Grimsoar came up, at the head of the men assigned to the raft. “Brother, Tarothin says-”
Pirvan scrambled under the lifeline and balanced on the ragged edge of the deck. Nothing from Tarothin could be worth standing here a moment longer, listening to the wind howl and wondering how many moments he had yet to live.
A wild cry rose above the wind. Haimya soared into the air, bent double, and plunged from sight under the foam. Pirvan waited only long enough for her head to reappear, then dived after her.
* * * * *
The rope snapped tight around Pirvan’s waist, burning his skin even in the chill water. It also squeezed the breath out of him, so that he had barely enough air in his lungs to reach the surface. He gulped in air, his lungs stopped burning, then a wave broke over him and he choked on the water.
A strong arm slid under him, lifting him, while an equally strong hand grabbed him by the hair and lifted his face out of the water. He churned with both arms and legs, lifting himself higher, above the next wave and the one after it. By then he could breathe normally again.
No words were needed. He just looked his thanks at Haimya and began to swim toward the rocks. So did she, but with a sureness of movement in her shapely arms and legs that proved the truth of her words. She could have covered two feet to Pirvan’s one if she hadn’t deliberately slowed so that they approached the rocks together.
In the lee of the Flower Rocks, the waves weren’t shattering both themselves and swimmers on the outcrop-pings. It was still like climbing out of a boiling pot with a rim two men high. Pirvan trod water for a moment, looking for the best way up.
A crack about as wide as his head seemed the best way. As long as he wasn’t washed in too far and wedged tightly underwater, or swept out and battered against the rocks-
It was then that he saw Haimya’s head vanish below the surface.
He thought for a moment that she’d dived away from the rocks, or been caught in an undertow. Then he saw the men aboard Golden Cup waving their arms and pointing. They also seemed to be shouting, but into this wind they might have been in Qualinesti for all he could hear them.
It was Haimya’s bubbling scream that brought him fully alert. That, and her head popping up suddenly, with something huge and shapeless in the water barely ten feet behind her.
Alertness flowed into action in the space of a single breath. Diving with a dagger in your hand was a good way to lose it; Pirvan’s steel was still in his belt as he entered the water. He deliberately dived deep and rolled over on his back as he drew the dagger, looking for his enemy.
The water was murky from the storm, but he could make out Haimya, thrashing in the water with both arms and one leg. One leg? He looked at the other, and saw that it hung limply, as if something had broken it or even worse, shattered the hip.
No blood, though-but Pirvan sensed something large and evil, circling them just beyond the limits of vision. He even thought he heard a peeping, like a newly hatched chick but far harsher, just at the upper limits of his hearing.
Then a serpentine shape came out of the murk, and Haimya thrashed still more wildly. Pirvan had just time to see her other leg go limp, then lunged at the shape. It was gray and shaped more like a sausage than a serpent, but it had scales and a face that was a nightmarish parody of a human one.
A water naga-and an evil one, or else one that thought for some reason Haimya and Pirvan were enemies. No time to argue with it, either, even if it were intelligent enough to understand.
Pirvan’s dagger skidded off scales but upward and inexorably toward the left eye. The paralysis spell struck him, but on the other arm-then the dagger drove into the naga’s eye and pain erased its ability to cast spells.
Pirvan stroked toward the surface, using his one good arm and two good legs, searching for Haimya both above water and below. He saw her head in the middle of a circle of foam her arms had made, then saw it slide out of sight.
Pirvan dived after her, largely convinced that he would never surface again.
At least I won’t have to explain to Gerik Ginfrayson how she drowned before my eyes.
As he dived, he felt a tingle in his paralyzed left arm. He commanded it to move, and wanted to shout as it obeyed the command. He wanted to shout a second time as Haimya swept up past him, thrashing frantically with both arms and both legs!
She was on the surface waiting for him, staring all about her, eyes wide with alertness and (although Pirvan would never even think it) more than a little fear. He didn’t blame her; the water seemed far colder at the mere thought of the naga’s paralysis spell.
“Can you climb?” he called. “I can pull up if you want to wait in the water-”
Haimya’s answer was to fling herself at the rocks.
Chapter 8
Haimya might not have the greatest head for heights or skill in climbing equal to Pirvan’s, but her desire to be well clear of the water before the naga revived or summoned its friends worked well enough. She was on the first ledge before Pirvan, and reached the bollards at the same moment.
On that ledge, they at last had time to regain their wind-and discover that Pirvan’s line had snapped somewhere in the fight with the naga. Pirvan looked down into a churning waterscape that had swallowed the rope like a chicken snatching a grain of barley. Diving back in would be futile; how dangerous as well depended rather on what had happened to the naga.
Haimya’s face was a study-gratitude to Pirvan for saving her, fear for her lady and shipmates if the one line wasn’t enough, and what seemed to be doubts about her own honor. Her sense of honor was the sort, Pirvan knew, that would make her think he should have let the naga take her if only he could have saved both lines.
Soon she would realize that this was fretting herself over an impossibility, and be calm. Meanwhile, the less Pirvan said, the better.
They tied the remaining line comprehensively around the bollards and signaled. Then they started hauling in the second line, for the raft.
They were streaming with spray, sweat, and blood by the time the second line was secure. Pirvan’s hands were in better shape than his companion’s, who clearly felt the salt water stinging her blisters and raw spots. She had also gotten wounded climbing up the rock.
They were wiping the spray out of their eyes for the tenth time when the raft went over the side of Golden Cup. Squinting, Pirvan saw it carried the promised six men and the end of the heaviest remaining chain. All six men were also armed with boarding pikes, fishing tridents, or axes, and the ship’s side was lined with more spearmen and a few archers.
Pirvan doubted there was a dry bowstring within a day’s sail of the Flower Rocks, but the sight was reassuring nonetheless. It might even mean something if the naga came back-it seemed to have no power to bespell more than one human at a time. Young, old, sick, or merely stupid? Tarothin would know, if they ever spoke to him again.…
Pirvan realized that cold and exhaustion were clouding his mind. Haimya’s eyes were glassy, and she was beginning to shiver. He shook his head, thought of brandy-laced tea, and hauled in a double-sized portion of the line. Haimya tightened her grip, though even her sword-callused hands were beginning to weary, and threw her weight on the line, too.
At some moment, Pirvan became aware that he and Haimya were no longer alone on the rock. They seemed to be surrounded by sailors, all as large as heroes of legend or even Grimsoar One-Eye. One of them was Grimsoar, and he wrapped a blanket around Haimya. Except that there was only the one blanket, and she quickly stepped close to him and let him wrap them both up in the scant but welcome warmth of the tar-smelling wool.