“Eyes, fool!” Skylan said, pointing to his own. “Next time, look at the eyes.”
He kicked the priest in the head. The man toppled sideways and rolled over on his back with a groan, blood streaming. Skylan had probably broken his jaw.
He looked up to find Manta and her warriors and the Aquin guards standing unmoving, staring at him.
“Go free Farinn!” Skylan cried, and he tossed the bone knife to Manta.
She caught it more by reflex than because she knew what she was doing.
“Go!” Skylan shouted, and Manta came to her senses. She gave a brief nod and, calling to two of her warriors, ran into the cell where Farinn hung in his net.
Skylan snatched up his prize sword and turned to face the guards. The sword was lighter in weight than he liked and it was brass, not steel, but the weapon was well made. The sword was superbly balanced, the blade sharp. He made a few experimental passes with it, to get the feel of it and to drive back the Aquin guards, who apparently had been entertaining the idea of rushing him. At the sight of the gleaming blade and the deft way Skylan wielded it, the guards backed off precipitously.
Keeping one eye on the guards, Skylan bent down to swiftly unbuckle the sword belt and drag it off the Warrior-Priest. The belt was too small to go around Skylan’s waist. He slung it over his shoulder. He named the sword Viper Tooth.
“Can I use my magic now?” Wulfe asked. “I thought of a spell my mother taught me. I want to try it out.”
Skylan was startled to hear the boy’s voice. He turned to find Wulfe standing right behind him.
“Guard them,” Skylan said, pointing to the Aquin guards who were bunched up in a far corner.
“Can I use my magic?”
“Only if they move,” said Skylan.
He looked into the cell to see Manta sawing with the bone knife at the net that held Farinn. Screams and shrieks and squeals came from below. Skylan ran to the stone stairs and looked down into the water. Aquin warriors had been waiting in ambush for him. The warriors were under attack by the oceanaids, who slammed the Aquins with waves, knocking them into the rocks, battering and buffeting them until they were eventually forced to retreat.
Silent slinking
sideways sliding
scuttling slithering
Wulfe began happily singing his song. Skylan paid no attention. The oceanaids had secured the sea route. He wondered how long it would be before the soldiers would come for them by way of land. Probably not long; they might already be on their way.
Skylan ran into the cells. Manta was hacking at the rope net with her knife, but not making much progress. She stared at the brass sword in his hand and then nodded in approval.
“We’re not out of this yet,” said Skylan. Issuing orders came so easily to him, he forgot he wasn’t in command. “Warriors were lying in wait to attack us from the sea. The oceanaids stopped them for the moment, but I don’t trust those fish-women. Wulfe’s casting some sort of magic spell on the guards. I don’t trust him either. More soldiers are probably coming from the land-side and could be here any moment. I need for you and your troops to go back in there and clear a way for us to escape.”
Manta gave a nod. She handed the bone knife to him, glad to be rid of it. Summoning her troops, she turned to go back to the guard room.
“Manta,” Skylan called, “I know you and your people won’t take a life. But these Warrior-Priests don’t have the same convictions. Aelon killed the daughter of your Sea Goddess. Remember that.”
Manta’s expression was unreadable. He had no idea what she was thinking or what she would do. Skylan would do what he had come to do. Save his man. He thrust the knife into his belt.
“Stand back!” he ordered Farinn.
Farinn backed up as far in the net as he could. Skylan swung his sword. The blade sliced easily through the rope, opening a good-sized hole. Farinn wriggled out and dropped to the ground. He faced Skylan and swallowed.
“I’m sorry, Skylan,” he said, shame-faced.
“Later.” Skylan clapped his hand on Farinn’s shoulder and gave a rueful smile. “There’s blame enough to go around. Now we’re going to get out of here-”
“Ivorson! Skylan Ivorson! Don’t leave us!”
The deep bellowing roar calling out his name caused Skylan to stare in amazement. The ogre godlord and his shaman were in a nearby cell, shaking the sides of the net and thundering for him to be set free.
“They were the ones who warned me about the trap,” said Farinn, nodding at the ogres. “They overheard the guards talking.”
Skylan had first-hand knowledge of ogre fighting skills. He would be glad to have them on his side.
“I thought you were dead,” he said to the godlord as he ran over to their net.
“We thought the same about you,” the godlord grunted. “Will you free us?”
Both ogres were in a sorry state. They’d lost weight; ogres liked meat and lots of it. A diet of seaweed had nearly killed them. The shaman’s black feather cape was almost completely denuded, with only a few scraggly feathers remaining. With his long, gangly legs now bare to the thighs, the shaman reminded Skylan of a molting heron. The shaman grimaced as though he were being forced to swallow bitter wormwood when he saw that he was going to owe his freedom to Skylan. The shaman muttered something to the godlord.
“Your magic got us into this mess,” the godlord told the shaman. “Stay if you want. I’m leaving.”
“Stand back,” Skylan warned.
The net was barely big enough to hold both ogres and they had nowhere to go. Skylan sliced his sword through the rope at the bottom, taking care to come as close to the shaman’s foot as he could without actually cutting off a toe. As it was, the shaman let out a yelp and snarled at Skylan in fury.
Manta yelled his name. A series of loud splashes and a horrified bellow from the guard room sent Skylan running. He trusted the ogres would free themselves. He dashed into the guard room, slid to a sudden halt and caught hold of Farinn as he would have run past him.
The guard room was ankle deep in snakes.
Black snakes, water snakes, brown snakes, green snakes, all kind and manner of snake writhed and coiled and hissed and curled and slithered. Manta and her troops had fled, jumping into the water. The Aquin guards must have followed, for they were nowhere to be seen. The wounded Warrior-Priest had regained consciousness and was flailing about on the floor, trying to hurl off the snakes that were crawling over him.
Wulfe stood in the middle, snakes coiling about his shins, gaping in wonder. Catching sight of Skylan, the boy made a flying leap for him and climbed Skylan as he would have climbed a tree.
“Are any of those poisonous?” Skylan demanded.
“No. Yes. Maybe…” Wulfe had hold of Skylan around the neck, his legs around Skylan’s waist. “It’s not my fault. That stupid serpent on his head gave me the idea.”
Skylan would have liked to ask the Warrior-Priest what he thought of serpents now, but there wasn’t time. The godlord, coming up behind him, began to swear. The shaman gabbled. Skylan hoped to Torval the shaman wasn’t going to cast one of his foul spells.
Their only way out was the sea and to reach the stone stairs they had to traverse the snake-ridden floor. And all of them were barefoot.
Skylan attached his sword to the belt loop and draped it over his head. Carrying Wulfe piggyback, Skylan jumped and hopped, trying to avoid snakes, looking for any patch of open floor. That proved impossible and he cringed, his flesh crawling, as he felt snakes wriggling beneath his feet. He could see them striking at him with their fangs and he waited grimly for the first signs that he had been poisoned. He and Farinn and the ogres leaped and staggered and swore and kicked their way across.
Skylan didn’t bother with the stairs. Manta and her warriors were waiting for them below, as were the oceanaids, all of them fending off the snakes that were slithering down the stairs into the water. Skylan flung Wulfe into the sea and threw himself in after him. He surfaced to see the oceanaids surrounding Wulfe, laughing heartily.