Oars rumbled overhead. In a moment more the shouted order rang out and the oars splashed down in unison. The ship began to gather speed.
“We are going in,” Kurt murmured, fighting down panic, A host of images assailed his mind. They could do nothing but ride it out, chained to the ship of the Methi. In space or on Tavi’s exposed deck, he had known fear in entering combat, but never such a feeling of helplessness.
“Edge back,” Kta advised him, bracing his shoulder against the hull. He took his ankle chain in both hands. “If we ram, the shock could be considerable. Brace yourself and hold the chain. There is no advantage adding broken bones to our misery.”
Kurt followed his example, casting a misgiving look at the mass of stored gear in the after part of the hold. If it was not well secured, impact would send tons of weight down on them, and there was no shielding themselves against that.
The grating thunder of three hundred oars increased in tempo and held at a pace that no man could sustain over a long drive. Now even in the dark hold there was an undeniable sense of speed, with the beat of the oars and the rush of water against the hull.
Kurt braced himself harder against the timbers. It needed no imagination to think what would happen if the trireme itself was rammed and a bronze Nephanite prow splintered in the midships area. He remembered Tavi’s ruin and the men ground to death in the collision, and tried not to think how thin the hull at their shoulders was.
The beat stopped, a deafening hush, then the portside oars ran inboard. The ship glided under momentum for an instant.
Wood began to splinter and the ship shuddered and rolled, grating and cracking wood all along her course. Thrown sprawling, Kurt and Kta held as best they could as the repeated shocks vibrated through the ship. Shouting came overhead, over the more distant screaming of men in pain and terror, suddenly overwhelmed by the sound of the oars being run out again.
The relentless cadence recommenced, the trireme recovering her momentum. All-encompassing was the crash and boom of the oars, pierced by the thin shouts of officers. Then the oars lifted clear with a great sucking of water, and held. The silence was so deep that they could hear their own harsh breathing, the give of the oars in their locks, the creak of timbers and the groan of rigging, and the sounds of battle far distant.
“This is the Methi’s ship,” Kta answered his anxious look. “It has doubtless broken the line and now waits. They will not risk this ship needlessly.”
And for a long time they crouched against the hull, staring into the dark, straining for each sound that might tell them what was happening above.
New orders were given, too faintly to be understood. Men ran across the deck in one direction and the other, and still the motion of the ship indicated they were scarcely moving.
Then the hatch crashed open and Lhe t’Nethim came down the steps into the hold, backed by three armed men.
“Do you suddenly need weapons?” asked Kta.
“T’Elas,” said Lhe, “you are called to the deck.”
Kta gathered himself to his feet, while one of the men bent and unlocked the chain that passed through the ring of the band at his ankle.
“Take me along with him,” said Kurt, also on his feet.
“I have no orders about that,” said Lhe.
“TNethim,” Kurt pleaded, and Lhe considered an instant, gnawing his lip. Then he gestured to the man with the keys.
“Your word to do nothing violent,” Lhe insisted.
“My word,” said Kurt.
“Bring him too,” said Lhe.
Kurt followed Kta up the steps into the light of day, so blinded by the unaccustomed glare that he nearly missed his footing on the final step. On the deck the hazy shapes of many men moved around them, and their guards guided them like blind men toward the stern of the ship.
Ylith sat beneath the blue canopy. There Kurt’s sight began to clear. Kta went heavily to his knees, Kurt following his example, finding comfort in him. He began to understand Kta’s offering of respect at such a moment: Kta did what he did with grace, paying honor like a gentleman, unmoved by threat or lack of it. His courage was contagious.