Джеффри Лорд: Pirates Of Gohar

Blade didn't bother with looking around once he reached the upper deck. He dashed for the railing, Khraishamo beside him. In fact, the pirate reached the railing first, in spite of his short legs. He plunged through a splintered gap, and Blade heard a clean splash from below.

As Blade reached the gap he had a vague impression of a second large ship looming up at the edge of his vision. Then he was springing out into midair, and at the same moment he felt a sharp blow in the left buttock. Then he felt the stinging impact with the water, and was thrashing downward and outward to get away from Kloret's ship.

For a long time the world was only green water and dim shadows. Some of them looked unpleasantly like sharks, but none of them came close enough to let Blade be sure. Then he popped to the surface, sucked air into bursting lungs, and saw Khraishamo rise like a dolphin beside him. Directly in front of them loomed a huge blue galley, with Harkrat's banners flying from all her masts.

Blade and Khraishamo swam toward King Bull, trying to look harmless. The galley was lying on her oars. Blade reached the ends of the oars, ignored a dull ache in his left buttock, trod water, and shouted: «Ahoy, Your Radiance! It's Blade of England and Khraishamo, a friend.»

Somebody on deck let out a strangled squawk, like a chicken with its neck being wrung. Then a rope ladder snaked down the galley's side.

«I guess they believe you,» said Khraishamo.

«Maybe,» said Blade. «At least it's too big a lie for two ordinary slaves to think of!»

They climbed up the ladder, and on deck Harkrat met them. He was wearing full armor, and looked ten years older than when Blade last saw him. He'd also lost a good deal of weight, but that was an improvement.

The Emperor looked Blade up and down, while on either hand his guards and councilors fidgeted and muttered about his spending time on these madmen. Then: «By HemiGohar, it is Blade!» He looked at Khraishamo. «And this is the Bloodskin-«

«Sarumi,» said Blade.

«You haven't changed,» said Harkrat. «All right, this is Khraishamo. Welcome aboard, and-oh, excuse me.» He reached around behind Blade and tugged. Blade felt the dull ache in his left buttock turn into a sharp pain, and then Harkrat was holding up a bloody arrow.

«This was sticking out of your arse when you climbed on board. Hope you've got a good story how it hit you there.» He looked from Blade to Khraishamo and back to Blade. «And maybe a few other good stories too. Go on below to my cabin. This time we've got something better than Blue Swallow's ale.»

Harkrat sent a doctor to treat Blade's wound, but didn't come below himself for several hours. Khraishamo wanted to spend the time on deck, but found that even with the Emperor's blessing he drew too many peculiar looks. So he came below again.

They were into the second jug of wine when the Emperor rejoined them. He chased out all the servants, poured himself a cup, and gave them a brief summary of the rest of the battle. It was definitely a victory for the odd alliance of Goharans and Mythoran rebels, but not a complete and final disaster for the Sarumi. Sixty of their ships were able to break off the action and flee. The Mythoran sailing ships couldn't pursue, Degyat's galleys had lost too many men, and the Goharan admirals were slow to grasp what was happening. Harkrat hadn't cared for that, and he'd gone aboard a few of the other flagships to tell them so.

«It didn't help much, though,» he said, emptying his cup and pouring it full again. «By the time I got those bastards awake, the weather started going bad on us. Looks like there's another storm brewing, so we're heading back for Mythor. Bit of a wind blowing, though, so we can rest the rowers.»

Blade and Khraishamo looked at each other. The escape of about half the Sarumi was good news for both of them. Khraishamo could be happy that hundreds of warriors who'd once been his comrades would live to fight another day.

Blade was happy for a different reason. If the Sarumi remained a menace for a generation or so, they would force Gohar and Mythor to keep peace with each other. The two great trading cities of the Sea wouldn't care to waste men and money fighting each other as long as they needed to protect their ships from the Pirate Folk. That, however, was not a reason the others in this cabin would appreciate now.

Harkrat refilled Blade's and Khraishamo's cups, called for more wine, then glared at Blade. «And now, Man from the Future, it's time you told me what you've been doing these past few months. If it isn't a good story…»

«It is,» said Blade, and started telling of his adventures, straight through from his first night with Fierssa to the death of Kloret at the hands of the galley slaves. At times Harkrat asked for names Blade wouldn't supply, but Blade always refused, until the Emperor burst out: «Damn it, Blade! You can trust me. I want to know these people so I can honor them or at least talk to them. I'm not interested in lopping off anybody's heads, not now. Mythor's made its rebellion and that's an end of it. Now our job's to get together, Mythor and Gohar, and work out a peace we can all live with.»

«You say that,» said Khraishamo. «What about others in Gohar?»

«What others?» said Harkrat. «I'm Emperor, and if they forget that I'll remind them. Nobody to help them, either, now that Kloret's dead.»

So Blade went back and filled in the details he'd left out, then finished his story. By the time he'd done this, the new wine had arrived. He found he wasn't thirsty.

Harkrat was. He drank off what must have been his fifth or sixth cup, then said sharply, «You've done a lot, Blade. Most of it's been good. What made you think you could do it without making trouble for your own future?»

Blade smiled. «I didn't mention this before to anyone» — a little white lie which would do no harm- «but I did know that Mythor was going to become independent. So I knew that the rebellion by itself wasn't likely to destroy the future, England, and me. As for all the things I did to make that rebellion come about-well, I'm still here.»

Harkrat laughed. «You are, and HemiGohar be thanked for that. If you haven't gone completely over to the Mythorans, I'd like to have you with me when we sit down and talk. You've got more of a head for that kind of thing than anyone I can trust except Elyana, and she couldn't come. She's expecting another child.»

«She's well?»

«Oh, yes. She thrives on breeding. Sends you her love and all that sort of thing.» Harkrat suddenly seemed very interested in the decorations on his wine cup, and after a moment Blade understood why.

Elyana's fourth child would be Richard Blade's. A few months from now, a son or daughter of his would be born into the Imperial family of Gohar. What sort of a future would it have?

A bloody sight better one than it would have had if I hadn't put Kloret down, Blade thought.

The Emperor's hopes of having Blade by his side in the peace negotiations with Mythor were disappointed.

Degyat was badly wounded in the battle, and three days later he died. A week after the battle he was buried in the cemetery outside Mythor, while Harkrat, Blade, and virtually every other notable on both sides watched.

«We'll see he gets a proper monument, Your Radiance,» one Mythoran merchant told Harkrat. «An admiral of Gohar, who died to save Mythor-his memory will build a bridge between the two cities.»

«Damned long bridge to reach from one end of the Sea to the other,» said Harkrat, but Blade could see that he was moved.

Harkrat and Blade walked away from the grave side by side. They walked slowly, the Emperor matching his pace to Blade's. Blade was slowed down not only by his buttock wound, but by the ceremonial robe he had on. It was a rather awe-inspiring garment, elaborately woven together of a dozen shades and thicknesses of shell-tissue. It was decorated with pearls at the throat, cuffs, and waist, and further decorated everywhere else with shells worked into complicated patterns. It was as heavy as a suit of armor and nearly as stiff, definitely not the best thing for a man with a sore rear end to wear.