As he had hoped, his great weight was too much for the craft. It rocked wildly, throwing the standing men into the water, then slowly overturned on top of him. But he had snatched a breath and was already diving away as everything inside the boat fell into the lake.
The lantern landed on the water, bobbed there and remained alight. The men were not so fortunate. Few Cythonians knew how to swim and these three had not learned. One of the rowers drifted past, his mouth wide open, his arms thrashing uselessly. Rix slammed his left fist into the man’s belly, driving all the air out of him. He doubled up and sank.
The second rower was clinging to the keel of the upturned boat. Rix tore his hands free and, when the man began to thrash, used both feet to send him head-first against the transom. His forehead cracked into it and he went under.
“Rix!” Glynnie cried.
Rix whirled. The captain was clinging to her, and he was so stocky and heavy-boned that he was pulling them both under. He glanced over his shoulder, saw Rix approaching, then shifted his big hands from Glynnie’s shoulders to her throat. He was going to take her down with him.
No time to think. Rix picked up a floating oar, balanced it on his right forearm, then drove the end of the blade against the back of the captain’s neck. His head snapped backwards and he sank, his hands still locked around Glynnie’s throat.
Rix was diving after them when Glynnie doubled up, slid her hands up inside the captain’s hands to break his grip, then straightened her legs and forced him away. He went down, she was propelled up and reached the surface at the same time as Rix got to her.
“Well done,” he said. “Now, if we can just — ”
“Hoy?” someone called across the gyre to the other boats. “You fellows all right?”
The chymical flames on the water were dying out, though objects still burned in a hundred places — floating furniture, pieces of timber, bodies… Through the smoke and mist, it was impossible to tell where the other two dinghies were.
“It’s worrying — we can’t see — their lights,” panted Glynnie.
Rix was thinking the same thing. “They can’t know I overturned the boat. I don’t think they’re too concerned.”
“Of course they are.”
“Why?”
She rolled her eyes. “Because you’re the great Lord Rixium, who attacked Lyf in his own lair and hurt him badly — with Maloch. The same Rixium who rescued Tali from a band of Cythonians, then helped her defeat the magian, Deroe — and almost Lyf himself.”
“We almost died a dozen times.”
“Maybe that’s what the enemy are afraid of — that you have the good luck, and they have the bad.”
Rix was about to remind her of the downfall of his house when a signal rocket soared high above the mist and burst in a yellow star.
“They know something’s wrong,” he whispered. “They’re calling for reinforcements. To the boat, quick!”
They swam to the dinghy, which was floating face down.
“Don’t see how it can be turned over,” said Glynnie.
“I do, but it won’t be easy one-handed. Go up near the bow, lie across the keel and take hold of the gunwale on the other side. I’ll do the same amidships, where it’s heaviest.”
“What’s the gunwale?”
“The raised side, where the oars are attached.”
She did so. He stretched his frame across the middle and took hold of the gunwale with his left hand.
“I can hear them,” said Glynnie. “They’re coming fast.”
“Then we’d better be faster. When I give the word, throw your weight backwards and we’ll try to heave it over. One, two, three… heave.”
The dinghy heaved a few inches out of the water but Rix lost his grip and the boat smacked down, cracking his jaw so hard on the planking that tears formed in his eyes.
“I can’t do it one-handed.” He frowned at the underside of the dinghy. “If I jam my bad hand through the rowlock — ”
“You might do more damage,” said Glynnie.
“Not as much as the enemy will do if they catch us.”
Rix put his right hand through the rowlock, locked his fingers around the iron, then took hold of the gunwale with his left. “Ready? One, two, three, heave!”
He threw himself backwards, swinging his legs for extra leverage, and Glynnie did the same. Excruciating pain speared through his right wrist. He felt something tear and for an awful second thought his rejoined hand was going to rip off at the wrist. The side of the dinghy rose — rose until it was almost vertical — then teetered.
He gave another swing of his legs, felt an equally appalling pain in his wrist, then the dinghy passed the vertical and slapped down on the water with a noise that would have been audible a quarter of a mile away. It also smashed the bobbing lantern, leaving them in a smoky gloom.
“If they’re any kind of boatmen they’ll know what that sound means,” said Rix. Glynnie groaned. “Are you all right?”
“Bow cracked me on the shoulder,” she said. “It’s not broken.”
“Bail the water out. There’s a wooden pail tied to a rope.” He boosted her in.
“What are you doing?” said Glynnie, bailing furiously.
“Looking for the oars.”
He swam around the dinghy, found one and slid it over the side. “How’s it going?”
She tossed half a bucket of water in his face. “Oops, sorry! Nearly done.”
“Any sign of the enemy?”
“No.”
He swam around the dinghy again, and again, but could not find the second oar. He had to have it. One oar was useless.
“Another boat’s coming, Rix!”
He saw a light off to the left, higher than the flickering flames. Rix remembered that he’d attacked the captain with the other oar; it must be further out. He swam five or six yards and ran into it. He stroked back, slid the oar in, dragged himself over the transom and flopped into the bottom of the boat, landing on his injured wrist. He was hard pressed not to scream.
“Is there some trick to rowing?” muttered Glynnie. She had fitted the oars into the rowlocks but, being small, was having trouble catching the water with the oar blades.
“Long practice. I’ll have to do it.”
“But your hand, Lord…”
“I know,” he said savagely, for the pain was so intense that he was scarcely capable of thought. “Out of the way. Check on the other dinghies.”
She vacated the bench. “One’s racing at us. I can’t see the other.”
He thumped onto the middle bench, took hold of an oar with his left hand and slapped his dead right hand down on the other oar. “Tie it on.”
“What?”
He wasn’t capable of politeness. “Rope, there!” A loop of thin rope hung from under the gunwale. “Tie my hand to the oar.”
She cut a length of rope and did so. It took more time than he would have liked but her knot work was first class, secure yet allowing a degree of movement.
“Lord, you got to hurry,” whispered Glynnie.
Rix quickly fell into the rhythm he’d had as a youth, when he had rowed nearly every day, and soon the warmth was flowing back into his limbs. It was tiring work, though, and he could exert far less force with his bound hand, so he had to match the other to it. The rope was already chafing the skin off his inflamed wrist. Off the back of his dead hand too, though he did not give a damn about that.
“Stay low,” he said, fighting the pain, which was almost unbearable. “They could have bows.”
Glynnie’s glance told him that he made a bigger target than she did, and a far more likely one.
“They’re turning towards us,” she said. “Can you go any faster?”
“I’m saving my strength.”
“If you save it much longer — ”
“Hold on,” said Rix.
“What for?”
“We’ll never outrun them. I’m going to try something else. Come right back. I need your weight at the stern.”
As Glynnie did so, the stern sank and the bow rose a little. The other dinghy was running a parallel course, only ten yards away and a couple of boat lengths behind. The lantern man held his lantern high as if to show their location to the third boat, or to the reinforcements. Rix might, just possibly, deal with one boat, but two was out of the question. It had to be now.