Cayla took even more complete charge of dealing with the prisoners than she had of dividing the other spoils. Tuabir and Esdros stood well behind her. Blade suspected that in Tuabir's case at least it was because he had no wish to be associated with Cayla's methods of treating the prisoners.
As each was brought before her, she barked a command, «Kneel!» Those who were a split second slow in going down on their knees had her light but deadly whip laid across their faces and would go down with blood dripping into the sand. Then she would stride up and down in front of them, snapping out questions. Name? Order? Family? Fortune? Skills, if any? And so on. Sometimes she would stop in front of the captive with a sinuous swaying of her body that reminded Blade of a snake swaying in front of a bird it wanted to charm. If the captive looked up-and most men did-crack would go the whip again, and more blood would be dripping into the sand.
Most of the prisoners, once properly humiliated, were admitted to ransom. Some of them, Blade suspected, would never be free again, seeing the way they blanched and groaned when the ransom figures were read out. The captive officer, however, was kept kneeling for a particularly long time. Finally, Cayla turned to Blade and said, «What say you, Blahyd? Do you think anyone will consider a soldier-an officer-who was too drunk to fight worth ransoming?»
Considering what usually happened to officers caught drunk on duty in Home Dimension, Blade had to shake his head. «Well, then,» said Cayla, «I think we will make a slave of this one. He should be good for a year or two on the farms at least. His limbs are thick, even thicker than his head.»
The man howled wordlessly and threw himself face down in the sand. Then, as Cayla stepped over toward him with the whip ready, he suddenly sprang up and lunged at her. One huge hand was already clutching at the hilt of her dagger when one of the guards whipped up his pike and hurled it like a spear straight at the officer's back. It caught him just below the shoulder blades and drove clear through him and out his chest, narrowly missing Cayla's leg as it did so. She jumped back as the man toppled forward and lay without a twitch.
«Good eyes and a good hand, there, sailor,» she said to the guard. «Two extra gold pieces for you from my personal share.» Two gold pieces, Blade knew, were enough to satisfy most of a sailor's wants for the better part of a year. He was not surprised when the guard gaped and grinned and stammered his thanks.
Now the guards brought the last prisoner forward-the fort commander's daughter, the only woman among the prisoners. Cayla's expression as she watched the girl made Blade uneasy, and the silky note in her voice as she spoke made him swallow and wait for whatever was coming in a cold sweat.
He did not have long to wait. The girl's name was Dynera, and now that her father was dead, she had no family left. None? No one who might pay a ransom?
«Please-I–I-no. My mother-she was descended from Count Prasin the Fourth. But she was an orphan. All I had was my f-f-father,» and she burst into tears.
Blade saw Cayla's eyes flare at the mention of the Count and shuddered. Prasin the Fourth had been the greatest of all the persecutors of the Cult. The poor girl had just signed her own death warrant, and now the snake would strike.
«Prasin the Fourth? Indeed, child, you come from a high lineage! The present count-you are sure he will not consider a ransom, for your mother's sake if not your own?»
«N-n-no. My mother's parents were-were out of favor at c-c-court, and-«
«Then I say you lie! And I will prove it on your body!» Whap-crack the whip slashed across the girl's face. She screamed and clapped her hands to her cheeks. Cayla stepped close until she loomed over the girl and glared down at her. «By the Law of the Woman's Duel, you can prove that you are what you say by besting me in equal combat. We will even release you without ransom.» At those words, the girl looked up, with the beginnings of hope in her eyes. «Yes, freedom! Would you rather fight for it, or shall I have you spread-eagled here on the sand and turned over to my crew before you die?» The girl blanched and murmured:
«I will fight.»
«Good!» There was an unholy lust in that one word. «Your weapons?»
The girl looked around her, the expression in her eyes reminding Blade even more than before of a trapped bird. «I–I'll take a sword.» Blade had to close his eyes for a moment to fight off the nausea. The girl had probably never handled any weapon more lethal than a fruit knife in her life. Yet here she was taking up a sword to fight one of the deadliest women Blade had ever seen. She would have no chance-no chance to do anything except provide a few minutes' obscene pleasure for Cayla and the more loutish among the pirates.
Cayla did not put off her pleasure. One of the pirates threw the girl a sword and she picked it up and waved it a couple of times. Blade saw that she was quite as inexperienced as he had suspected. But then he remembered that sometimes the rank amateur, by doing the unexpected, can defeat the professional who is trained only in dealing with other professionals. Blade of course had no hope that with Cayla dead the girl would be released. Her death would still be slow and agonizing. But with Cayla dead, at least all her monstrous plans would fall with her, and his own situation would be much simpler.
Cayla did nothing to prepare herself for the fight beyond kicking off her boots and knotting a sweat band around her head. Then she stepped forward into the thirty-foot square of sand marked out with ropes strung from oars. From her side, the girl stepped forward, the sword held out in front of her as though it were a snake that might turn and bite her.
«Be you ready?» Cayla called out, in the formal Duel query.
The girl stammered, «R-ready.»
Cayla raised her weapons-the whip and the foot-long, razor-edged dagger. But she did not dart forward. Blade knew that if she had done so, she could have had the girl dead on the sand in a matter of seconds. She was going to play with the poor creature. His stomach churned, but he kept it under control by a great effort.
Now the girl rushed in, the sword swinging wide and whistling around. She had strong wrists, at least. But Cayla was cat-quick, ducking the wild stroke and coming up, not with the dagger but with the whip full force across the girl's stomach. She gasped and jumped back.
Now Cayla came in, the dagger flashing up and out in a stroke deliberately timed to whistle past the girl's cheek and rip her ear. Blood trickled again. Cayla danced aside from the girl's wild return slash, darted in again, and this time the dagger slashed the shoulder of the girl's blouse open without touching the skin below. The girl blushed as the blouse drooped down, half-baring one breast, but made no effort to strip the rest of the blouse off. Instead, she rushed Cayla again, the sword fanning the air in front of her. The pirate woman used neither dagger nor whip this time. She dropped backward onto her hands and kicked out with both feet as the girl came within range. Both feet slammed into Dynera's stomach and the girl gasped explosively and sat down with a thump. Before she could rise, Cayla was up again, pinning her sword arm to the ground with one foot. Cayla reached down and laid the whip across the hand holding the sword. It opened and the sword lay on the sand. Cayla kicked it away without taking her eyes off the girl.
After that, Blade's memory stopped recording the details of the fight. All he remembered afterwards was that it went on and on and on, with far too many of the pirates cheering wildly. It went on until the girl lay in the sand naked, bloody, dead.