe.”
“Let’s hope,” agreed Tink. “If not in the skinny passage to the lookout post—”
“Then safe past th’ narrow doorway into th’ Black Maige’s alchem’stry plaice,” interjected Tivir, “where th’ Trolls can’t squeeze in t’ get’m.”
“How many Trolls are left, I wonder?”
“Har, there’s th’ one what we killed, ’n’ Oi count
nine more alayin’ on th’ dock, ’n’ one fell in chasin’ you, ’n’ three more was accidental’ shoved off by their mates ’n’ drowned. That makes”—Tivir counted on his fingers—“ten and four deaders, and that still leaves, um”—again Tivir counted on his fingers.
“Fourteen,” supplied Tink.
“Yar. Fourteen more. But those ’r’ runnin’ toward where th’ cap’n ’n’ th’ others are.”
“The Trolls aren’t what worries me most, Tiv,” replied Tink, “but the Black Mage instead. The cap’n, now, he said himself that the Fox Rider poison on the ballista javelins would take out the Trolls, just as Master Farrix figured. But the Black Mage, well, the cap’n still didn’t know what’d do him in, though Armsmaster Bokar says that if the cap’n or the Pysks get a clean shot, Durlok is dead. Let’s just hope he’s right.”
Tivir nodded slowly, but added, “Yar. But let’s also ‘ope th’ Trolls can’t get at th’ cap’n neither.”
While Tivir and Tink were toting up the dead foe, at the other end of the galley, Jatu and Bokar and Kelek stood at the rail and did the same. Jatu turned to the Dwarf and said, “There’s fourteen of them slain, Armsmaster, and six of our own are dead—two of my sailors and four of your warriors. Too, we’ve another eight with broken bones—three Men and five Dwarves. More will die when we go after the remaining Trolls, perhaps none will survive. But if we don’t go after them, then likely they’ll kill the captain.”
Bokar glanced at the black Man and nodded, then turned to Kelek. “Ready the new-forged crossbows—”
In that moment from the corridor leading inward there came a great clanging of picks against stone.
Limping and hissing quietly in pain, Aravan made his way down the passage toward the crystal chamber. Before him trotted Farrix, Jinnarin coming after, both Pysks cloaked in darkness and nearly invisible in the shadowy corridor. In the distance behind them they could hear the far-off bellowing of Trolls, punctuated now and again by the closer shrill cry…the shriek of a Ruch or Lok or somesuch.
As they came to the first cavity on their left, they
heard hoarse breathing back among the wares, and while Aravan waited, Jinnarin and Farrix slipped into the dark area. Moments later there sounded a sodden thud, and the shadowy Pysks emerged, and Jinnarin whispered to Aravan, “It was one of the Rucha.”
Onward they went, and ahead they could see the glimmering of magelight seeping down the corridor, but ere they reached its source, the second storage area gaped to their left. Once again Jinnarin and Farrix slipped in among crates and bales and kegs and the like, but this time they found no one hiding among the goods.
Onward they pressed toward the crystal chamber, the light growing brighter as they neared. And Jinnarin could not seem to get enough to breathe, and her heart leapt about in her breast as would a caged wild bird.
And then they came to the entrance, the crystal chamber glittering in the phosphorescent blue light.
With shadows clustered about her, Jinnarin peered into the temple. It was empty. —No wait! Down on the crystal altar lay a mutilated corpse, blood runnelling adrip.
“Take care,” hissed Farrix, “he has slain a fresh victim.”
“One at a time we will enter,” whispered Aravan. “Remain spread out; give him less target. I deem we must search the quarters beyond.”
Into the crystal chamber they slipped, one after another, the trio spaced wide—Farrix first, Aravan next, Jinnarin coming last, her heart trapped in her throat. Along the curving wall they crept, bows and crossbow ready, Farrix in the lead heading for the distant doorway. His shadowy cluster had nearly reached the opening when—
“Fools!” sneered a voice, echoing in the chamber.
Jinnarin whirled, seeking the source, and down at the altar as if appearing out of thin air, stood a tall hairless person in dark robes, a long black staff in his left hand.
Durlok the Black Mage had come.
“Stand by the ballistas!” cried Bokar. “I think they mine rock to sink the ship.”
The
chnk!
of pick on stone was followed by the
dnnk!
of sledge on drillbar, and Bokar paced back and forth
along the line of ballistas. “When the Trolls come, Relk, you and your crew shoot first. Varak, your ballista is next. Alak, you are third. Bral, next.…”
Jatu called the remaining unscathed sailors to him, eight in all—Tink and Tivir included—and said, “Man the dinghies. We need to square the ship to the quay. And should the Trolls succeed in holing the galley, we will need to evacuate. If they fail, still we will need to draw the ship deeper into the lagoon a bit beyond their range, but not beyond ours.”
