Hawkmoon ignored Ganak's jibe.
It seemed a century before the sun finally rose and began to dapple the distant trees of the riverbank. They were anchored close to the left bank of the river, not far from a small cove that could just be made out about half a mile away.
"Give the order to row, Ganak!" Hawkmoon called.
"Make for the left shore."
Ganak scowled and made no effort to obey.
Hawkmoon's arm encircled Valjon's throat. The man was beginning to blink awake. Hawkmoon tapped his stomach with his sword. "Ganak! I could make Valjon die slowly!"
Suddenly, from the throat of the pirate lord there came a tiny, ironic chuckle. "Die slowly…" he said.
"Die slowly…"
Hawkmoon stared at him, puzzled. "Aye-I know where best to strike to give you the maximum time and maximum pain a-dying."
Valjon made no other sound, merely stood passively with his throat still gripped by Hawkmoon's arm.
"Now, Ganak! Give the instructions!" D'Averc called.
Ganak took a deep breath. "Rowers!" he cried, and began to issue orders. The oars creaked, the backs of the oarsmen bent, and slowly the ship began to ride toward the left bank of the wide Sayou River.
Hawkmoon watched Ganak closely, for fear the man would attempt to trick them, but Ganak did not move, merely scowled.
As the bank came closer and closer, Hawkmoon began to relax. They were almost free. On land they could avoid any pursuit by the sailors who would, anyway, be reluctant to leave their ship.
Then he heard D'Averc yell and point upward. He stared up to see a figure come whizzing down a rope above his head.
It was the boy Orindo, a hardwood club in his hand, a wild grin on his lips.
Hawkmoon released Valjon and raised his arms to protect himself, unable to do the obvious thing which was to use his blade to strike Orindo as he descended.
The club fell heavily on his arm and he staggered back. D'Averc rushed forward and grasped Orindo round the waist, imprisoning his arms.
Valjon, suddenly swift-footed, darted down the companionway screaming a strange, wordless scream.
D'Averc pushed Orindo after him with an oath.
"Taken by the same trick twice, Hawkmoon. We deserve to die for that!"
Growling sailors led by Ganak were coming up the companionway now. Hawkmoon struck out at Ganak, but the bearded sailor blocked the blow, aiming a huge swing at Hawkmoon's legs. Hawkmoon was forced to leap back and then Ganak scuttled up to the poop and faced him, a sneering grin on his lips.
"Now, slave, we'll see how you fight a man!" Ganak said.
"I do not see a man," Hawkmoon replied. "Only some kind of beast." He laughed as Ganak struck at him again. He thrust swiftly with the marvellously balanced sword he had taken from Valjon.
Back and forth across the deck they fought, while D'Averc managed to hold the others at bay. Ganak was a master swordsman, but his cutlass was no match for the shining sword of the pirate lord.
Hawkmoon took him in the shoulder with a darting thrust, reeled back as the cutlass collided with the hilt of his blade, feeling the weapon almost fall from his hand, recovered himself to thrust again and wound Ganak in the left arm.
The bearded man howled like an animal and came on with renewed ferocity.
Hawkmoon thrust again, this time piercing Ganak's right arm. Blood drenched both brawny arms and Hawkmoon was unwounded. Ganak flung himself at Hawkmoon again, now in a kind of fierce panic.
Hawkmoon's next thrust was to the heart, to put Ganak out of further misery. The point of the blade bit through flesh, scraped against bone, and the life was gone from Ganak.
But now the other sailors had forced D'Averc back and he was surrounded, hacking about him with the cutlass. Hawkmoon left the corpse of Ganak and leapt forward, taking one in the throat and another under the ribs before they were aware of his presence.
Back to back now, Hawkmoon and D'Averc held off the sailors, but it seemed they must soon expire for more were running to join their comrades.
Soon the poop was heaped with corpses and Hawkmoon and D'Averc were covered with cuts from a dozen blades, their bodies all bloody. Still they fought.
Hawkmoon caught a glimpse of the Lord Valjon standing by the mainmast watching from out of his deepset eyes, staring fixedly at him as if he wished to have a clear impression of his face for the rest of his life if need be.
Hawkmoon shuddered, then returned his full attention to the attacking seamen. The flat of a cutlass caught him a blow on the head and he reeled against D'Averc, sending his friend off-balance. Together they collapsed to the deck, struggled to rise up, still fighting. Hawkmoon took one man in the stomach, struck another's lowering face with his fist, heaved himself to his knees.
Then suddenly the sailors stepped back, their eyes fixed to port. Hawkmoon sprang up, D'Averc with him.
The sailors were watching in concern as a new ship came swimming from the cove, its white, schoonerrigged sails billowing with the fresh breeze from the south, its rich black and deep blue paint, trimmed with gold, all agleaming in the early morning sunshine, its sides lined with armed men.
"A rival pirate, no doubt," D'Averc said, and used his advantage to cut down the nearest sailor and run for the rail of the poop. Hawkmoon followed his example and, with backs pressed against the rail they fought on, though half their enemies were running down the companionway to present themselves to Lord Valjon for his orders.
A voice called across the water, but it was too far away for the words to be clear.
Somehow in the confusion, Hawkmoon heard Valjon's deep, world-weary voice speak a single word, a word containing much loathing.
The word was "Bewchard!"
Then the sailors were upon them again and Hawkmoon felt a cutlass nick his face, turned blazing eyes on his attacker and thrust out his sword to catch him through the mouth, driving the sharp blade upwards for the brain, hearing the man scream a long, horrible scream as he died.
Hawkmoon felt no mercy, yanked his sword back and stabbed another in the heart.
And thus they fought, while the black and midnight blue schooner sailed closer and closer.
For a moment, Hawkmoon wondered if the 'ship would be friend or foe. Then there was no more time for wondering as the vengeful sailors pressed in, their heavy cutlasses rising and falling.
Chapter Five
PAHL BEWCHARD
As THE BLACK and blue ship crashed alongside, Hawkmoon heard Valjon's voice calling.
"Forget the slaves! Forget them! Stand by to hold off Bewchard's dogs!"
The remaining sailors backed warily away from the panting Hawkmoon and D'Averc. Hawkmoon made a thrust at them that sent them away faster, but he had not the energy to pursue them for the moment.
They watched as sailors, all dressed in jerkins and hose that matched the paint of the ship, came sailing on ropes to land on the deck of the River Wind. They were armed with heavy war-axes and sabres and fought with a precision that the pirates could not imitate, though they did their best to rally.
Hawkmoon looked for Lord Valjon, but he had disappeared-probably below decks.
He turned to D'Averc. "Well, we've done our share of blood-letting this day, my friend. What say you to a less lethal action-we could free the poor wretches at the oars!" And with that he leapt the poop rail to land on the catwalk and lean down to slash the knotted ropes binding the slaves to their oars.
They looked up in surprise, not realising, most of them, what Hawkmoon and D'Averc were doing for them.
"You're free," Hawkmoon told them.
"Free," D'Averc repeated. "Take our advice and leave the ship while you can, for there's no knowing how the battle will go."