Then all his efforts seemed in vain, as a wall of water rose behind the boat.
It was gray-blue at the bottom and green near the top, and it rose above the boat as high as the aftercastle of a great ship. It swept forward, it swooped down-and Aurhinius felt the boat rising.
“Steer small and hold on to your oars!” he roared over the rush of the water. They might just slide over the crest and onto the seaward side, which would do them no good if there was another wave coming, but-
A foamy crest leaped about them, then they were sliding down the other side of the wave. It swept on, to break in a smother of foam where the shore was level and in columns of spray where it was rocky.
It was the backwash from the wave that overthrew the boat, as all the water flung ashore by the wave sought its way back to the sea. Small, vicious waves hurled themselves at the boat from all directions, the oarsmen sweated and swore, and at last the boat rose, then dropped on a rock normally well below the surface.
The first man overboard was Aurhinius’s secretary, and not through cowardice. The rock simply splintered the part of the boat where he’d been sitting, or rather, clinging like a barnacle, and plunged him into the water.
The second man overboard was Aurhinius himself. He might have let a sailor go if the boat hadn’t been so obviously sinking. As it was, he was going to be swimming anyway, so why not be useful?
He was more than useful. His secretary had gone under by the time Aurhinius reached him, then came floundering to the surface.
“Help! I can’t swim!”
Aurhinius threw one arm around the secretary’s chest and began swimming with the other arm and both legs.
“I can. Be easy. In fifty paces, you’ll be able to walk ashore.”
It was farther than that, because the backwash came and went several times. One sailor had to be revived when they finally lurched ashore, but no one had drowned.
“I said the Red Robe had nothing much against us after defeating his real foes,” Aurhinius reminded the men.
The boat’s stores had not been so fortunate. Much of Aurhinius’s campaign wardrobe and armor, as well as his secretary’s crate of parchments, pens, and account books, were now down among the shellfish and the seaweed.
Aurhinius hoped there would not be a great deal of commanding to do, at least until he could find some dry clothes. Beliosaran would no doubt enjoy another day of being the lord of all he surveyed, and would probably be more insistent than ever about claiming the ogre’s share of whatever victory had been won.
Two horsemen were making their way down the hillside toward the shore. Then suddenly they spurred their mounts so violently that one slipped and fell.
The other came down so fast that he barely stopped short of riding into the sea. He jerked his mount’s head about, dismounted, and knelt.
“Lord Aurhinius. Beliosaran is slain, and the Minotaur’s folk are fleeing by sea. Your orders?”
The messenger was Zephros, one of those younger sons of a family much in the favor of the kingpriest. He was the last person Aurhinius really wanted to hear what must be said, but that was fate, not fault.
“We have no fleet in a condition to pursue the Minotaur’s folk. What of the men ashore? Beliosaran is a grievous loss, I know, but are his men gone? Is the landing party safe?”
“Our men are mostly safe, though the city levies have no heart for fighting. But there is magical fire all about the Minotaur’s stronghold. It burns without destroying, yet bars all from entering.”
And we have no more magic to use against it, thought Aurhinius.
“Very well. I will take command and send the men out to search the countryside. Waydol may well have left stragglers from whom we can learn something.
“Also, it would be well to see that no other outlaws repair to this stronghold and make trouble in the north country. The people here have endured enough.”
“No more than they deserved, for favoring a minotaur!”
Aurhinius heard honesty in that exclamation-honest hatred. But then, one could hardly expect moderation from people like this young man. How different from the Minotaur’s Heir.
The Istarian general wondered if the Minotaur’s Heir was still alive. He rather hoped so. Istar would need worthy foes to provide employment for its generals-and to keep men like this sprig of nobility somewhat honest!
* * * * *
The smoke from Rubina’s destruction of the tunnel was still rising from the hillside. Pirvan paced the deck of Windsword until Jemar the Fair told him rather sharply to leave off, as that was the captain’s privilege aboard ship.
Pirvan, knowing how much weighed on the sea barbarian’s mind, went below.
The main cabin had been turned into a sickroom for Waydol and Eskaia. Delia also shared it, lying under a blanket in one corner, which was not quite proper according to Sirbones.
Jemar and Eskaia had both told him in plain words what to do with propriety. Had he not yielded, Pirvan and Haimya would have spoken next.
Birak Epron and most of his men were aboard Thunderlaugh, so Windsword was not quite as crowded as some of the fleet. But there were few places aboard a human-built ship that could accommodate a minotaur at the best of times, and when the minotaur direly needed healing, there were fewer still.
Haimya was sitting beside Waydol’s pallet, holding one hand while Sirbones listened to the movement of blood in the other wrist. Waydol was tossing his head back and forth, and every so often he gave a deep groan. Each time he did, Pirvan also saw Haimya wince, as the massive hand closed on hers.
But he would not ask her to leave. He only wished he could take her place.
“Does my heir live?” Waydol gasped. “Have you heard?”
“We know Gullwing’s afloat,” Haimya said. “That signal came from the pilot boat. But she’s dismasted and coming in under oars. The sea is calming, but it may be a while before Darin comes aboard.”
Quite a while more for Waydol to suffer, unless Sirbones can use nearly the last spell in him to heal a minotaur.
They had offered Waydol common potions, but he himself had reminded them that if he was bleeding within, they might kill him. Also, the dosage for minotaurs was uncertain. Finally, he would be in his right senses when Darin came aboard, and there was an end to the matter.
Pirvan and Haimya had the impression that Waydol could still rise from his pallet and hammer them against the deck beams overhead if they went too much against his wishes. So they waited-for signals from Darin, for the wind to turn favorable, for Sirbones to regain his strength, for they knew not what.
For Waydol’s pain to end, was what Pirvan did not dare put into words; that was a wish the gods could grant by ending his life. If they do, before he speaks again with Darin, I-I do not know what I can do as a Knight of Solamnia. As a man, I wish-
The cabin door burst open, and the only man aboard who could enter without knocking dashed in, nearly knocking Haimya down.
“Waydol! Signal from Gullwing. Darin is unhurt and rejoices in your victory. Also, the wind is fair and we are leaving as fast as the anchors can come up!”
Waydol’s bellow was a ghost of its former self, but it still raised echoes in the cabin and made Eskaia clap her hands over her ears. It ended in a coughing spell that brought up bloody foam, and Haimya took a cloth soaked in herb water to wipe the Minotaur’s lips and chin.
“Send somebody else down to nurse me,” Waydol said. “You ought to be on deck.”