Five men remained, two of them archers. The archers scrambled stern ward, one of them nearly knocking Eskaia down as he climbed over the railing. But they had no weapons for close work other than daggers, and they began shooting again the moment they were safe.
Three men against six minotaurs was not a fight. It was a massacre. To do them justice, the minotaurs did not play with their smaller opponents, like cats with mice. They simply drove at them from three sides, wielding kausins, clabbards, and katans. One minotaur also had the hideous mandoll, with a silvered spike on the armored gauntlet-or at least Eskaia thought it was silvered under the blood.
The merchant princess did not realize how fast the minotaurs were coming until one of them reached over the railing toward her. She wanted to run, but discovered that sheer terror had joined fatigue to root her feet to the deck. The minotaur was the one with the mandoll, and now the spike looked as large as a spear as the attacker drew back his arm for a straight punch at Eskaia’s head, to splatter her brains across Golden Cup’s deck-
Fury boiled up in Eskaia, ending the paralysis. She dived as the mandoll lunged forward, and the spike only scraped across her helmet. She landed rolling, drawing her dagger as she rolled, taking boots in the head and ribs as sailors tried to get out of her way, and ended up lying by the railing.
It took her a moment to realize that she was invisible to the minotaur, but that she could see his whole chest and stomach through the railing. His whole unarmored chest and stomach.
In the next moment, the minotaur discovered that Lady Eskaia knew precisely how to use her dagger. Haimya had taught her well, though she lacked the strength of wrist and arm to make a deadly thrust with those alone.
Instead, she put not just wrist and arm, but shoulders, back, and all her slight weight into the thrust. It was like carving overdried meat or piercing thick leather, but she’d done both before and she did as well now.
The minotaur did not bellow. He howled like a hundred lost souls crying out from the Abyss, and clutched at the railing. Wood cracked, and as Eskaia gripped the dagger in both hands for a second thrust, the railing suddenly vanished in front of her.
By then it was too late for her to stop her thrust. It went home, and the minotaur convulsed as she reached his life. The minotaur’s death throes plucked the dagger from her hand, but not before they also pulled her through the shattered railing and onto the deck below, in the midst of the five remaining minotaurs.
* * * * *
Pirvan did not breathe easily until Haimya stood on solid ground at the foot of the cliff and raised both hands in the agreed signal for a safe landing. Indeed, he could have sworn he did not breathe at all, but knew that, as he was not a sea elf, this was impossible.
What was not impossible was his slipping and breaking his own neck or other vital parts through carelessness on his own way down. Haimya’s safety was necessary for the completion of their quest; it was not by itself sufficient.
Pirvan was more careful than usual to breathe steadily and stop whenever his hands shook. He had learned these and other elementary safety precautions of climbing before he had seen his nineteenth year, but they did not seem as easy to remember now as they had before he had entered the Encuintras estate-it seemed years ago, now.
All his caution made the descent slower and noisier than it might have been. His hands were shaking harder than ever as he finally coiled up the rope, and he had a rope burn on one cheek.
But he could see (or rather hear) that no one was going to easily discover them here. A rain-swollen stream boiled past only twenty paces away, filling the valley with an endless echoing roar and hiss. A dozen hearty dwarven smiths all working hard at their forges would have been lost in the tumult of the stream. It was also the only way out of the valley-unless they felt equal to a climb back up the cliff.
Pirvan felt weary even thinking of that course. Instead he began collecting their packs and studying them for damage, while Haimya contemplated the ribbon of silver spray and churning greenness.
“I think there’s a shallower spot a trifle farther downstream,” she said, pointing. He noticed for the first time that part of her left forearm was scraped red, almost bloody, from some brush with the rocks.
“Shallow enough to let us cross dryshod?”
“Not unless Hipparan flies down to carry us or Paladin himself builds a bridge. But it looks as if we won’t be swept away if we use the ropes. Oh, and on this passage, I think I should be the leader.”
It made sense, since she swam better than he and climbing would not be needed. More sense than the other way around, and infinitely more sense than a quarrel.
None of this good sense, however, will do much for the pain of seeing her drown before my eyes, thought Pirvan.
* * * * *
Eskaia did the first thing that came to her mind, which was not screaming. Instead, it was kicking. Her first kick landed on a minotaur’s ankle, and had about the same effect as kicking a mature oak tree.
The second kick, she aimed higher, aware that her gown was likely to leave her quite immodestly garbed and totally indifferent to the fact. The second kick enjoyed better luck, as it struck a minotaur who was stooping down to clutch this rare prize suddenly fallen at his feet.
Delivered by Grimsoar One-Eye or even Haimya, the kick might have done real injury to the minotaur’s person. As it was, it injured his balance and self-command. He reeled backward, throwing out his arms with a bellow of rage. One arm struck a jutting splinter of railing, hard enough to drive barbed wood through hairy, leathery hide. The minotaur bellowed louder.
At this point, one of his comrades clutched at his flailing arm, to immobilize it and extract the splinter. This put two minotaurs momentarily out of the fight, leaving only three to seize Eskaia.
The two archers above promptly reduced this number by one more. At close range, both arrows pierced the minotaur’s chest. He plucked one arrow out, but the other was deep in a lung. Feeling death in him, he lunged for the men above, gripping one by the ankle. He heaved, and the man flew over his head. The man’s head struck the deck a hammerblow, also breaking his neck. Then the minotaur grasped the second arrow, gasped as it came free, coughed blood, and fell.
He nearly fell on Lady Eskaia, and her survival under those circumstances (and that minotaur) would have been precarious. However, he fell beside her, where the two free minotaurs had to step over or around him to be within reach of Eskaia.
Before they could do this, arrows and men hit them from above and men hit them from below. Also, Lady Eskaia hit them from within their own ranks, wielding a katar she’d snatched up. She had to use both hands for it, but the crossbar hilt gave plenty of room. She thrust into the back of a minotaur’s thigh, then slashed another wound across his posterior as he whirled to skewer her with his shatang.
The spear pierced her gown without piercing her flesh. She was pinned to the deck, but the shatang’s head drove so far into the planks that the minotaur had to fight to free it. This battle cost him more time than he could afford; Kurulus leaped up behind him and hamstrung him with two quick, brutal slashes of his sword.
Then Eskaia’s greatest danger was being trampled to death before she could free herself. She finally rolled desperately, tearing her gown free of the shatang. As she staggered to her feet, she hoped she had not torn it entirely free of her body as well.
Then two hands large enough to belong to a minotaur gripped Eskaia under the shoulders and heaved her upward. She flew through the air, until four smaller hands caught her and lowered her to the next deck stern ward.