A NOVEL OF ADVENTURE
BY JEFFREY BLAIR LATTA
Seagrave knew well
enough what would happen if he once allowed them to catch him between them
with their silth whips. His first encounter with the Traykens had
almost seen him torn in two. At the very least, they could render
him immobile long enough for help to arrive. Urgently he cast about
for some means of escape. His only weapon was the glass punch spike
at his belt, but he had no intention of tackling the Rayvers hand-to-hand,
if he could help it.
The Rayvers swung back
their powerful arms, the whips rasping on the wooden floor. Together
they launched their double lashes, casting the weapons with the same easy
underhand motion which had proved Seagrave's undoing before.
But, this time, Seagrave
knew enough to avoid those constricting cords.
In one fluid surge,
he sprang upward, catching hold of an overhead beam and hauling his legs
clear as the four lashes licked the air at his heels. His desperate
gamble succeeded better than he had hoped. The whispering cords continued
to unravel. In an instant, each Rayver found his throwing arm caught
in the tightening coils of the other's weapon.
Seagrave didn't hesitate,
but, seizing the opportunity, dropped down full on the middle of the tangled
cords. His weight jerked both Rayvers forward, the rearmost Trayken
stumbling to his knees with an enraged snarl.
Hoping to escape while
they were off balance, Seagrave bounded forward, hurtling against the Rayver
nearest the companionway. But that Ravyer had managed to retain his
footing; with a fearful strength, he threw himself against the pirate,
crushing Seagrave brutally against the wall with such bone-splintering
force that a glim-gem sprang from its cresset and shattered into dark shards
on the floor.
The power of the impact
blasted the wind from Seagrave's lungs and he reeled backwards, blinking
dazedly, barely able to keep from falling. Now it was too late and
he had lost what advantage he had gained. The two Traykens managed
to release each other from their silth whips, tossing down the weapons
in disgust and closing in with gloved fists.
Seagrave barely managed
to ward off the first flying blow when a second caught him in the stomach.
The punch threw him back against the wall, bending him like a fallen oak.
Barely able to breathe, he was jerked from the wall and felt thick arms
slide under his own arms, then around the back of his head where powerful
fingers interlocked forcing his chin to his breast. At the same moment,
fists constricted around his calves, lifting him from his feet as the pirate's
legs were pinioned between the arms and ribs of the other Trayken.
Desperately Seagrave
strained and flexed, his breath hissing through his teeth, his lithe body
stretched rigidly between his two powerful opponents. Their combined
strength was irresistible; the rippling muscles which had held up five
hundred pounds of water were reduced to childish impotence in their embrace.
In silence they bore
their twisting captive down the hallway and into the torture chamber.
Seagrave gasped as they heaved his struggling frame up and over the brazier,
fighting down a cry as the rising heat seared his back. For the moment
at least, he had only two opponents to contend with; an outcry would bring
more, eliminating his last chance of escape.
And one chance there
was.
Even as he was lifted
over the brazier, Seagrave's mind was a whirlwind of anticipation.
Everything depended on the next few seconds.
He could see that the
Rayvers intended to lock him in the cell with the other two prisoners who
they didn't yet know had escaped. To do that, they would need the
key. For just a moment, one of the Rayvers would have to release
his powerful grip in order to reach for the key. If they noticed
the key was missing before releasing him, all would be lost.
His heart pounding,
Seagrave watched for his chance. To encourage his captors, he feigned
exhaustion, allowing his struggles to play themselves out. The Trayken
at his feet was instantly suspicious, and the Rayver kept his black eyes
fixed on the suddenly limp prisoner even as he dropped one of Seagrave's
legs to reach for the key.
Had the key still been
on its hook, the Rayver would have moved too quickly, repinioning the freed
limb before Seagrave could have moved. But when the Trayken's fingers
touched the vacant hook, a startled hiss spat past his jutting jaw and
his eyes flicked to the wall in surprise.
In that moment, Seagrave
heaved with all the power in his frame, rotating against the arms behind
his neck and spinning almost over onto his side. His freed left leg
crossed his right and lashed out at the smoldering brazier, catching it
with his heel and toppling it against the Rayver still holding his one
leg.
The astonished Trayken
screamed as burning coals spilled against his hairy chest and down his
legs, rattling against his loin plates and filling the air with sizzling
scarlet flecks. The Trayken lurched backward in horror, releasing
his grip as his short skirt burst into wild, crackling flame.
Astonished, the Trayken
at Seagrave's head allowed his grip to falter even as the pirate's feet
found the floor amongst the flaring rain of sparks and coals. Mindless
of the blistering heat, Seagrave gritted his teeth and wrenched free, spinning
with a snarl and snatching the punch spike from his belt. Light flashed
from the two spikes, only to be instantly extinguished as he pounded the
weapon into the Trayken just under the ribs. The Trayken gasped and
tumbled backwards to the floor.
