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Now he found himself close enough to half a score of minotaurs to bite their ears or gouge their eyes if it came to that-which it might, as these minotaurs seemed to put wide limits on what was honorable in fighting humans.…

At least they followed minotaur tradition in not using shields. But it was hard to reach the life in those massive bodies with most human weapons without coming in reach of the deadly sweep of the minotaurs’ arsenals. They were following tradition in another respect as well-most of them had foresworn shields in order to wield two weapons at once.

About all that had kept the minotaurs from sweeping the decks was the close quarters of the fight. The minotaurs could not choose their distance and chop their smaller opponents apart like a kitchen maid with a cabbage. There was simply no room for that, and many chances for humans to slip under the swing of the kausin or the clabbard and thrust or slash at a minotaur’s unprotected flesh.

Grimsoar had an improvised shield, a barrel lid. In the next moment it saved him, as a minotaur thrust with a katar. Not all minotaur weapons needed room. Grimsoar caught the katar’s point in the barrel lid, felt it being twisted out of his grasp by sheer brute strength, and slashed crosswise with his cutlass.

The heavy blade rode up the minotaur’s chest and caught him across the throat. It drew blood but did not reach his life, as he wore a collar of bone plates. Grimsoar snatched his cutlass free and wished he were as agile as Pirvan, able to kick up under the shield and take the minotaur in a painful if not deadly spot. That would end the big bull’s enthusiasm for hacking a reputation out of human bodies.

Instead of kicking, Grimsoar spun and rammed the edge of the barrel lid where he had planned to land his foot. The effect was similar. As the minotaur bellowed and doubled over, the big man also rammed his head up under the minotaur’s jaw. He wondered if he’d cracked his skull, but knew that the minotaur was no longer in front of him.

His head aching, Grimsoar plunged through the gap left by the wounded minotaur. His shield splintered under a tessto blow, but he snatched his arm clear in time and opened the tessto wielder’s arm with his cutlass. That would be the end of the tessto wielding for today; the huge spiked club was a brutally heavy weapon even for a minotaur.

Arrows whined past, thudding into wood or flesh. Grimsoar roared a wordless protest at such wild archery from the castles, then realized he’d completely pierced the minotaurs’ line. He was behind them, where the archers fore and aft had been showering arrows to keep the minotaurs on the ships from joining their comrades.

They hadn’t completely succeeded, judging from the number of minotaurs fighting aboard Golden Cup. Grimsoar decided to help the archers, even at the risk of taking a friendly arrow between his ribs.

He whirled and slashed a minotaur across the back of both knees. The wounds weren’t deep, but they maddened the opponent even more. He whirled in turn, swinging a double-bitted axe with all his unimpaired speed and strength.

Speed and strength might have been unimpaired; judgment was not. The minotaur was heedless of his comrades and only the axe turning in his hand saved two of them from serious wounds. The two minotaurs mistakenly assaulted turned on their comrade, raising their own weapons and completely ignoring Grimsoar.

The human had plenty of time to slash one minotaur’s good arm (he was the tessto wielder, now without his club but with a shortened shatang that looked quite capable of killing any human who ever walked). The pain didn’t make him drop his remaining weapon, but it made him thrust wildly. Grimsoar caught the shaft in his free hand and heaved. Off balance, the minotaur stumbled into his comrade, just as the other axe victim was throwing a punch at the axe wielder.

The punch connected-with the side of the tessto wielder’s head. A horn snapped off nearly at the root, all three minotaurs bellowed loudly enough to drown out the rest of the battle, and Grimsoar knew that he’d pushed his luck far enough. Fighting with minotaurs front and back and friendly arrows above could have only one ending, and that soon.

A flight of arrows finished off the tessto wielder the moment Grimsoar burst through the minotaur line and rejoined the human ranks.

* * * * *

Haimya went down the cliff first.

“I can hold you if you fall, but I doubt the same is true the other way,” Pirvan said.

“I was not going to argue,” Haimya replied. “Really.”

Pirvan raised one eyebrow. Haimya clenched a fist and mock-punched him in the jaw. Then she stepped to the edge of the cliff and looked down.

“I wouldn’t do that-” Pirvan began.

This time Haimya’s face was grim as she turned to him. “I have to know how much it frightens me.”

What blood does flow in your veins, my lady comrade? Pirvan thought. Admitting one’s fear might not everywhere and always be called the highest form of courage, but it showed loyalty to those who depended on you.

Such a woman would also demand that same high loyalty from others. Can I offer it? And even if I can, does it matter?

It was clearer than ever to Pirvan, that something good would pass out of his life when Haimya and Gerik Ginfrayson were reunited. Better that, however, than something good passing out of the world entirely by Haimya’s falling down the cliff.

It would help if we don’t have to do this very often, he mused. Indeed, there is much to be said for questing on level ground, if one’s comrade is not a thief-trained climber.

* * * * *

Eskaia forgot how many men she’d treated when the healing potions and the clean cloths ran out. She’d barely noticed that both purse and flask were empty when a ship’s boy thrust another wad of cloth at her.

“I need more potion,” she snapped. “Where is Tarothin?”

“Don’t know, milady. For’ard, I think. That’s where the worst hurts been going, mostly.”

Eskaia thought sailors’ words about boys who could not tell you anything useful, then straightened up. Her head was throbbing from the sun beating on the helmet, and her back and arms ached from the bending and healing. She pressed both hands to the small of her back and gave a little sigh as the pain eased.

Standing, she had a view of the deck amidships. Humans and minotaurs now had Golden Cup’s waist divided between them. The minotaurs were outnumbered, thanks to hard fighting on deck and the human archery playing on their reinforcements from the ships. But they’d also strewn the deck with enough human dead that the humans below had no hope of driving the boarders back to their ships.

To Eskaia, it seemed that no one would ever again question the courage or honor of these minotaurs, through all the ages to come. She herself would not listen to a breath uttered against that courage and honor-though their judgment might be another matter.

Minotaurs on deck bellowed, and others replied from the ships. Four of the minotaurs on deck turned to face the humans. The others-Eskaia thought she counted seven-turned aft. One of them bellowed again.

Then they charged the ladder to the aftercastles.

The charge caught the men on the lowest deck by surprise, and four went down in bloody ruin almost before they knew they were in danger. One of the survivors thrust a pike wildly at a minotaur’s throat, and by sheer chance drove the point home. The minotaur wrenched the weapon free, snatched it from its wielder, swung it like a club, and broke the man’s skull.

Then the minotaur fell backward on to the deck, knocking down a comrade. The throat-pierced minotaur did not rise again, as his blood joined all the rest on the deck. The second minotaur gave the loudest bellow Eskaia had yet heard from any hostile throat in this ear-piercing battle, and returned to the attack.