Kushiel's Chosen - Jacqueline Carey [212]
"Fly!" Kazan shouted at the oarsmen, flushed with fury. "Fly!"
And fly we did, oars churning at ragged speed while others dropped their arms where they stood, racing to hoist the sails. In the prow, the flag-bearer signaled frantically to the other ships, urging them to flight.
There would be no pursuit from the galley; Kazan's pirates had done their job well. Even in bright daylight, I could see the flames that licked at the mainsail. Small figures raced around the deck, forming a bucket brigade to keep the vessel from going up entire.
But there were the others, those hidden by the isle, and they moved swiftly, looming out of the distance. The wind that had blown steady at our backs all the way from Illyria worked against us now. Gone was the elegant, concerted flight of before; now, all six ships scattered wildly, working against a strong headwind. Three men lay wounded on the deck, groaning. I made a count; two had never returned. Glaukos worked steadily, satchel open beside him, endeavoring to bind the worst of their wounds. I went to aid him, and he glanced briefly up at me.
"I didn't know, my lady," he said. "I swear it."
"I believe you." I did; there was naught else I could say, and no more time for speech. We worked quickly together, doing the best we could for them, and I thanked Blessed Elua that I had learned somewhat of field medicine after the terrible battle of Troyes-le-Mont. And all the while, the Serenissiman war-galleys bore down upon us.
They caught the sixth ship, the straggler, when we were scarcely three hundred yards away. I knew from the resonant, thumping sound that carried over the waves that the war-galleys had ballistae mounted on their forecastles. It was an unlucky shot that did them in, a spring-loaded bolt that split the yard and brought down their sails. We could not help but watch as the smaller craft wallowed in the water, helpless and waiting. Serenissimans swarmed the vessel, for it had one of the coffers of gold. It went quickly, at least.
Lukin was on that ship, I thought, remembering hearing his voice. The one that boarded the far side of the galley; it had been the slowest to make its escape. I would have wept, if I'd had any tears to spare.
So began our flight, that even in memory seems endless. Like hares coursed by hounds, we fled the Serenissiman war-galleys across the great, roiling sea, day and night, tacking and doubling without surcease. Against the speed and agility of the Illyrian vessels was pitted the remorseless beat of the great war-galleys, that cared naught for the wind and had manpower to spare. I learned, later, how many men Marco Stregazza contributed to that enterprise; it numbered well into the hundreds. Betimes they drew near, and the ballistae thumped; then, bolts split the air, sending up great geysers of water all around us. One such pierced our mizzen sail, and Kazan shouted commands, unfaltering, ordering the sail stripped and the storm-sail raised. How they managed it in those surging waves, I do not know, but they did.
I did my best to give aid as I might, bringing food and water to those in need. By the second day, all were hollow-eyed from exhaustion and lack of sleep—and still the galleys pursued us. It was on that day that another ship was lost, floundering as it cut too close to the wind. It came nigh to overturning and took on water, too much water. Once again, we could do naught but watch from a distance as they righted themselves slowly and wallowed, sunk halfway to their railings, waiting for death as one of the biremes drew nigh.
Four ships left, running for our lives.
And when darkness fell, Kazan's second officer began to argue with him.
"They'll follow us to our cursed graves, Kazan! What will you do, lead them straight into Dobrek harbor and let them have us all? I'm telling you, it's the only way!"
And Kazan, grim-faced. "No. We will lose them in the night."
Pekhlo swore at him with a sailor's eloquence. "You said that last night,