Still fighting the
flames leaping and hissing at his waist, the other Trayken didn't even
see the punch spike before it glided between his ribs. Without a
sound, he too sprawled amongst the scattered coals, past caring as his
blue flesh began to sizzle and char.
There as no time to
lose -- the falling brazier had alerted others in the ship and already
Seagrave could hear pounding feet approaching from below. He bounded
out into the hallway, rushed down the passage and scrambled up the slender
ladder even as he heard a door flung wide in his wake.
As he raced out onto
the cool deck, a voice called out: "Quick! Over here!"
A glance showed him
Fanas Fel and Zhanak Zen mounted on two of the four narses which Dol Hashar's
entourage had brought. A third narse hovered nervously between them.
Seagrave crossed the deck in a surge and sprang into the saddle of the
middle narse.
"We let loose the fourth
narse," Fanas Fel explained quickly, "to keep them from following us."
Seagrave realized that
Fanas Fel couldn't have known about Pallin Pol and Shyrin Shas, but he
cursed under his breath just the same; that fourth narse would have come
in handy.
Tearing at the reins,
Seagrave urged his mount into a steep climb, rising with breathless speed
up and out over the rose-tinted forest. In seconds, the dark woods
fell away beneath them, and the black gasbags swept by like whales on an
ebony sea. Then the three fugitives reached the cliff top and Seagrave
sprang from the saddle, while keeping a tight grip on the traces of his
confused and rearing narse.
Seagrave's eyes blazed
as they swept the skylit ledge -- there was no sign of Pallin Pol or the
princess. What could have happened to them? He had told Pallin
Pol to return to the cliff with Shyrin Shas; had they been intercepted?
Had Pallin Pol decided to return to Jinja Khyam without waiting for Seagrave's
return?
Leaping back into the
saddle, Seagrave soared upward over the wall of trees, his two companions
wheeling aside with oaths of surprise as he whirred past. Instantly,
Seagrave spotted a blue blur sprawled in the middle of the glade beyond
the trees. Dropping down into the clearing, he jumped from his mount.
"Pallin Pol!" Seagrave
expostulated, dropping to his knees and tugging at the blue man's shoulder.
Weakly, Pallin Pol
stirred and raised his head, his features contorted in a rictus of pain.
For a moment he struggled to force words past his writhing lips.
Finally he gasped: "It was the fenfyr! They must have tracked us
through the woods -- Oh, my heart! I barely got back here
with the princess when they sprang out of the woods and got me with their
prods."
"The princess?" Seagrave
asked sharply. "What happened to Shyrin Shas?"
"The fenfyr locked
her in one of their cages," Pallin Pol groaned, beating his fist against
his forehead in an agony of self-chastisement. "I wanted to stop
them but the pain was too much. I've failed her -- I've failed my
poor princess!"
"You haven't failed
anyone," Seagrave snarled, clapping Pallin Pol on the back.
"What about you?" Fanas
Fel asked. He seemed uncertain whether to be overjoyed at the news
that the princess had been found alive -- or grief-stricken that she had
disappeared again.
"What do you think?"
Seagrave snapped sharply. "I've got to get Shyrin Shas away from
those damn fenfyr. Once I've got her, we'll have to make our own
way back."
"We can't just leave
you," Pallin Pol gasped weakly, as Seagrave heaved him up into the saddle
of the nervously rocking narse.
"In your condition
you wouldn't be of any help," Seagrave retorted. "Now go --
the Rayvers will be on your trail any second now."
Recognizing the need
for haste and the strength of Seagrave's logic, the three rebels choked
down their objections. Together they rushed upward into the rose-hued
night, sobbing curses through their grating teeth.
Barely were they out
of sight than Seagrave dropped heavily to his knees. He shook his
head to clear his vision, but he knew he couldn't keep up this reckless
pace much longer. He was exhausted, every sinew burning, every muscle
cramping as if his entire body was coming apart at the seams.
Dimly, through the
masking forest, the restless throbbing of the fenfyr drum reached him in
illusive snatches carried on the milling breeze. Setting his teeth,
Seagrave struggled grimly to his feet, swaying a moment etched in the scarlet
glow of Korash.
"Hang on, girl," he
muttered tightly. "I'm coming."
Then
he slipped into the black woods, barely rustling the fronds as he passed...
Both Trayken Rayvers
wore wooden shoulder and loin plates. Though they weren't armed with
leisters, glassy silth whips formed bundled loops at their girdles.
Barely had their beady eyes fixed on the intruder crouching in the dim
light of the passage than they coolly unfastened their whips, allowing
the cords to uncoil with a sinister rustling.
"You did what you
could." He turned to Fanas Fel and Zhanak Zen who hovered a few feet
away on their serpentine mounts. "You three have to get back to Jinja
Khyam," he instructed. "Take my narse. You have to find Khomas
Khan and tell him what you've seen. Tell him the Trayken are poised
to invade Eukara with their entire Armada. They've broken their pact
with him, so he doesn't have to feel honourbound any longer."
