Darkness Weaves (23 page)

The wide pool was not calm and mirror-like tonight, as it usually was. The water boiled and stirred with swift movement beneath its dark surface, and undulating shadows could be glimpsed from time to time. Sometimes a black shape would lift itself above the water, then resubmerge faster than the eye could form a distinct image. Nightmare lurked within the pool tonight. The very air reeked with deadly horror, and the prisoners sensed their doom.

Efrel was speaking. "Netisten Mari1 is going to make his move very soon, from all indications. He has gathered together just about all the support he's going to get, and the feverish preparations he's been making are about to draw to completion. I assume you are prepared to mobilize on a moment's notice."

"Of course," asserted Kane. "You've already seen that any men are at battle-ready, the fleet gathered together and ready to sail. Just make certain your pretty friends over there are ready when I need them."

He reflected upon the all but insurmountable difficulties he had been plagued with in order to fit the Scylredi and their terrifying weapons into a unified attack formation. Aside from the obvious problems of coordination, there had been tremendous problems arising from the necessity for absolute secrecy. These difficulties proved trivial compared to that of handling the reaction among the men, once they learned the nature of their secret allies. Kane had shown and told them as little as possible, and had maintained discipline with an iron hand. No one left the island except on specific orders.

In the weeks since that night when he had visited the Sorn-Ellyn with Efrel, there had been countless meetings with the Scylredi in Efrel's hidden chamber. Here, surrounded by the relics of centuries of sorcerous delvings, Kane had watched Efrel communicate with the hideous creatures.

Communication was through mental telepathy--although how Efrel was able to exchange thoughts with such inhuman monsters remained a mystery to Kane. Kane had cultivated his own psychic abilities far beyond the limits of most men, but he was able to understand nothing that passed between Efrel and the Scylredi. If the Scylredi could form a mental contact with a human mind, they chose to do so only with Efrel--or else the witch could draw upon incredible psychic powers in her own right. However the sorceress accomplished the feat, Kane had been able to work out the details for the coming battle through her interpretation.

It mattered little to Kane. The prospect of linking minds with a Scylred did not greatly appeal to him. He was far more interested in the secret of Efrel's spell of paralysis. She guarded that secret well--as she guarded all her secrets. Kane thought he recognized the basic enchantment and toyed with the thought of attempting a counterspell with one of the prisoners.

Efrel broke in on his revery. "This should be the talismans coming up to us now."

Kane followed her gesture toward the surface of the pool where a stubby, miniature version of the Scylredi seacraft was just breaking the water. The tiny submarine moved closer to the low wall at the edge of the pool. A hatch slip open across its spheroid bow.

Kane spoke sharply, and a line of uneasy soldiers stepped alongside the wall next to the vessel. With shaky hands, they withdrew the heavy containers that waited within the water-filled hold. One man gasped and almost fell in--as a black loop of tentacle lifted a container to him.

"Be careful, you clumsy ass!" barked Kane. "We'll need every one of those talismans."

The bulky containers held dozens of heavy, egg-shaped globes of metal--featureless objects about the size of a man's head. These talismans were the solution to the major problem of coordination, and their production had been essential before the Scylredi could serve effectively as allies. With these devices, it was possible for the Scylredi to distinguish the rebel warships from the Imperial craft. Products of Scylredi science, the metal eggs emitted a constant drone inaudible to human ears, but which the Scylredi--and their giant servants, the Oraycha--could hear and understand. Each ship in the rebel fleet must carry one of those talismans against its keel--or risk destruction by Efrel's inhuman allies when the fighting became close.

Unloaded, the submarine departed. An aura of awful expectancy settled over the chamber. Imel, in charge of the work crew, gladly led the line of porters from the chamber. Arbas stood with his arms folded across his thick chest, waiting to see if Kane would leave.

"One final thing, Kane," reminded Efrel, watching the pool's surface intently. "Remember that neither Netisten Maril nor M'Cori is to be killed or injured in the least. I'd like to have Lages alive, too, but with him it isn't essential. Regardless of the cost, Maril and M'Cori must be delivered to me unharmed. Kill a thousand men if it is necessary, but bring them to me so that they may suffer the full vengeance that I promised to wreak upon the house of Netisten! I have elaborate plans regarding those two, and I will not be thwarted in this. See that it is understood by all your men."

