Qeran caught himself quickly and came back in, but the spy twisted fast to the ground, trying to hook the drillmaster’s leg and take him down.
Qeran was wise to the trick, leaping above the sweeping leg, but the spy was not taken unaware. He kept his momentum and whipped the shield around, striking its heavy edge into the drillmaster’s metal leg as he came down.
The spring steel recoiled, and Qeran landed uncharacteristically off balance. The spy took full advantage, and they traded a quick flurry of parries and blows. The man was small and impossibly fast, never giving the Drillmaster a moment to find his balance. He hit Qeran in the face with the shield, then leapt to kick the drillmaster full in the chest.
Qeran fell back hard, not seriously harmed, but the spy wasted no more time on him, turning and running down the dock.
Ahead, Mehnding warriors from the scorpion and slinger teams had clustered to block his path. The spy looked back, but behind him more than a score of warriors charged past Qeran, Hasik at their lead. It was the first time Abban could recall when he wanted the cursed eunuch to succeed.
The spy turned down a less-used dock, leading out to a section of cove too rocky and shallow for all but the smallest vessels. There were a handful of these tied at the dock, simple rowboats even a Sharum could use, but it seemed unlikely the spy could even untie one in time, much less row out of spear range before he was killed. He sprinted for the end of the dock instead. Did he mean to swim?
Hasik mere steps behind, the spy turned sharply, leaping into one of the boats. Hasik lost seconds adapting to the change, but he leapt from the dock, spear ready to skewer the man before he could cut the ties.
“Demonshit,” Abban muttered. Hasik was not known for leaving men alive for questioning.
But the spy never attempted to cut the moorings, hopping two steps across the boat’s benches and jumping right out into the water.
Abban held his breath, but the spy did not sink, seeming to bounce off the surface of the water into another leap, where he landed with only a splash about his ankles. He ran three more steps, then turned sharply to the left, still running on the surface of the water.
Hasik struggled to keep his balance on the rocking boat, throwing his spear with surprising accuracy. The spy saw it coming, ducking by mere inches.
“Everam guide me!” Hasik cried, leaping from the boat much as the spy had. Miraculously, he, too, landed on his feet, seeming as surprised as any. With a howl, he took off in pursuit even as other Sharum jumped into the boat to follow.
Hasik took two steps, then dropped like a stone with the next. The other Sharum fared little better, two of them thrown into the water by the wildly rocking boat. A third made the leap, skidding on whatever Hasik and the spy had landed upon, but he lost his balance, pitching into the water. Sharum threw spears at the spy, still running on water, but he was fast getting out of range. At last he slung his shield and leapt, arms outstretched as he cut the water and began swimming.
The Sharum’s Lament had launched a boat in the confusion, three men rowing with remarkable speed. In moments, they had intercepted the spy and pulled him aboard as spears fell short in the water, lost.
There was a horn, and the Sharum’s Lament let loose a barrage at the warriors clustered on the dock, killing dozens with burning pitch and stingers, even destroying a slinger and two scorpions. The Mehnding, having left their engines to keep the spy from escaping, were unprepared to return fire.
As they watched helplessly, the launch returned and the warship made one last pass, swinging close for a final starboard barrage, crew jeering. As it turned, they saw Captain Dehlia standing atop the aft rail, baring her breasts as she jeered at them. All around her, the men and women of her crew turned and dropped their pantaloons, slapping their buttocks as the ship sailed away.
Hasik and two of the Sharum were still clinging to the rowboat when Abban reached the place where the spy had leapt from the dock. The Sharum who attempted to follow Hasik and the spy out into the lake had not resurfaced.
It was no surprise. Krasians were not swimmers, and the heavy armor plates sewn into their black robes pulled those who fell into the lake’s cold waters down faster than they could shed the weight.
Abban tried to imagine what it must be like. He had been choked enough in sharaj to know how it felt to black out from lack of breath, but to do it surrounded by dark water, not even knowing which way was up …
He shuddered.
Qeran was standing on the dock, anger simmering on his features. Sharum were ruled by their pride, and the spy had made him look a fool in front of dozens of onlookers. No doubt Qeran would kill the first inferior to look at him wrong.
But khaffit or no, Abban was no inferior, and he needed his drillmaster, not some moping child.
“You did well,” he said quietly, coming to stand next to the man.
Qeran grimaced. “I failed. I should be—”
“Proud,” Abban cut the drillmaster off before he could make some masochistic proclamation. “You outshone the other Sharum in the chase. Such speed! Such skill! Your new leg puts the old to shame.”
“It was still not enough,” Qeran growled.
Abban shrugged. “Inevera. Nothing happens, but that Everam wills it. Whatever the spy stole from the Sharum Ka’s manse, the Creator wanted our enemies to have it.”
It was nonsense, of course, but inevera had always been a balm and a crutch to disgruntled Evejans.
“Like He willed that my leg be lost?” Qeran asked through gritted teeth. “That I drown in couzi and my own filth until a fat, crippled khaffit proves my better and puts a boot to my neck? And now, it is inevera that I can’t even hold a chin spy when I have him in my grasp.”
The drillmaster spat into the water. “It seems Everam wills nothing but humiliation upon me.”
“There is glory to come, Drillmaster,” Abban said. “Glory enough for all in Sharak Sun and Sharak Ka. Bad enough I found you wallowing on the floor bemoaning fate. I did not pull you out of it so you could wallow on your feet.”
Qeran looked at him sharply, but Abban met his stare. “Embrace the pain, Sharum.”
The drillmaster’s nostrils flared, but he nodded. Abban turned to bow as Jayan approached.
The Sharum Ka looked out over the dark lake. “How did the spy run across the water like that?” He turned to Asavi. “I thought you said the chin do not use hora magic.”
“It was no magic, Sharum Ka,” Abban said, drawing the attention of all. “I have heard of this phenomenon from men returned from the chin villages in the wetland. They build little islands called crannogs, reachable only by stone paths hidden just under the surface of the water. The steps are irregular, easy enough for one who knows the path, but difficult for a demon … or man, to follow.”
Jayan grunted, digesting the information as he watched the first of the Sharum be hauled back onto the dock. The man shivered, coughing water and soaking the deck, but he seemed well enough.
Until a tentacle whipped from the water, wrapping about his leg. The man had barely a moment to scream before it was cut off with a splash and he was yanked back into the water.
Hasik froze, eyes searching the dark surface for sign of the water demon, but the other Sharum began to shout and wave his free arm as he clutched at the boat with the other. “Everam’s balls, throw me the line! Quickly!”