David Drake: Master of the Cauldron

The warship rode as close inshore as it could without grounding, but the sea would still be up to Sharina's chest. The troops at the back of the line saw the women's problem. One grabbed Sharina's arm and handed her forward. The next man did the same, not carrying her and Tenoctris but shoving from one man to the next so that Sharina didn't have the problem of trying to walk in deep water.

"You've got no business there, your highness!" the sailing master replied through his trumpet. If the captain-a nobleman who wouldn't be expected to know about ships-had an opinion, he kept it to himself. The sailing master turned and ordered, "Crew, prepare to set off!"

Soldiers continued to pull and push the women toward the vessel. Aboard the trireme, a soldier handed his javelin to the soldier beside him, then drew his sword. He laid the point of it against the sailing master's throat. The sailor flung his speaking trumpet into the air in shock. He probably would've jumped himself if the soldier hadn't been gripping his shoulder.

"Come on, your princessship!" shouted the soldier holding the javelins. His unaided lungs gave up nothing to the sailor's orders through the speaking trumpet. "We'll wait for you!"

Sharina finished the journey to the ship with her face in the water half the time. She hoped Tenoctris was all right; the wizard's occasional sneezes were reassuring. When they reached the tarred black hull, a pair of men lifted them out of the water together and two more-the soldiers who'd convinced the sailing master of his duty-jerked them over the railing with about as much consideration as you'd give sacks of grain.

They'd gotten the job done. Delicate men wouldn't have. Sharina felt a rush of gratitude to them.

"Now you can get moving, sailor boy," said the first soldier as he retrieved his javelin from his buddy. "And don't waste a lot of time, hear?"

If the sailing master had an opinion, he swallowed it and merely shouted orders to the crew. The flutist seated under the sternpost began blowing time, and the oars took up their beat. The trireme groaned forward and swung slowly toward the mainland.

"Don't guess you'd remember me and Pont, your princessship," said the soldier who'd been speaking. "We met back in the ice a time ago, but there was a lot going on then."

Sharina looked at the men. They were non-commissioned officers in a line regiment, and at least the age of her father. There were several hundred men like them in the royal army. But "I do recognize you!" she said. "File-closers Pont and Prester! You saved my brother's life and he gave you estates! What are you doing here?"

The trireme laboriously gained speed. It rode deep in the water, just as the sailing master had warned. Sharina hoped the lowest range of oar ports had been blocked when the warship was converted into a transport, but worse come to worst she could swim to the far shore even if she had to pull Tenoctris along with her.

"Oh, ma'am, what do we know about farming?" Prester said. "Anyway, your brother saved my ass and Pont's both a time or two, as I remember it. With a little seasoning he'd make a real soldier, he would."

"But it's good of her to remember us, Prester," said his partner. "A lady like that, aprincess, and she remembers us."

"Pont and me signed back on," Prester said. "Camp marshals, that makes us warrant officers. That's why we were still on Volita. Somebody had to chivy stragglers over."

"Are we going to be in trouble because we didn't, you know, wait for the last ship out, Prester?" Pont said. "Looks like there's another coming after all."

He pointed. A stubby patrol vessel, packed with troops and only one of its two oar-banks manned, was wallowing away from Volita in the trireme's wake.

"No," Sharina said with a decisive nod. "You're not going to be in trouble."

"Anyway, we may've screwed the pooch this time anyhow," said Prester, in a surprisingly cheerful tone given what he was saying. "Nothing like fighting in a city to get yourself killed."

"But there's loot, Prester," said his partner. "Remember those temple dishes we got in Durance?"

"I remember the hangover they bought me," Prester said. "ThatI'm never going to forget."

Wizardlight slashed out of the city, ripping a long gash in the overcast. The sun poured down, more than doubling the light that'd been seeping in around the perimeter of the artificial shadow.

Prester looked at the flashes and the sky of roiling blackness, then looked out to sea past Sharina. "Well, we seen wizards before," he muttered. "It's no big thing that we're seeing 'em again, I guess."

"Anyhow," said Pont cheerfully, "it's nice to have sunlight."

He looked at Sharina in sudden concern. "But it's all right if we don't, your princessship," he added. "I mean, whatever you want, ma'am. You can count in me 'n Prester to cope."

"Thank you, Marshal Pont," Sharina said formally. Did they really think she controlled the wizards battling in Erdin? "I have no doubt at all that you will cope, as you've done before. As we've all done before."

The trireme's mast was stepped, though the spar and sail had been left on shore. The lookout at the masthead shouted down, "Master Darrin! All the slips are full and there's ships tied to the ones already moored. We'll have to go upriver!"

The sailing master stepped onto the pivot of the steering oar, gripping the railing with his left hand. "Hanging on like that looks very dangerous," Tenoctris said in a tone of mild disapproval. "Though I suppose he knows what he's doing."

Sharina opened her mouth to reply. The ridiculousness of the statement-here, from Tenoctris to her-struck her. She giggled. Tenoctris looked at her in surprise, then started to chuckle also.

Sharina's giggle became laughter that was barely on the right side of hysteria. She leaned over the railing to take the pressure off her chest.

"No, we'll berth alongside theSword of Ornifal here in the harbor," the sailing master decided aloud. He didn't seem to be speaking to anybody in particular, but he spoke loudly enough that everybody on deck from the mast sternward could hear. "The passengers can cross the other ships to the quay. If we go up the river, the Shepherd knows what we'll find."

Turning to the helmsman he added, "Two points to starboard, Henga. Master Estin, prepare to back water."

Pont cocked an eye at the sailing master. "That all right with you and your friend, Princess?" he asked.

"I won't be able to carry Tenoctris from ship to ship by myself," Sharina said. "But he's probably right-the river will be choked. Warships are too long to turn in the channel, and…"

"Oh, that's no problem, Princess," Prester said. He turned to survey the soldiers nearest to him on deck. "Mallus and Jodea, you're carrying the old lady here, got it? Unter and Borcas, you two take their spears and be ready to grab if something goes wrong. You got that?"

A soldier blinked. His fluffy blond moustache flared into sideburns and disappeared under his helmet. "How far do we carry her, Marshal?" he asked doubtfully.

"Until I bloody tell you to bloody put her down, you bloody fool!" Prester replied like a thunderclap.

"Back 'em, back 'em!" the sailing master shouted, still clinging to the oar block. "Four, three, two, one-ship oars! Ship oars, or you'll pay for the broken shafts, I swear it!"

The trireme wobbled as it slowed, pummeled by the wake of its forward passage and the stroke of its reversed oars rebounding from the vessel it slid toward. That one, the outermost of three triremes already moored, held several score civilians but none of the regular crew. A few refugees seemed to be trying to get the vessel under way, but the others were simply huddling on deck. This was as far as they'd been able to run from the destruction occurring in their city.