"Certainly!" Kane assured her--as if hearing this for the first time. In her insane obsession with vengeance, Efrel had impressed this command upon him a hundred times. "Just you see that your ugly friends leave Maril's flagship to me."
Efrel nodded. "They understand. One conspicuous ship they can single out and avoid."

Turning from him, she raised her hand in a beckoning gesture. In agonized terror, the Imperial prisoners jerked forward--puppets dancing on invisible strings. Their muscles twitched with desperate effort, but they could not break free of the spell. Cringing strides carried them closer to the pool, then to the very edge. And over.

Instantly the water came alive--as hordes of the waiting Scylredi rose to seize the struggling captives. Released at the final moment from the spell, their doomed screams echoed throughout the cavernous chamber.

Kane watched in fascination as the tormented victims were dragged beneath the surface in a snare of slimy black tentacles--to be sported with, torn apart, sucked bloodless by these creatures from the lost past.

Scarlet froth lapped along the pool's edge as the last tortured face sank into the bottomless well. Alorri-Zrokros had not lied in regard to the Scylredi's feeding habits.

The sea wind blowing through his red hair, Kane stood at the bow of the Ara-Teving and watched through his telescope as the Imperial fleet crawled across the blue horizon. The sea was dark with ships--warships of all descriptions, flying the red banner of Thovnos, the blue banner of Raconos, the green-and-black dag of Fisitia... Kane gave up trying to count. Warships were here from every quarter of the Empire, rallying to their Emperor to meet the threat of Efrel's insurrection.

The Imperial armada must outnumber his own navy about four to one, Kane decided. Maril was confident in his numbers, and for this reason the Emperor had elected to move first and crush the rebel navy in one decisive encounter. Kane had predicted such a move--and as he regarded his own fleet, he considered Maril's strategy justified.

A disparate formation of outmoded, overhauled and refitted vessels, with only a scattering of first-class warships. Response to Efrel's rebellion had been good--but almost entirely from those minor powers who stood to gain the most from this venture. Withal, Efrel had won a number of the more powerful lords over to her cause, and their warcraft along with those of Pellin formed the backbone of Kane's fleet. Altogether Kane had nearly a hundred vessels under his command--a powerful navy, but pitifully outnumbered and outclassed by the Imperial armada. They would be slaughtered, if the Scylredi failed to come through.

On the deck of his own flagship, Netisten Maril felt no misgivings as the rebel fleet came into view. "By Horment!" he laughed to his captain. "That pox-eaten witch put together a bigger navy than I'd thought she could. I didn't know there were that many derelicts afloat on the entire Western Sea! A damn lot of good it will do her. Were going to roll over these damned rebels like a tidal wave on a mud flat."

He grinned as an aide handed him his crested helmet. "By nightfall we should be in Prisarte, watching the city burn. I'm going to teach them a lesson here that will quell any thoughts of rebellion for the next century. Pellin has been poisoning the body of the Empire like a rotting cancer for too long. Today I'm going to excise and then cauterize this stinking abscess once and for all. And as for Efrel and her so-called deathless general..."

A shout of alarm roared across the vanguard of the Imperial formation. Maril cut short his gloating to see the cause. Stunned, the Emperor pointed and demanded incredulously, "What in all the seven hells of Lord Tloluvin is that?"

From out of the sea between the two opposing armadas, the four submarine warcraft of the Scylredi breached like a pack of colossal killer whales. Soundless, save for the uncanny ultrasonic whine of their engines, the alien submarines bore down on the Imperial fleet.

Whatever the strange craft might be, their hostile intent was obvious. Maril shouted for his petraries to open fire.

From across the gigantic armada, deck-mounted catapults--smaller than those Kane had used, and more conventionally armed--lashed forth their deadly missiles. A storm of rocks and pitch-soaked fireballs arched across the sea and fell among the Scylredi seacraft. Flame splashed harmlessly across the metallic hulls; rocks struck the impervious leviathans with resounding crashes and glanced aside.

The petraries had scarcely fired a first volley when the Scylredi craft attacked. Crackling bolts of violet energy lanced from their conical turrets. Across the Imperial front, warships suddenly exploded in a hissing roar of flame.

