Turning his head slightly-he didn't dare look away when they were running up on the enemy's stern so quickly-Corylus shouted, "Brace yourself, Master! There'll be a shock!"
Bare-chested bowmen on the Atlantean vessel were shooting at them. An arrow hit Corylus' helmet squarely and clanged off; another buried its head in the railing beside his left gauntlet. The archers were less accurate than he expected, perhaps because they were so crowded on the ship's deck that they couldn't draw their bows to full nock.
The Minos in the stern dropped his crystal talisman to dangle on the golden chain about his neck; his vessel lost way. Drawing his sword, he turned to face Corylus. The ships would glance against one another, port bow to starboard quarter. At any moment- The sails of Corylus' ship, of the Ancient's ship, stroked back and down with unexpected force. Their bow lifted over the Atlantean's rail and coursed through the screaming passengers. It struck the mast-which held-and the boom supporting the starboard sail, which snapped off short.
Corylus rocked back, then slammed forward. His breastplate took the impact, but even spread across his whole torso the shock was bruisingly severe.
Driven by one sail alone, the Atlantean ship rotated on its axis, then broke loose and fell away. It was upside down when it hit the ground. The crash sent man-sized splinters spinning high in the air.
The remaining Atlantean vessel had turned and was approaching from the port side at the speed of a fast walk. Corylus ran toward that railing, forgetting in the stress of the moment his fear of a ship's wobbling deck. The Ancient swung them down and to the right, using the collision with their most recent victim to aid the maneuver.
The Atlantean wizard tried to follow, but his ship wobbled badly and nearly overturned from the excessive weight on its deck. Several of the passengers fell over the side to starboard, and the rush of the panicked survivors to the port railing almost precipitated a reverse disaster.
The Minos shouted something which Corylus couldn't make out because of the excited cheering from the crowd below. The Servitor in the bow sprayed fire more or less toward the defenders. The jet burned out far short of its target, as the glass man must have known it would.
Corylus was breathing hard, although he hadn't been called on to really do anything. He was sweating furiously under the breastplate, and he half considered taking off the helmet for a moment to let his head cool.
He wouldn't do that: he didn't understand the situation well enough to predict the dangers accurately. Which was what the sprite had told him beside the body of the Cyclops on the beach.
He turned to her. Lifting the visor, he said, "We're done with the fire, cousin."
Pausing half a moment to choose his phrasing, he added, "I'm truly sorry for the situation."
The sprite rose by curling her legs under her in a movement more like that of a serpent than a human being. To Corylus' surprise, she gave him a cheerful smile and said, "Well, it all ends, doesn't it? I've been in that bead-"
She ran her fingertips over the orichalc breastplate where it covered the amulet.
"-for so long that it will be a relief. We hazels aren't like those ugly gnarled desert pines, you know."
She raised her hand and caressed Corylus' face instead. It felt like a butterfly walking on his cheek.
"I feel sorry for the ship, though," she said, looking up at the mast. "The magicians took the souls away from all the pieces when they made it, but the ship was starting to talk to me. It's broken now, and that lot-"
She glared at the Atlantean vessel turning toward them.
"-won't fix it. Well, they'll probably burn us all, won't they?"
"Yes, I suppose that's likely enough," Corylus said. He had shut down emotionally. The logical part of his mind had addressed the question which the sprite had asked and agreed with her analysis.
For the first time Corylus realized that they weren't climbing as quickly since the most recent attack as they had before. In fact they were scarcely climbing at all, and the sails beat with an irregular rhythm.
"The mast is breaking, I think," Pandareus said, looking upward. He spoke with the interest he showed in everything new. "I was holding onto it when we hit the other ship, and it shook very hard."
He touched his cheek with a rueful smile. It was swollen, and there was a pressure cut over the bone. The bruise would close his eye by tomorrow.
Corylus looked up. The collision didn't appear to have damaged their hull, but the mast had whipped violently at the impact. It must have struck Pandareus a short, massive blow where his face was pressed against it.
The yards grew from the central pole like branches from a tree. When they flexed with the weight of the sails added, the starboard one had started to split away at the crotch just as a fir bough might break in a heavy snow. It labored now, and as it did so the crack spread further down the mast. At any moment the yard and sail would tear away completely. The ship would overturn and drop like the one it had rammed.
Unless, as the sprite had suggested, they burned instead. Corylus let his visor drop and trotted back to the bow.
They weren't going to be able to circle around their opponent this time. They were only slightly higher than the Atlantean ship, and it was moving faster than they could. Two more ships were coming through the portal. It was unlikely that they would be required to deal with the only defender of Carce.
The Ancient swung toward the prow of their opponent: there was no choice. The Servitor lifted the spout of his fire projector, and several archers began shooting. One arrow thunked hard into the hull and another zipped not far overhead.
"Watch out, Master!" Corylus said. His orichalc armor had shrugged off an arrow, but the teacher wore only a tunic. Not that it would make much difference. An arrow might even be merciful.
When Corylus turned his head slightly to shout the warning, he noticed movement on the obelisk. The ape had reached the top and was wrenching at the metal ball that Novius Facundus, the astronomer who erected the sundial, had placed there to diffuse light around the top of the granite shaft. The portal throbbed and pulsed just above the creature's head.
But that wasn't a present concern.
The Ancient lifted their bow an instant before the Servitor spurted fire toward them. Coupled with their existing slight advantage in height, the jet washed across the timbers of the forward bow and the lower hull instead of bathing Corylus and the deck beyond him. He wasn't sure that flames would affect Coryla and the Ancient so long as the amulet remained intact, but he knew from watching the victims of his own weapon what would happen to Pandareus and-despite the armor-himself.
The ships crashed together, not a glancing blow like the previous ramming attempt but a bow-to-bow collision between vessels which were each proceeding at faster than a walking pace. Timbers broke, scattering burning fragments. The flame projector and the Servitor crewing it had been crushed by the impact, but the hull of Corylus' ship was already alight.
The ships were locked together, rotating widdershins around their common axis. Their anchor flukes had become tangled; the sterns were swinging together. Both pairs of sails continued to beat, but the ships were sinking swiftly.
The crash had thrown many of the Atlanteans overboard, but the Minos in the stern gave a roar of fury and stumped forward. He used armored elbows and even his sword on his own retainers in his haste. Blood streaked his bright armor.
Corylus paused. The Minos was as big as a German warrior, and he held his sword with the ease of familiarity. Corylus had practiced with a sword also, but his real skill had been in throwing javelins.
He had never used a sword without a shield on his left arm. He wasn't afraid of the Minos or of any other barbarian, but if he were advising a friend how to bet on the match- A thought struck him. He unbuckled his chinstrap, then pulled off his helmet. With the chinstrap in his left fist, he presented the helmet like a buckler. Given his training, being without a helmet wasn't nearly as great a handicap as being without a shield would have been.