As Men and lads scrambled over the side and into the boats, shadowy movement was seen at the entrance to the corridor, and a Troll stepped forth, a great jagged rock in his hand. But even as he drew back to hurl it,
Thnn!
Relk’s javelin hurtled forth and slammed into the monster’s gut, running him through. The Troll staggered sideways and fell, the rock thudding to the quay, but another of the creatures leapt forth and scooped up the stone as a javelin splintered against the wall beside him. Another javelin missed as the monster straightened and turned, but even as he hurled the stone, the next javelin pierced his groin, and down he crashed, howling as black blood gushed from him and where it fell smoke curled up from the quay, even as the monster’s yowls chopped into silence.
The great rock smashed down onto the stern of the galley, shattering planks as it holed the afterdeck and fell through to crash into the quarters below. Slowly the ship turned in the water, the impact of the stone swinging it ‘round. But Jatu called down to the sailors in the dinghies; and some rowed away and hauled on lines while others rowed to push against the galley with the bows of their boats. They stopped the swing and began to square the ship to the quay even as the Dwarves cranked the ballistas, recocking and reloading them.
Within moments, two more Trolls were felled, their hurled rocks thundering harmlessly into the waters between.
And all sound of pick on stone and hammer on drillbar ceased.
“They have given up trying to sink us, I think,” said Jatu.
“Aye,” Bokar grunted in agreement. “But heed me:
if we would save Captain Aravan”—Bokar motioned to Kelek—“it is time for us to enter the tunnels.”
Swiftly, Bokar and Jatu rattled off orders, Men and Dwarves springing to respond. Down into the boats they clambered, leaving the dead and wounded aboard, Chirurgeon Fager in attendance. Led by Bokar, all remaining warriors ferried in the dinghies to the landing. Along with the armsmaster and five other Dwarves, Jatu stepped from the lead boat and onto the quay, and behind him Tivir whispered, “Fortune be wi’ you, Mister Jatu.” Then the lad began rowing back to the galley, where he and the rest of the Men were to tow the ship beyond range of the Trolls’ rocks.
Armed with massive crossbows, each requiring two Dwarves to cock and load it, up the steps and toward the silent, dark entrance went the warband, threading among slain Trolls.
“Remember,” hissed Bokar, “aim for the throat.”
Ignoring pain, Aravan whipped the crossbow to his shoulder and loosed the poison quarrel, the bolt streaking down at the Mage. But Durlok threw up a hand, and spat,
“Peritrapoû!”
and the quarrel flew straight back at Aravan, the Elf jerking aside as the bolt hurtled past to shatter against the crystal wall.
“Once more I name you fools,” sissed Durlok.
Widely separated, two shadowy clusters darted down toward the Black Mage, but again he threw up a hand, pointing first at Farrix and then at Jinnarin, hissing at each,
“Anoémon genoû!”
and both Pysks fell stunned, their gathering of darkness gone.
Aravan gritted his teeth and casually moved toward the doorway leading to Durlok’s quarters.
Durlok laughed wickedly. “Do you seek to draw my attention away from your allies?” He pointed a finger at the door leading to the quay—
“Emphragma!”
—and the portal filled with darkness. “Again I name you fool, for just as you, they are no threat to me.”
Once more Durlok raised his hand, this time pointing at Aravan—
“Parálusis!”
—and the Elf staggered and fell to the floor, sensing all but unable to move. And he watched as Durlok cast the mutilated corpse from the altar and then turned and strode up to where he lay.
Durlok grasped Aravan by the collar of his jerkin and then began dragging him down toward the altar. “You think to defeat me? Pah!
I
am the one who conquers. Don’t you yet realize, fool,
I
am the one who caused the Pysk to dream the dreams that would draw you and your allies into my trap. And although that imbecile Alamar slew my Negus of Terror, he paid for that deed and now lies dead below the waters of Rwn. And thinking of revenge, you were drawn again, and now I have you!”
Durlok laid his staff aside and, grunting, lifted Aravan to the crystal block. As he did so, through the dark barrier at the entrance Aravan could see shadowy figures moving beyond, and he could dimly hear a muffled shouting. Durlok looked up and laughed. “Do you think they will rescue you? Pah! Again you are a fool. They cannot get in, and I will deal with them after I have dealt with you. In fact”—Durlok squatted at the altar side, then stood, and in his hands he held a long, sharp, dark crystal—“I will draw out your