It was as if the Imperial fleet had been caught up in some unthinkable lightning storm on the blazing seas of hell. Ravening bolts of energy devastated the vanguard of the armada, wreaking havoc throughout the proud fleet. Doomed soldiers screamed in horror as they saw their comrades and sister ships blasted into a charred mass--waited for the next destroying bolt to send them to hell. Here was terror that no human weapon could counter, no defense confront. In desperation the catapult crews kept up their ineffectual fire--only to be answered with a continuous barrage of coruscant death from the Scylredi warcraft.

"Keep firing!" yelled Maril, trying to maintain order in the burning chaos wrought by the Scylredi. "Ram them! Whip the oarsmen to full speed!"

Somehow his orders were relayed. Across the deadly waters, his captains desperately sought to close with the Scylredi submarines.

Again and again the violet beams lashed out to destroy. Ships by the score exploded into flaming oblivion. Like a burning, broken thing, the Imperial armada advanced resolutely against the Scylredi craft. Charred debris clotted the steaming waves. The ocean seemed to boil from the heat. Reeking billows of smoke filled the air, almost obscuring the stench of ozone.

Then Maril felt the deck lift under his feet, as a lance of destroying energy struck the Imperial flagship. Where the bolt fell, the stern of the warship exploded into a pillar of flame--as the intense heat seared timber and flesh in a wash of incandescent flame. A gaping hole was blasted through the hull. Steam shrieked through ruptured planks as the sea gushed into the blazing wound. The warship tilted sharply on its keel.

"Abandon ship" Maril shouted needlessly.

Panic swept the flagship. Men jumped from the flaming hell of the deck into a wreckage-strewn sea. Most were pulled down instantly by the weight of their weapons and mail.

Maril quickly flung off helmet, cuirass, and greaves. He gained the rail, even as the flagship began its final roll, and dived into the water. Cutting the littered surface with clean, powerful strokes, he swam in the direction of the nearest ship. A drowning marine clutched at his leg, dragging him down. The Emperor broke free with a curse and a kick to the wretch's face.

"Here, Uncle!" The cry was that of Lages, whose warship had been alongside Maril's flagship. Swimming through the chaos of charred wreckage and drowning men, Maril reached the other ship. A rope was hurled down to him, which Maril quickly seized. Dodging the oars, he pulled himself aboard. "Lages!" he cried, and grasped his nephew's hand. "No longer do I regret sparing your life! Someone bring me a sword! I won't let another good blade go to the bottom before it's well oiled with stinking rebel blood!"

Lages smiled grimly and cursed. "What hellish weapon is this that Kane has brought against us? The men are being slaughtered, our ships blown out of the water--and we have yet to strike a blow."

"I don't know what it is," shouted Maril. "But I see Efrel's hand in this. And if we can't destroy the sorceress's demon ships, all we can do is get close to Kane's fleet--where they can't fire on us for fear of hitting the rebel ships. Full speed, forward! If stones and fireballs bounce off their armored flanks, we'll see how they take to being rammed!"

The Imperial armada surged through the water, through sheer force of numbers bearing down on the Scylredi craft. Slowly, taking awful casualties, they closed with the submarines. The Scylredi warcraft hovered motionlessly upon the surface--firing into the onrushing fleet as fast as their weapons could be charged.

The first line of warships came abreast of the alien seacraft. One trireme attempted to ram and smashed full into midships of one of the submarines. The trireme's bow crumpled under the impact, doing no damage to the metallic hull other than to knock the submarine backward in the water. In another instant, the warship and the poor fools aboard were consumed in a ripping blast of flame.

But during the uproar, a second trireme rammed at full speed into the stern of another Scylredi submarine, tearing into one of the ovoid projections there. The force of the suicidal collision drove the bronze-capped ram through the glowing ovoid--buried its sharp beak deep within the submarine's droning engines.

Almost on impact, the Scylredi craft exploded into an incandescent ball of searing white flame. A blinding light--brighter than the sun--engulfed both vessels. With a fantastic concussion, trireme and alien warcraft were annihilated in one awesome blast. Roaring steam spewed in great, scalding clouds into the sky. Bits of cinder and fused metal ripped the sea apart. Ships closest to the blast burst into flame from the heat.